by Daisy Dunn
And ’tis to’ appear a foe, to’ appear a Greek;
Already you my name and country know:
Assuage your thirst of blood, and strike the blow:
My death will both the kingly brothers please,
And set insatiate Ithacus at ease.’
This fair unfinish’d tale, these broken starts,
Rais’d expectations in our longing hearts;
Unknowing as we were in Grecian arts.
His former trembling once again renew’d.
With acted fear, the villain thus pursued:
‘Long had the Grecians (tir’d with fruitless care,
And wearied with an unsuccessful war)
Resolv’d to raise the siege, and leave the town:
And, had the gods permitted, they had gone.
But oft the wintry seas, and southern winds,
Withstood their passage home, and chang’d their minds.
Portents and prodigies their souls amaz’d;
But most, when this stupendous pile was rais’d:
Then flaming meteors, hung in air, were seen.
And thunders rattled through a sky serene.
Dismay’d, and fearful of some dire event,
Eurypylus, to’ inquire their fate, was sent.
He from the gods this dreadful answer brought:
‘O Grecians, when the Trojan shores you sought,
Your passage with a virgin’s blood was bought:
So must your safe return be bought again;
And Grecian blood once more atone the main.’
The spreading rumour round the people ran;
All fear’d, and each believ’d himself the man.
Ulysses took the’ advantage of their fright;
Call’d Calchas, and produc’d in open sight,
Then bade him name the wretch, ordain’d by fate
The public victim, to redeem the state.
Already some presag’d the dire event,
And saw what sacrifice Ulysses meant.
For twice five days the good old seer withstood
The’ intended treason, and was dumb to blood,
Till, tir’d with endless clamours and pursuit
Of Ithacus, he stood no longer mute,
But, as it was agreed, pronounc’d that I
Was destin’d by the wrathful gods to die.
All prais’d the sentence, pleas’d the storm should fall
On one alone, whose fury threaten’d all.
The dismal day was come: the priests prepare
Their leaven’d cakes, and fillets for my hair.
I follow’d nature’s laws, and must avow,
I broke my bonds, and fled the fatal blow.
Hid in a weedy lake all night I lay,
Secure of safety when they sail’d away.
But now what further hopes for me remain,
To see my friends or native soil again:
My tender infants, or my careful sire,
Whom they returning will to death require;
Will perpetrate on them their first design,
And take the forfeit of their heads for mine?
Which, O! if pity mortal minds can move,
If there be faith below, or gods above,
If innocence and truth can claim desert,
Ye Trojans, from an injur’d wretch avert.’
False tears true pity move: the king commands
To loose his fetters, and unbind his hands,
Then adds these friendly words: ‘Dismiss thy fears:
Forget the Greeks: be mine as thou wert theirs;
But truly tell, was it for force or guile,
Or some religious end, you rais’d the pile?’
Thus said the king.—He, full of fraudful arts,
This well-invented tale for truth imparts:
‘Ye lamps of heaven! (he said, and lifted high
His hands now free)—thou venerable sky!
Inviolable powers, ador’d with dread!
Ye fatal fillets, that once bound this head!
Ye sacred altars, from whose flames I fled!
Be all of you adjur’d; and grant I may,
Without a crime, the’ ungrateful Greeks betray,
Reveal the secrets of the guilty state,
And justly punish whom I justly hate!
But you, O king, preserve the faith you gave,
If I, to save myself, your empire save.
The Grecian hopes, and all the’ attempts they made,
Were only founded on Minerva’s aid.
But from the time when impious Diomede,
And false Ulysses, that inventive head,
Her fatal image from the temple drew,
The sleeping guardians of the castle slew,
Her virgin statue with their bloody hands
Polluted, and profan’d her holy bands;
From thence the tide of fortune left their shore,
And ebb’d much faster than it flow’d before:
Their courage languish’d, as their hopes decay’d:
And Pallas, now averse, refus’d her aid.
Nor did the goddess doubtfully declare
Her alter’d mind, and alienated care.
When first her fatal image touch’d the ground,
She sternly cast her glaring eyes around,
That sparkled as they roll’d, and seem’d to threat:
Her heavenly limbs distill’d a briny sweat.
Thrice from the ground she leap’d, was seen to wield
Her brandish’d lance, and shake her horrid shield.
Then Calchas bade our host for flight prepare,
And hope no conquest from the tedious war,
Till first they sail’d for Greece; with prayers besought
Her injur’d power, and better omens brought.
And, now their navy ploughs the watery main,
Yet, soon expect it on your shores again,
With Pallas pleas’d; as Calchas did ordain.
But first, to reconcile the blue-eyed maid
For her stol’n statue and her tower betrayed,
Warn’d by the seer, to her offended name
We rais’d and dedicate this wondrous frame,
So lofty, lest through your forbidden gates
It pass, and intercept our better fates:
For, once admitted there, our hopes are lost;
And Troy may then a new Palladium boast:
For so religion and the gods ordain,
That, if you violate with hands profane
Minerva’s gift, your town in flames shall burn;
(Which omen, O ye gods, on Graecia turn!)
But if it climb, with your assisting hands,
The Trojan walls, and in the city stands;
Then Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn,
And the reverse of fate on us return.’
With such deceits he gain’d their easy hearts,
Too prone to credit his perfidious arts.
What Diomede, nor Thetis’ greater son,
A thousand ships, nor ten years’ siege, had done—
False tears and fawning words the city won.
A greater omen, and of worse portent,
Did our unwary minds with fear torment,
Concurring to produce the dire event.
Laocoön, Neptune’s priest by lot that year,
With solemn pomp then sacrific’d a steer:
When (dreadful to behold!) from sea we spied
Two serpents, rank’d abreast, the seas divide,
And smoothly sweep along the swelling tide.
Their flaming crests above the waves they show;
Their bellies seem to burn the seas below;
Their speckled tails advance to steer their course,
And on the sounding shore the flying billows force.
And now the strand, and now the plain, they held;
Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fill’d;
Their nim
ble tongues they brandish’d as they came,
And lick’d their hissing jaws, that sputter’d flame.
We fled amaz’d; their destin’d way they take,
And to Laocoön and his children make;
And first around the tender boys they wind,
Then with their sharpen’d fangs their limbs and bodies grind.
The wretched father, running to their aid
With pious haste, but vain, they next invade;
Twice round his waist their winding volumes roll’d;
And twice about his gasping throat they fold.
The priest thus doubly chok’d—their crests divide,
And tow’ring o’er his head in triumph ride.
With both his hands he labours at the knots;
His holy fillets the blue venom blots:
His roaring fills the flitting air around.
Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound,
He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies,
And with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies.
Their tasks perform’d, the serpents quit their prey,
And to the tower of Pallas make their way:
Couch’d at her feet, they lie protected there,
By her large buckler and protended spear.
Amazement seizes all: the general cry
Proclaims Laocoön justly doom’d to die,
Whose hand the will of Pallas had withstood,
And dar’d to violate the sacred wood.
All vote to’ admit the steed, that vows be paid,
And incense offer’d, to the’ offended maid.
A spacious breach is made: the town lies bare:
Some hoising-levers, some the wheels, prepare,
And fasten to the horse’s feet: the rest
With cables haul along the’ unwieldy beast.
Each on his fellow for assistance calls:
At length the fatal fabric mounts the walls,
Big with destruction. Boys with chaplets crown’d,
And choirs of virgins, sing and dance around.
Thus rais’d aloft, and then descending down,
It enters o’er our heads, and threats the town.
O sacred city, built by hands divine!
O valiant heroes of the Trojan line!
Four times he struck: as oft the clashing sound
Of arms was heard, and inward groans rebound.
Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate,
We haul along the horse in solemn state;
Then place the dire portent within the tower.
Cassandra cried, and curs’d the’ unhappy hour;
Foretold our fate; but, by the gods’ decree,
All heard, and none believ’d the prophecy.
With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste,
In jollity, the day ordain’d to be the last.
Meantime the rapid heavens roll’d down the light,
And on the shaded ocean rush’d the night:
Our men, secure, nor guards nor centries held;
But easy sleep their weary limbs compell’d.
The Grecians had embark’d their naval powers
From Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores,
Safe under covert of the silent night,
And guided by the’ imperial galley’s light;
When Sinon, favour’d by the partial gods,
Unlock’d the horse, and op’d his dark abodes;
Restor’d to vital air our hidden foes,
Who joyful from their long confinement rose.
DIDO AND AENEAS
Aeneid, Book IV
Virgil
Translated by Sarah Ruden, 2008
The Trojan refugees, led by Aeneas, travelled to Carthage in North Africa, and met its queen, Dido. She had arrived here from Phoenician Tyre after her brother Pygmalion killed her husband Sychaeus because he coveted his gold. Naturally she fell in love with Aeneas and hoped he might stay on with her. He would not. Like many a hero, Aeneas loved her and left her to continue in his quest. The gods were calling him onwards. It was his destiny to found a new home for his people. One cannot help but pity poor Dido, whose melancholy story inspired opera composers from Henry Purcell in the seventeenth century (Dido and Aeneas) to Hector Berlioz in the nineteenth (Les Troyens).
He burned to run—however sweet this land was.
The gods’ august command had terrified him.
But how? What would he dare say to the queen
In her passion? What beginning could he make?
His mind kept darting and his thoughts dividing
Through the whole matter and each baffling question.
After much wavering, this seemed the best plan:
He called Mnestheus and brave Serestus
And Sergestus: they must get the men together
Quietly, rig the fleet, and hide the reason
For the stirring. Meanwhile the good lady Dido
Would not expect such strong love could be broken.
He would approach her, seeking out the best words
At the kindest time. With great alacrity,
These men obeyed in everything he ordered.
But who can fool a lover? Soon the queen—
Even in safety anxious—sensed the trick,
Though no ship moved yet. Evil Rumor told her
The fleet was being fitted for a journey.
She raved all through the town in helpless passion,
Like a Bacchant the biennial mysteries rouse
With shrieks of ritual and brandished emblems
And shouts that summon her to dark Cithaeron.
She faced off with Aeneas and accused him:
“You traitor, did you think that you could hide
Such a great crime, that you could sneak away?
The pledge you made, our passion for each other,
Even your Dido’s brutal death won’t keep you?
Monster, you toil beneath these winter skies
And rush to cross the deep through northern blasts,
For a strange home on someone else’s land?
If ancient Troy still stood today to sail to,
Would you make off across that surging plain?
You run from me? By your pledged hand, my tears
(Since I am stripped of everything but these),
Our union, and the wedding we embarked on—
If I have ever earned it through my kindness,
Have pity on my tottering house and me.
If pleading has a chance still, change your mind.
The Libyan clans and Nomad rulers hate me;
So do the Tyrians, because of you.
You ruined me and my good name—my one path
To heaven. My guest leaves me here to die.
Now I must call you guest instead of husband.
Pygmalion my brother will raze my walls,
Gaetulian Iarbas lead me off, a captive.
If only, though deserting me, you gave me
A child—if I could see a small Aeneas
Play in my palace, with a face like yours—
I wouldn’t feel so cheated and abandoned.”
She spoke; he kept his eyes down, at Jove’s orders,
Struggling to force his feelings from his heart.
Finally, briefly: “Name your favors, list them.
There isn’t one I ever could deny.
Never will I regret Elissa’s memory
While I have memory, while I breathe and move.
A little on the facts, though: don’t imagine
I meant to sneak away, and as for ‘husband,’
I never made a pact of marriage with you.
If fate would let me live the life I chose;
If I had power over my decisions,
I would have stayed at Troy, where I could tend
Belovèd graves; Priam’s high citadel
Would stand; I would restore Troy for the conquered.
Of Lycia drive me into Italy.
My love, my home are there. You are Phoenician,
But love to see your towers in Libya.
How can you then resent us Trojans settling
In Italy—our lawful foreign kingdom?
When the night covers earth with drizzling shadows,
When fiery stars rise, then the troubled ghost
Of my father, dear Anchises, hounds my dreams.
I know I cheat my darling son Ascanius
Of fields fate gave him in his western realm.
From Jove himself a heavenly emissary
(On both our heads, I swear it) brought me orders
Down through the air. In the clear day I saw him
Come through the gate, and these ears heard his voice.
Don’t goad me—and yourself—with these complaints.
Italy is against my will.”
Although her back was turned, she still surveyed
The speaker blankly and distractedly
Over her shoulder. Then her fury broke out.
“Traitor—there is no goddess in your family,
No Dardanus. The sharp-rocked Caucasus
Gave birth to you, Hyrcanian tigers nursed you.
Why pretend now? Is something worse in store?
Was there a sigh for tears of mine? A glance?
Did he give in to tears himself, or pity?
Injustice overwhelms me, which concerns
Great Juno and our father, Saturn’s son.
What bond can hold? I helped a castaway,
I shared my kingdom with him, like a fool.
The ships you lost—I saved your friends from death—
Hot madness drives me. Now the fortune-teller
Apollo, Lycian lotteries, Jove dispatching
Dire orders earthward through the gods’ own mouthpiece—
As if such cares disturbed the gods’ calm heaven!
I will not cling to you or contradict you.
Ride windy waves to chase Italian kingdoms.
I hope that heaven’s conscience has the power
To trap you in the rocks and force your penance
Down your throat, as you call my name. I’ll send
My black flames there. When cold death draws my soul out,
My ghost will hound you. Even among dead souls
In hell, I’ll know when you are finally paying.”
In torment, she broke off and turned away,
And ran out of his sight into the palace.
And there he froze—with much he would have said.
She fainted and was lifted by her maids,
And the bed inside the marble walls received her.
Now the right-thinking hero, though he wished
To give some comfort for so great a grief,