The Book of the Epic / élène Adeline), 1859-1929

The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Book of the Epic, by Helene A. Guerber,
et al


This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net





Title: The Book of the Epic

Author: Helene A. Guerber

Release Date: November 8, 2004  [eBook #13983]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)


***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF THE EPIC***


E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Cathy Smith, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team



THE BOOK OF THE EPIC

The World's Great Epics Told in Story

by

H. A. GUERBER

Author of _Myths of Greece and Rome_, _Myths of Northern Lands_,
_Legends of the Middle Ages_, etc.

With an Introduction by J. Berg Esenwein, Litt. D.

With Sixteen Illustrations from the Masters of Painting

1913







INTRODUCTION


Every now and then in our reading we come suddenly face to face with
_first_ things,--the very elemental sources beyond which no man may
go. There is a distinct satisfaction in dealing with such beginnings,
and, when they are those of literature, the sense of freshness is
nothing short of inspiring. To share the same lofty outlook, to
breathe the same high air with those who first sensed a whole era of
creative thoughts, is the next thing to being the gods' chosen medium
for those primal expressions.

All this is not to say that the epic is the oldest form of literary
expression, but it is the expression of the oldest literary ideas,
for, even when the epic is not at all primitive in form, it deals
essentially with elemental moods and ideals. Epical poetry is poetic
not because it is metrical and conformative to rhythmical
standards,--though it usually is both,--but it is poetry because of
the high sweep of its emotional outlook, the bigness of its thought,
the untamed passion of its language, and the musical flow of its
utterance.

Here, then, we have a veritable source book of the oldest ideas of the
race; but not only that--we are also led into the penetralia of the
earliest thought of many separate nations, for when the epic is
national, it is true to the earliest genius of the people whose spirit
it depicts.

To be sure, much of literature, and particularly the literature of the
epic, is true rather to the tone of a nation than to its literal
history--by which I mean that Achilles was more really a Greek hero
than any Greek who ever lived, because he was the apotheosis of Greek
chivalry, and as such was the expression of the Greeks rather than
merely a Greek. The Iliad and the Odyssey are not merely epics of
Greece--they are Greek.

This is an age of story-telling. Never before has the world turned so
attentively to the shorter forms of fiction. Not only is this true of
the printed short-story, of which some thousands, more or less new,
are issued every year in English, but oral story-telling is taking its
deserved place in the school, the home, and among clubs specially
organized for its cultivation. Teachers and parents must therefore be
increasingly alert, not only to invent new stories, but--this even
chiefly--to familiarize themselves with the oldest stories in the
world.

So it is to such sources as these race-narratives that all
story-telling must come for recurrent inspirations. The setting of
each new story may be tinged with what wild or sophisticated life
soever, yet must the narrator find the big, heart-swelling movements
and passions and thraldoms and conquests and sufferings and elations
of mankind stored in the great epics of the world.

It were a life-labor to become familiar with all of these in their
expressive originals; even in translation it would be a titanic task
to read each one. Therefore how great is our indebtedness to the ripe
scholarship and discreet choice of the author of this "Book of the
Epic" for having brought to us not only the arguments but the very
spirit and flavor of all this noble array. The task has never before
been essayed, and certainly, now that it has been done for the first
time, it is good to know that it has been done surpassingly well.

To find the original story-expression of a nation's myths, its
legends, and its heroic creations is a high joy--a face-to-face
interview with any great first-thing is a big experience; but to come
upon whole scores of undefiled fountains is like multiplying the
Pierian waters.

Even as all the epics herein collected in scenario were epoch-making,
so will the gathering of these side by side prove to be. Literary
judgments must be comparative, and now we may place each epic in
direct comparison with any other, with a resultant light, both
diffused and concentrated, for the benefit of both critics and the
general reader.

The delights of conversation--so nearly, alas, a lost art!--consist
chiefly in the exchange of varied views on single topics. So, when we
note how the few primal story-themes and plot developments of all time
were handled by those who first told the tales in literate form, the
satisfaction is proportionate.

One final word must be said regarding the interest of epical material.
Heretofore a knowledge of the epics--save only a few of the better
known--has been confined to scholars, or, at most, students; but it
may well be hoped that the wide perusal of this book may serve to show
to the general reader how fascinating a store of fiction may be found
in epics which have up till now been known to him only by name.

J. Berg Esenwein




CONTENTS

    Introduction by J. Berg Esenwein

    Foreword

    Greek Epics

    The Iliad

    The Odyssey

    Latin Epics

    The Aeneid

    French Epics

    The Song of Roland

    Aucassin and Nicolette

    Spanish Epics

    The Cid

    Portuguese Epics

    The Lusiad

    Italian Epics

    Divine Comedy

    The Inferno

    Purgatory

    Paradise

    The Orlandos

    Gerusalemme Liberata, or Jerusalem Delivered

    Epics of the British Isles

    Beowulf

    The Arthurian Cycle

    Robin Hood

    The Faerie Queene

    Paradise Lost

    Paradise Regained

    German Epics

    The Nibelungenlied

    Story of the Holy Grail

    Epics of the Netherlands

    Scandinavian Epics

    The Volsunga Saga

    Russian and Finnish Epics

    The Kalevala, or the Land of Heroes

    Epics of Central Europe and of the Balkan Peninsula

    Hebrew and Early Christian Epics

    Arabian and Persian Epics

    The Shah-Nameh, or Epic of Kings

    Indian Epics

    The Ramayana

    The Mahabharata

    Chinese and Japanese Poetry

    American Epics

    Index




ILLUSTRATIONS


  Odin Bids Farewell to Brunhild before He Surrounds Her by a
    Barrier of Fire (Frontispiece)
         From the painting by Th. Pixis

  Oedipus Solving the Sphinx's Riddle
         From the painting by Ingres

  Achilles Disguised as a Girl Testing the Sword in Ulysses' Pack
         From the painting by Battoni

  Circe and Ulysses' Companions Turned into Swine
         By L. Chalon

  Venus Meeting Aeneas and Achates Near Carthage
         From the painting by Cortona

  Roland at Roncevaux
         From the painting by L.F. Guesnet

  The Palace Where Inez de Castro Lived and was Murdered

  Dante Interviewing Hugues Capet
         From an illustration by R. Galli

  Hermione Finds Tancred Wounded
         From the painting by Nicolas Poussin

  The Body of Elaine on its Way to King Arthur's Palace
         By Gustave Dora

  Una and the Red Cross Knight
         From the painting by George Frederick Watts

  The Heralds Summon Lucifer's Host to a Council at Pandemonium
         By Gustave Dore

  The Dead Sigfried Rome Back to Worms
         From the painting by Th. Pixis

  St. John the Evangelist at Patmos Writing the Apocalypse
         From the painting by Correggio

  Sita Soothing Rama to Sleep
         From a Calcutta print

  The Monk Breaks into the Robbers' House to Rescue White Aster
         From a Japanese print





    "It is in this vast, dim region of myth and legend the
    sources of the literature of modern times are hidden; and it
    is only by returning to them, by constant remembrance that
    they drain a vast region of vital human experience, that the
    origin and early direction of that literature can be
    recalled."--Hamilton Wright Mabie.




FOREWORD


Derived from the Greek _epos_, a saying or oracle, the term "epic" is
generally given to some form of heroic narrative wherein tragedy,
comedy, lyric, dirge, and idyl are skilfully blended to form an
immortal work.

"Mythology, which was the interpretation of nature, and legend, which
is the idealization of history," are the main elements of the epic.
Being the "living history of the people," an epic should have "the
breadth and volume of a river." All epics have therefore generally
been "the first-fruits of the earliest experience of nature and life
on the part of imaginative races"; and the real poet has been, as a
rule, the race itself.

There are almost as many definitions of an epic and rules for its
composition as there are nations and poets. For that reason, instead
of selecting only such works as in the writer's opinion can justly
claim the title of epic, each nation's verdict has been accepted,
without question, in regard to its national work of this class, be it
in verse or prose.

The following pages therefore contain almost every variety of epic,
from that which treats of the deity in dignified hexameters, strictly
conforms to the rule "one hero, one time, and one action of many
parts," and has "the massiveness and dignity of sculpture," to the
simplest idylls, such as the Japanese "White Aster," or that exquisite
French mediaeval compound of poetry and prose, "Aucassin et Nicolette."
Not only are both Christian and pagan epics impartially admitted in
this volume, but the representative works of each nation in the epic
field are grouped, according to the languages in which they were
composed.

Many of the ancient epics are so voluminous that even one of them
printed in full would fill twenty-four volumes as large as this. To
give even the barest outline of one or two poems in each language has
therefore required the utmost condensation. So, only the barest
outline figures in these pages, and, although the temptation to quote
many choice passages has been well-nigh irresistible, space has
precluded all save the scantiest quotations.

The main object of this volume consists in outlining clearly and
briefly, for the use of young students or of the busy general reader,
the principal examples of the time-honored stories which have inspired
our greatest poets and supplied endless material to painters,
sculptors, and musicians ever since art began.




THE BOOK OF THE EPIC




GREEK EPICS


The greatest of all the world's epics, the Iliad and the Odyssey, are
attributed to Homer, or Melesigenes, who is said to have lived some
time between 1050 and 850 B.C. Ever since the second century before
Christ, however, the question whether Homer is the originator of the
poems, or whether, like the Rhapsodists, he merely recited extant
verses, has been hotly disputed.

The events upon which the Iliad is based took place some time before
1100 B.C., and we are told the poems of Homer were collected and
committed to writing by Pisistratus during the age of Epic Poetry, or
second age of Greek literature, which ends 600 B.C.

It stands to reason that the Iliad must have been inspired by or at
least based upon previous poems, since such perfection is not achieved
at a single bound. Besides, we are aware of the existence of many
shorter Greek epics, which have either been entirely lost or of which
we now possess only fragments.

A number of these ancient epics form what is termed the Trojan Cycle,
because all relate in some way to the War of Troy. Among them is the
Cypria, in eleven books, by Stasimus of Cyprus (or by Arctinus of
Miletus), wherein is related Jupiter's frustrated wooing of Thetis,
her marriage with Peleus, the episode of the golden apple, the
judgment of Paris, the kidnapping of Helen, the mustering of the Greek
forces, and the main events of the first nine years of the Trojan War.
The Iliad (of which a synopsis is given) follows this epic, taking up
the story where the wrath of Achilles is aroused and ending it with
the funeral of Hector.

This, however, does not conclude the story of the Trojan War, which is
resumed in the "Aethiopia," in five books, by Arctinus of Miletus.
After describing the arrival of Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, to
aid the Trojans, the poet relates her death at the hand of Achilles,
who, in his turn, is slain by Apollo and Paris. This epic concludes
with the famous dispute between Ajax and Ulysses for the possession of
Achilles' armor.

The Little Iliad, whose authorship is ascribed to sundry poets,
including Homer, next describes the madness and death of Ajax, the
arrival of Philoctetes with the arrows of Hercules, the death of
Paris, the purloining of the Palladium, the stratagem of the wooden
horse, and the death of Priam.

In the Ilion Persis, or Sack of Troy, by Arctinus, in two books, we
find the Trojans hesitating whether to convey the wooden steed into
their city, and discover the immortal tales of the traitor Sinon and
that of Laocoon. We then behold the taking and sacking of the city,
with the massacre of the men and the carrying off into captivity of
the women.

In the Nostroi, or Homeward Voyage, by Agias of Troezene, the Atridae
differ in opinion; so, while Agamemnon delays his departure to offer
propitiatory sacrifices, Menelaus sets sail for Egypt, where he is
detained. This poem also contains the narrative of Agamemnon's return,
of his assassination, and of the way in which his death was avenged by
his son Orestes.

Next in sequence of events comes the Odyssey of Homer (of which a
complete synopsis follows), and then the Telegonia of Eugammon of
Cyrene, in two books. This describes how, after the burial of the
suitors, Ulysses renews his adventures, and visits Thesprotia, where
he marries and leaves a son. We also have his death, a battle between
two of his sons, and the marriage of Telemachus and Circe, as well as
that of the widowed Penelope to Telegonus, one of Ulysses'
descendants.

Another sequel, or addition to the Odyssey, is found in the
Telemachia, also a Greek poem, as well as in a far more modern work,
the French classic, Telemaque, written by Fenelon for his pupil the
Dauphin, in the age of Louis XIV.

Another great series of Greek poems is the Theban Cycle, which
comprises the Thebais, by some unknown author, wherein is related in
full the story of Oedipus, that of the Seven Kings before Thebes, and
the doings of the Epigoni.

There exist also cyclic poems in regard to the labors of Heracles,
among others one called Oechalia, which has proved a priceless mine
for poets, dramatists, painters, and sculptors.[1]

In the Alexandra by Lycophron (270 B.C.), and in a similar poem by
Quintus Smyrnaeus, in fourteen books, we find tedious sequels to the
Iliad, wherein Alexander is represented as a descendant of Achilles.
Indeed, the life and death of Alexander the Great are also the source
of innumerable epics, as well as of romances in Greek, Latin, French,
German, and English. The majority of these are based upon the epic of
Callisthenes, 110 A.D., wherein an attempt was made to prove that
Alexander descended directly from the Egyptian god Jupiter Ammon or,
at least, from his priest Nectanebus.

Besides being told in innumerable Greek versions, the tale of Troy has
frequently been repeated in Latin, and it enjoyed immense popularity
all throughout Europe in the Middle Ages. It was, however, most
beloved in France, where Benoit de St. Maur's interminable "Roman de
Troie," as well as his "Roman d'Alexandre," greatly delighted the
lords and ladies of his time.

Besides the works based on the story of Troy or on the adventures of
Alexander, we have in Greek the Theogony of Hesiod in some 1022 lines,
a miniature Greek mythology, giving the story of the origin and the
doings of the Greek gods, as well as the Greek theory in regard to the
creation of the world.

Among later Greek works we must also note the Shield of Heracles and
the Eoiae or Catalogue of the Boetian heroines who gave birth to
demi-gods or heroes.

In 194 B.C. Apollonius Rhodius at Alexandria wrote the Argonautica, in
four books, wherein he relates the adventures of Jason in quest of the
golden fleece. This epic was received so coldly that the poet, in
disgust, withdrew to Rhodes, where, having remodelled his work, he
obtained immense applause.

The principal burlesque epic in Greek, the Bactrachomyomachia, or
Battle of Frogs and Mice, is attributed to Homer, but only some 300
lines of this work remain, showing what it may have been.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: A detailed account of Oedipus, Heracles, the Argonauts,
and the "War of Troy" is given in the author's "Myths of Greece and
Rome."]




THE ILIAD


_Introduction._ Jupiter, king of the gods, refrained from an alliance
with Thetis, a sea divinity, because he was told her son would be
greater than his father. To console her, however, he decreed that all
the gods should attend her nuptials with Peleus, King of Thessaly. At
this wedding banquet the Goddess of Discord produced a golden apple,
inscribed "To the fairest," which Juno, Minerva, and Venus claimed.

Because the gods refused to act as umpires in this quarrel, Paris, son
of the King of Troy, was chosen. As an oracle had predicted before his
birth that he would cause the ruin of his city, Paris was abandoned on
a mountain to perish, but was rescued by kindly shepherds.

On hearing Juno offer him worldly power, Minerva boundless wisdom, and
Venus the most beautiful wife in the world, Paris bestowed the prize
of beauty upon Venus. She, therefore, bade him return to Troy, where
his family was ready to welcome him, and sail thence to Greece to
kidnap Helen, daughter of Jupiter and Leda and wife of Menelaus, King
of Sparta. So potent were this lady's charms that her step-father had
made all her suitors swear never to carry her away from her husband,
and to aid in her recovery should she ever be kidnapped.

Shortly after his arrival at Sparta and during a brief absence of
its king, Paris induced Helen to elope with him. On his return the
outraged husband summoned the suitors to redeem their pledge, and
collected a huge force at Aulis, where Agamemnon his brother became
leader of the expedition. Such was the popularity of this war that
even heroes who had taken no oath were anxious to make part of the
punitive expedition, the most famous of these warriors being Achilles,
son of Thetis and Peleus.

After many adventures the Greeks, landing on the shores of Asia, began
besieging the city, from whose ramparts Helen watched her husband and
his allies measure their strength against the Trojans. Such was the
bravery displayed on both sides that the war raged nine years without
any decisive advantage being obtained. At the end of this period,
during a raid, the Greeks secured two female captives, which were
awarded to Agamemnon and to Achilles in recognition of past services.

Although the above events are treated in sundry other Greek poems and
epics,--which no longer exist entire, but form part of a cycle,--"The
Iliad," accredited to Homer, takes up the story at this point, and
relates the wrath of Achilles, together with the happenings of some
fifty days in the ninth year.

_Book I._ After invoking the Muse to aid him sing the wrath of
Achilles, the poet relates how Apollo's priest came in person to the
Greek camp to ransom his captive daughter, only to be treated with
contumely by Agamemnon. In his indignation this priest besought Apollo
to send down a plague to decimate the foe's forces, and the Greeks
soon learned from their oracles that its ravages would not cease until
the maiden was restored to her father.

  Nor will the god's awaken'd fury cease,
  But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase,
  Till the great king, without a ransom paid,
  To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid.[2]

In a formal council Agamemnon is therefore asked to relinquish his
captive, but violently declares that he will do so only in case he
receives Achilles' slave. This insolent claim so infuriates the young
hero that he is about to draw his sword, when Minerva, unseen by the
rest, bids him hold his hand, and state that should Agamemnon's threat
be carried out he will withdraw from the war.

Although the aged Nestor employs all his honeyed eloquence to soothe
this quarrel, both chiefs angrily withdraw, Agamemnon to send his
captive back to her father, and Achilles to sulk in his tent.

It is while he is thus engaged that Agamemnon's heralds appear and
lead away his captive. Mindful of Minerva's injunctions, Achilles
allows her to depart, but registers a solemn oath that, even were the
Greeks to perish, he will lend them no aid. Then, strolling down to
the shore, he summons his mother from the watery deep, and implores
her to use her influence to avenge his wrongs. Knowing his life will
prove short though glorious, Thetis promises to visit Jupiter on
Olympus in his behalf. There she wins from the Father of the Gods a
promise that the Greeks will suffer defeat as long as her son does not
fight in their ranks,--a promise confirmed by his divine nod. This,
however, arouses the wrath and jealousy of Juno, whom Jupiter is
compelled to chide so severely that peace and harmony are restored in
Olympus only when Vulcan, acting as cup-bearer, rouses the
inextinguishable laughter of the gods by his awkward limp.

_Book II._ That night, while all are sleeping, Zeus sends a deceptive
dream to Agamemnon to suggest the moment has come to attack Troy. At
dawn, therefore, Agamemnon calls an assembly, and the chiefs decide to
test the mettle of the Greeks by ordering a return home, and, in the
midst of these preparations, summoning the men to fight.

These signs of imminent departure incense Juno and Minerva, who, ever
since the golden apple was bestowed upon Venus, are sworn foes of
Paris and Troy. In disguise, therefore, Minerva urges Ulysses,
wiliest of the Greeks, to silence the clown Thersites, and admonish
his companions that if they return home empty-handed they will be
disgraced. Only too pleased, Ulysses reminds his countrymen how, just
before they left home, a serpent crawled from beneath the altar and
devoured eight young sparrows and the mother who tried to defend them,
adding that this was an omen that for nine years they would vainly
besiege Troy but would triumph in the tenth.

His eloquent reminder, reinforced by patriotic speeches from Nestor
and Agamemnon, determines the Greeks to attempt a final attack upon
Troy. So, with the speed and destructive fury of a furious fire, the
Greek army, whose forces and leaders are all named, sweeps on toward
Troy, where Iris has flown to warn the Trojans of their approach.

  As on some mountain, through the lofty grove
  The crackling flames ascend and blaze above;
  The fires expanding, as the winds arise,
  Shoot their long beams and kindle half the skies:
  So from the polish'd arms and brazen shields
  A gleamy splendor flash'd along the fields.

It is in the form of one of Priam's sons that this divinity enters the
palace, where, as soon as Hector hears the news, he musters his
warriors, most conspicuous among whom are his brother Paris, and
Aeneas, son of Venus and Anchises.

_Book III._ Both armies now advance toward each other, the Trojans
uttering shrill cries like migratory cranes, while the Greeks maintain
an impressive silence. When near enough to recognize his wife's
seducer, Menelaus rushes forward to attack Paris, who, terrified,
takes refuge in the ranks of the Trojan host. So cowardly a retreat,
however, causes Hector to express the bitter wish that his brother had
died before bringing disgrace upon Troy. Although conscious of
deserving reproof, Paris, after reminding his brother all men are not
constituted alike, offers to redeem his honor by fighting Menelaus,
provided Helen and her treasures are awarded to the victor. This
proposal proves so welcome, that Hector checks the advance of his men
and proposes this duel to the Greeks, who accept his terms, provided
Priam will swear in person to the treaty.

Meanwhile Iris, in guise of a princess, has entered the Trojan palace
and bidden Helen hasten to the ramparts to see the two armies--instead
of fighting--offering sacrifices as a preliminary to the duel, of
which she is to be the prize. Donning a veil and summoning her
attendants, Helen seeks the place whence Priam and his ancient
counsellors gaze down upon the plain. On beholding her, even these
aged men admit the two nations are excusable for so savagely disputing
her possession, while Priam, with fatherly tact, ascribes the war to
the gods alone.

  These, when the Spartan queen approach'd the tower,
  In secret own'd resistless beauty's power:
  They cried, "No wonder such celestial charms
  For nine long years have set the world in arms;
  What winning grace! what majestic mien!
  She moves a goddess and she looks a queen!"

Then he invites Helen to sit beside him and name the Greeks he points
out, among whom she recognizes, with bitter shame, her brother-in-law
Agamemnon, Ulysses the wily, and Ajax the bulwark of Greece. Then,
while she is vainly seeking the forms of her twin brothers, messengers
summon Priam down-to the plain to swear to the treaty, a task he has
no sooner performed than he drives back to Troy, leaving Hector and
Ulysses to measure out the duelling ground and to settle by lot which
champion shall strike first.

Fate having favored Paris, he advances in brilliant array, and soon
contrives to shatter Menelaus' sword. Thus deprived of a weapon,
Menelaus boldly grasps his adversary by his plumed helmet and drags
him away, until, seeing her protege in danger, Venus breaks the
fastenings of his helmet, which alone remains in Menelaus' hands. Then
she spirits Paris back to the Trojan palace, where she leaves him
resting on a couch, and hurries off, in the guise of an old crone, to
twitch Helen's veil, whispering that Paris awaits her at home.
Recognizing the goddess in spite of her disguise, Helen reproaches
her, declaring she has no desire ever to see Paris again, but Venus,
awing Helen into submission, leads her back to the palace. There
Paris, after artfully ascribing Menelaus' triumph to Minerva's aid,
proceeds to woo Helen anew. Meantime Menelaus vainly ranges to and
fro, seeking his foe and hotly accusing the Trojans of screening him,
while Agamemnon clamors for the immediate surrender of Helen, saving
the Greeks have won.

_Book IV._ The gods on Mount Olympus, who have witnessed all, now
taunt each other with abetting the Trojans or Greeks, as the case may
be. After this quarrel has raged some time, Jupiter bids Minerva go
down, and violate the truce; so, in the guise of a warrior, she
prompts a Trojan archer to aim at Menelaus a dart which produces a
nominal wound. This is enough, however, to excite Agamemnon to avenge
the broken treaty. A moment later the Greek phalanx advances, urged on
by Minerva, while the Trojans, equally inspired by Mars, rush to meet
them with similar fury. Streams of blood now flow, the earth trembles
beneath the crash of falling warriors, and the roll of war chariots is
like thunder. Although it seems for a while as if the Greeks are
gaining the advantage, Apollo spurs the Trojans to new efforts by
reminding them that Achilles, their most dreaded foe, is absent.

_Book V._ Seeing the battle well under way, Minerva now drags Mars out
of the fray, suggesting that mortals settle their quarrel unaided.
Countless duels now occur, many lives are lost, and sundry miracles
are performed. Diomedes, for instance, being instantly healed of a
grievous wound by Minerva, plunges back into the fray and fights until
Aeneas bids an archer check his destructive career. But this man is
slain before he can obey, and Aeneas himself would have been killed by
Diomedes had not Venus snatched him away from the battle-field. While
she does this, Diomedes wounds her in the hand, causing her to drop
her son, whom Apollo rescues, while she hastens off to obtain from
Mars the loan of his chariot, wherein to drive back to Olympus. There,
on her mother's breast, Venus sobs out the tale of her fright, and,
when healed, is sarcastically advised to leave fighting to the other
gods and busy herself only with the pleasures of love.

  The sire of gods and men superior smiled,
  And, calling Venus, thus address'd his child:
  "Not these, O daughter, are thy proper cares,
  Thee milder arts befit, and softer wars;
  Sweet smiles are thine, and kind endearing charms;
  To Mars and Pallas leave the deeds of arms."

Having snatched Aeneas out of danger, Apollo conveys him to Pergamus
to be healed, leaving on the battle-field in his stead a phantom to
represent him. Then Apollo challenges Mars to avenge Venus' wound, and
the fray which ensues becomes so bloody that "Homeric battle" has been
ever since the accepted term for fierce fighting. It is because Mars
and Bellona protect Hector that the Trojans now gain some advantage,
seeing which, Juno and Minerva hasten to the rescue of the Greeks.
Arriving on the battle-field, Juno, assuming the form of Stentor
(whose brazen tones have become proverbial), directs the Greek
onslaught. Meanwhile, instigated by Minerva, Diomedes attacks Mars,
who, receiving a wound, emits such a roar of pain that both armies
shudder. Then he too is miraculously conveyed to Olympus, where, after
exhibiting his wound, he denounces Minerva who caused it. But,
although Jupiter sternly rebukes his son, he takes such prompt
measures to relieve his suffering, that Mars is soon seated at the
Olympian board, where before long he is joined by Juno and Minerva.

_Book VI._ Meanwhile the battle rages, and in the midst of broken
chariots, flying steeds, and clouds of dust, we descry Menelaus and
Agamemnon doing wonders and hear Nestor cheering on the Greeks. The
Trojans are about to yield before their onslaught, when a warrior
warns Hector, and the just returned Aeneas, of their dire peril.
After conferring hastily with his friends, Hector returns to Troy to
direct the women to implore Minerva's favor, while Aeneas goes to
support their men. At the Scaean Gate, Hector meets the mothers,
wives, and daughters of the combatants, who, at his suggestion, gladly
prepare costly offerings to be borne to Minerva's temple in solemn
procession.

Then Hector himself rushes to the palace, where, refusing all
refreshment, he goes in quest of Paris, whom he finds in the company
of Helen and her maids, idly polishing his armor. Indignantly Hector
informs his brother the Trojans are perishing without the walls in
defence of the quarrel he kindled, but which he is too cowardly to
uphold! Although admitting he deserves reproaches, Paris declares he
is about to return to the battle-field, for Helen has just rekindled
all his ardor. Seeing Hector does not answer, Helen timidly expresses
her regret at having caused these woes, bitterly wishing fate had
bound her to a man noble enough to feel and resent an insult. With a
curt recommendation to send Paris after him as soon as possible,
Hector hastens off to his own dwelling, for he longs to embrace his
wife and son, perhaps for the last time.

There he finds none but the servants at home, who inform him that his
wife has gone to the watch-tower, whither he now hastens. The meeting
between Hector and Andromache, her tender reproaches at the risks he
runs, and her passionate reminder that since Achilles deprived her of
her kin he is her sole protector, form the most touching passage in
the Iliad. Gently reminding her he must go where honor calls, and
sadly admitting he is haunted by visions of fallen Troy and of her
plight as a captive, Hector adds that to protect her from such a fate
he must fight. But when he holds out his arms to his child, the little
one, terrified by the plumes on his helmet, refuses to come to him
until he lays it aside. Having embraced his infant son, Hector
fervently prays he may grow up to defend the Trojans, ere he hands
him back to Andromache, from whom he also takes tender leave.

  Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy
  Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.
  The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast,
  Seared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.
  With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled
  And Hector hasted to relieve his child,
  The glittering terrors from his brows unbound,
  And placed the beaming helmet on the ground;
  Then kiss'd the child, and, lifting high in air,
  Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's prayer:
  "O thou! whose glory fills the ethereal throne,
  And all ye deathless powers! protect my son!
  Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
  To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,
  Against his country's foes the war to wage,
  And rise the Hector of the future age!
  So when triumphant from successful toils
  Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,
  Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim,
  And say, 'This chief transcends his father's fame:'
  While pleased amidst the general shouts of Troy,
  His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy."

Then, resuming his helmet, Hector drives out of the Scaean Gate and is
joined by his brother Paris, now full of ambition to fight.

_Book VII._ Joyfully the Trojans hail the arrival of both brothers,
before whose fierce onslaught the Greeks soon fall back in their turn.
Meanwhile Minerva and Apollo, siding with opposite forces, decide to
inspire the Trojans to challenge the Greeks to a single fight, and,
after doing this, perch upon a tree, in the guise of vultures, to
watch the result. Calling for a suspension of hostilities, Hector
dares any Greek to fight him, stipulating that the arms of the
vanquished shall be the victor's prize, but that his remains shall
receive honorable burial. Conscious that none of their warriors--save
Achilles--match Hector, the Greeks at first hesitate, but, among the
nine who finally volunteer, Ajax is chosen by lot to be the Greek
champion. Overjoyed at this opportunity to distinguish himself, Ajax
advances with boastful confidence to meet Hector, who, undismayed by
his size and truculent speeches, enters into the fight. The duel is,
however, not fought to a finish, for the heralds interrupt it at
nightfall, pronouncing the champions equal in strength and skill and
postponing its issue until the morrow.

In his elation Ajax offers thanks to Jupiter before attending a
banquet, where Nestor prudently advises his friends to fortify their
camp by erecting earthworks. While the Greeks are feasting, the
Trojans debate whether it would not be wise to apologize for the
broken truce and restore Helen and her treasures to the Greeks. But
this suggestion is so angrily rejected by Paris that Priam suggests
they propose instead an armistice of sufficient length to enable both
parties to bury their dead.

At dawn, therefore, Trojan heralds visit Agamemnon's tent to propose a
truce, and offer any indemnification save Helen's return. But,
although the Greeks consent to an armistice, they feel so confident of
success that they refuse all offers of indemnity. Both parties now
bury their dead, a sight witnessed by the gods, who, gazing down from
Olympus, become aware of the earthen ramparts .erected during the
night to protect the Greek fleet. This sight prompts Neptune to
express jealous fears lest these may eclipse the walls he built around
Troy, but Jupiter pacifies him by assuring him he can easily bury them
beneath the sand as soon as the war is over.

_Book VIII._ At daybreak Jupiter summons the gods, forbidding them to
lend aid to either party, under penalty of perpetual imprisonment in
Tartarus. Having decreed this, Jupiter betakes himself to Mount Ida,
whence he proposes to watch all that is going on. It is there, at
noon, that he takes out his golden balances, and places in opposite
scales the fates of Troy and Greece. A moment later a loud clap of
thunder proclaims the day's advantage will remain with the Trojans,
whose leader, Hector, is protected by Jupiter's thunder-bolts each
time that Diomedes attacks him. This manifestation of divine favor
strikes terror in the hearts of the Greeks, but encourages the
Trojans. They, therefore, hotly pursue the Greeks to their ramparts,
which Hector urges them to scale when the foe seeks refuge behind
them.

Seeing the peril of the Greeks, Juno urges Agamemnon to visit Ulysses'
tent, and there proclaim, in such loud tones that Achilles cannot fail
to overhear him, that their vessels will soon be in flames. Then,
fearing for his companions, Agamemnon prays so fervently for aid that
an eagle flies over the camp and drops a lamb upon the Greek altar.
This omen of good fortune renews the courage of the Greeks, and
stimulates the archer Teucer to cause new havoc in the Trojan ranks
with his unfailing arrows, until Hector hurls a rock, which lays him
low, and rushes into the Greek camp.

Full of anxiety for their proteges, Juno and Minerva forget Jupiter's
injunctions, and are about to hurry off to their rescue, when the king
of the gods bids them stop, assuring them the Greeks will suffer
defeat, until, Patroclus having fallen, Achilles arises to avenge him.
When the setting sun signals the close of the day's fight, although
the Greeks are still in possession of their tents, the Trojans bivouac
in the plain, just outside the trench, to prevent their escape.

_Book IX._ Such anxiety reigns in the Greek camp that Agamemnon holds
a council in his tent. There, almost choked by tears, he declares no
alternative remains save flight, but Diomedes so hotly contradicts him
that the Greeks decide to remain. At Nestor's suggestion, Agamemnon
then tries to atone for his insult to Achilles by gifts and apologies,
instructing the bearers to promise the return of the captive and to
offer an alliance with one of his daughters, if Achilles will only
come to their aid. Wending their way through the moonlit camp, these
emissaries find Achilles idly listening to Patroclus' music. After
delivering the message, Ulysses makes an eloquent appeal in behalf of
his countrymen, but Achilles coldly rejoins the Greeks will have to
defend themselves as he is about to depart. Such is his resentment
that he refuses to forgive Agamemnon, although his aged tutor urges
him to be brave enough to conquer himself. Most reluctantly therefore
Ulysses and Ajax return, and, although sleep hovers over Achilles'
tent, dismay reigns within that of Agamemnon, until Diomedes vows they
will yet prove they do not need Achilles' aid.

_Book X._ Exhausted by the day's efforts, most of the Greeks have
fallen asleep, when Agamemnon, after conversing for a while with
Menelaus, arouses Nestor, Ulysses, and Diomedes to inspect their
posts. It is in the course of these rounds that Nestor suggests one of
their number steal into the Trojan camp to discover their plans. This
suggestion is eagerly seized by Diomedes and Ulysses, who, on their
way to the enemy's camp, encounter Dolon, a Trojan spy, who is coming
to find out what they are planning. Crouching among the corpses,
Diomedes and Ulysses capture this man, from whom they wring all the
information they require, together with exact directions to find the
steeds of Rhesus. To secure this prize, Ulysses and Diomedes steal
into the Trojan camp, where, after slaying a few sleepers, they
capture the steeds and escape in safety, thanks to Minerva's aid. On
seeing his friends emerge from the gloom with so glorious a prize,
Nestor, who has been anxiously watching, expresses great joy, and
invites his companions to refresh themselves after their exertions.

  Old Nestor first perceived the approaching sound,
  Bespeaking thus the Grecian peers around:
  "Methinks the noise of trampling steeds I hear,
  Thickening this way, and gathering on my ear;
  Perhaps some horses of the Trojan breed
  (So may, ye gods! my pious hopes succeed)
  The great Tydides and Ulysses bear,
  Return'd triumphant with this prize of war."

_Book XI._ At daybreak Jupiter sends Discord to waken the Greeks and,
when they appear in battle array, hurls a thunder-bolt as a signal for
the fight to begin. Stimulated by Hector's ardor, the Trojans now
pounce like ravening wolves upon their foes, but, in spite of their
courage, are driven back almost to the Scean Gate. To encourage
Hector, however, Jupiter warns him, that once Agamemnon is wounded the
tide will turn. Soon after, a javelin strikes Agamemnon, and Hector,
seeing him borne to his tent, urges his men on with new vehemence
until he forces back the Greeks in his turn. In the ensuing medley
both Diomedes and Ulysses are wounded, and Achilles, moodily lounging
on the prow of his ship, sees Nestor bring them into camp. Wishing to
ascertain who has been hurt, he sends Patroclus to find out. Thus this
warrior learns how many of the Greeks are wounded, and is persuaded to
try to induce Achilles to assist their countrymen, or at least to
allow his friend to lead his forces to their rescue.

_Book XII._ Although the Trojans are now fiercely trying to enter the
Greek camp, their efforts are baffled until Hector, dismounting from
his chariot, attacks the mighty wall which the gods are to level as
soon as the war is over. Thanks to his efforts, its gates are battered
in, and the Trojans pour into the Greek camp, where many duels occur,
and where countless warriors are slain on both sides.

_Book XIII._ Having effected an entrance into the camp, the Trojans
rush forward to set fire to the ships, hoping thus to prevent the
escape of their foes. Perceiving the peril of the Greeks, Neptune, in
the guise of a priest, urges them to stand fast.

  Then with his sceptre, that the deep controls,
  He touched the chiefs and steel'd their manly souls:
  Strength, not their own, the touch divine imparts,
  Prompts their light limbs, and swells their daring hearts.
  Then, as a falcon from the rocky height,
  Her quarry seen, impetuous at the sight,
  Forth-springing instant, darts herself from high,
  Shoots on the wing, and skims along the sky:
  Such, and so swift, the power of ocean flew;
  The wide horizon shut him from their view.

But the advantage does not remain continuously with the Trojans, for
Hector is soon beaten back, and, seeing his people's peril, again
hotly reviles Paris, whose crime has entailed all this bloodshed.

_Book XIV._ In the midst of the gloom caused by a new irruption of the
Trojans in the Greek camp, Nestor hastens to the spot where the
wounded Agamemnon, Ulysses, and Diomedes are watching the fight. But,
although Agamemnon renews his former suggestion that they depart,
Diomedes and Ulysses, scorning it, prepare to return to the fray, in
spite of their wounds. This renewal of Greek courage pleases Juno,
who, fearing Jupiter will again interfere in behalf of the Trojans,
proceeds by coquettish wiles and with the aid of the God of Sleep to
lull him into a state of forgetfulness. This feat accomplished, Juno
sends Sleep to urge the Greeks to make the most of this respite, and,
thus stimulated, they fight on, until Ajax hurls a rock which lays
Hector low. But, before he and his companions can secure this victim,
Hector is rescued by his men, who speedily convey him to the river,
where plentiful bathing soon restores his senses.

_Book XV._ Thus temporarily deprived of a leader, the Trojans fall
back to the place where they left their chariots. They are just
mounting in confusion, in order to flee, when Jupiter, rousing from
his nap, and realizing how he has been tricked, discharges his wrath
upon Juno's head. Hearing her attribute the blame to Neptune, Jupiter
wrathfully orders his brother back to his realm and despatches Apollo
to cure Hector. Then he reiterates that the Greeks shall be worsted
until Patroclus, wearing Achilles' armor, takes part in the fray. He
adds that, after slaying his son Sarpedon, this hero will succumb
beneath Hector's sword, and that, to avenge Patroclus' death, Achilles
will slay Hector and thus insure the fall of Troy.

Once more the Trojans drive back the Greeks, who would have given up
in despair had not Jupiter encouraged them by a clap of thunder.
Hearing the Trojans again burst into camp, Patroclus rushes out of
Achilles' tent and sees Teucer winging one deadly arrow after another
among the foe. But, in spite of his skill, and although Ajax fights
like a lion at bay, Hector and the Trojans press fiercely forward,
torch in hand, to fire the Greek ships.

_Book XVI._ Appalled by this sight, Patroclus rushes back to Achilles,
and, after vainly urging him to fight, persuades him to lend him his
armor, chariot, and men. But, even while furthering his friend's
departure, Achilles charges him neither to slay Hector nor take Troy,
as he wishes to reserve that double honor for himself. It is just as
the first vessels are enveloped in flames that Patroclus rushes to the
rescue of his countrymen. At the sight of a warrior whom they mistake
for Achilles, and at this influx of fresh troops, the Trojans beat a
retreat, and the Greeks, fired with new courage, pursue them across
the plain and to the very gates of Troy. Such is Patroclus' ardor
that, forgetting Achilles' injunctions, he is about to attack Hector,
when Sarpedon challenges him to a duel. Knowing this fight will prove
fatal to his beloved son, Jupiter causes a bloody dew to fall upon
earth, and despatches Sleep and Death to take charge of his remains,
which they are to convey first to Olympus to receive a fatherly kiss
and then to Lycia for burial. No sooner is Sarpedon slain than a grim
fight ensues over his spoil and remains, but while the Greeks secure
his armor, his corpse is borne away by Apollo, who, after purifying it
from all battle soil, entrusts it to Sleep and Death.

Meantime, renewing his pursuit of the Trojans, Patroclus is about to
scale the walls of Troy, when Apollo reminds him the city is not to
fall a prey either to him or to his friend. Then, in the midst of a
duel in which Patroclus engages with Hector, Apollo snatches the
helmet off the Greek hero's head, leaving him thus exposed to his
foe's deadly blows. The dying Patroclus, therefore, declares that had
not the gods betrayed him he would have triumphed, and predicts that
Achilles will avenge his death. Meantime, pleased with having slain so
redoubtable a foe, Hector makes a dash to secure Achilles' chariot and
horses, but fails because the driver (Automedon) speeds away.

_Book XVII._ On seeing Patroclus fall, Menelaus rushes forward to
defend his remains and rescue Achilles' armor from the foe. Warned of
this move, Hector abandons the vain pursuit of Achilles' chariot, and
returns to claim his spoil. He has barely secured it when Menelaus and
Ajax attack him, and a mad battle takes place over Patroclus' remains,
while Achilles' horses weep for the beloved youth who so often
caressed them.

_Book XVIII._ No sooner is the death of Patroclus known in Achilles'
tent than the female captives wail, while the hero groans so loudly
that Thetis hears him. Rising from the depths of the sea, she hurries
to his side, regretting his brief life should be marred by so much
sorrow. Then, hearing him swear to avenge his friend, she entreats him
to wait until the morrow, so she can procure him armor from Vulcan.
Having obtained this promise, she hastens off to visit the god and
bespeak his aid in behalf of her son.

Meanwhile the Greeks, who are trying to bear away Patroclus' remains,
are so hard pressed by the Trojans that Juno sends word Achilles must
interfere. Hampered by a lack of armor and by the promise to his
mother, the hero ventures only as far as the trench, where, however,
he utters so threatening a war-cry that the Trojans flee, and the
Greeks are thus able to bring Patroclus' body safely into camp, just
as the sun sets and the day's fighting ends.

Having unharnessed their steeds, the Trojans assemble to consider
whether it will not be best to retreat within their walls, for they
know Achilles will appear on the morrow to avenge Patroclus. But
Hector so vehemently insists that they maintain the advantage gained,
that they camp on the plain, where Jupiter predicts his wife's wish
will be granted and her favorite Achilles win great glory. It is in
the course of that night that Thetis visits Vulcan's forge and in the
attitude of a suppliant implores the divine blacksmith to make an
armor for her son. Not only does Vulcan consent, but hurries off to
his anvil, where he and Cyclops labor to such good purpose that a
superb suit of armor is ready by dawn.

_Book XIX._ Aurora has barely risen from the bosom of the sea, when
Thetis enters her son's tent, bearing these wonderful weapons. Finding
him still weeping over his friend's remains, Thetis urges him to rouse
himself and fight. At the sight of the armor she brings, Achilles'
ardor is so kindled that he proclaims he will avenge his friend.
Pleased to think the Greeks will have the help of this champion,
Agamemnon humbly apologizes for the past, proffering gifts and a
feast, which latter Achilles refuses to attend as long as Patroclus is
unavenged. Before entering into battle, however, our hero implores his
divine steeds to do their best, only to be warned by one of them that,
although they will save him to-day, the time is fast coming when he
too will fall victim to the anger of the gods. Undaunted by this
prophecy, Achilles jumps into his chariot and sets out for the fray,
uttering his blood-curdling war-cry.

  With unabated rage--"So let it be!
  Portents and prodigies are lost on me.
  I know my fate: to die, to see no more
  My much-loved parents and my native shore--
  Enough--when heaven ordains, I sink in night:
  Now perish Troy!" He said, and rush'd to fight.

_Book XX._ The gods, assembled on Mount Olympus, are told by Jupiter
that, whereas he intends merely to witness the fight, they may all
take part in it, provided they remember Achilles is to reap the main
honors of the day. Hearing this, the gods dart off to side with Troy
and Greece, as their inclinations prompt, and thus take an active part
in the battle, for which Jupiter gives the signal by launching a
thunder-bolt. Not only do the gods fight against each other on this
day, but use all their efforts to second their favorites in every way.
Before long, however, it becomes so evident they are merely delaying
the inevitable issue, that they agree to withdraw from the field,
leaving mortals to settle the matter themselves.

There are vivid descriptions of sundry encounters, including one
between Achilles and Aeneas, wherein both heroes indulge in boastful
speeches before coming to blows. At one time, when Aeneas is about to
get the worst of it, the gods, knowing he is reserved for greater
things, snatch him from the battle-field and convey him to a place of
safety. Thus miraculously deprived of his antagonist, Achilles resumes
his quest for Hector, who has hitherto been avoiding him, but who,
seeing one of his brothers fall beneath the Greek's blows, meets him
bravely. But, as the moment of Hector's death has not yet come, the
gods separate these two fighters, although their hatred is such that,
whenever they catch a glimpse of each other, they rush forward to
renew the fight.

_Book XXI._ Fleeing before the Greeks, the Trojans reach the Xanthus
River, into which Achilles plunges after them, and where, after
killing hosts of victims, he secures a dozen prisoners to sacrifice on
his friend's tomb. Hearing Achilles refuse mercy to a young Trojan,
and enraged because he has choked his bed with corpses, the River God
suddenly rises to chide him, but Achilles is now in so defiant a mood
that he is ready to fight even the gods themselves. In spite of his
courage he would, however, have been drowned, had not Neptune and
Minerva come to his rescue, fighting the waters with fire, and
assuring him Hector will soon lie lifeless at his feet.

  He ceased; wide conflagration blazing round;
  The bubbled waters yield a hissing sound.
  As when the flames beneath a cauldron rise,
  To melt the fat of some rich sacrifice,
  Amid the fierce embrace of circling fires
  The waters foam, the heavy smoke aspires:
  So boils the imprison'd flood, forbid to flow,
  And choked with vapors feels his bottom glow.

The course of this day's fighting is anxiously watched by old King
Priam from the top of the Trojan ramparts, and, when he sees
Achilles' forces pursuing his fleeing army across the plain, he orders
the gates opened to admit the fugitives, and quickly closed again so
the foe cannot enter too. To facilitate this move, Apollo assumes the
guise of Hector and decoys Achilles away from the gates until the bulk
of the Trojan army is safe.

_Book XXII._ Meantime the real Hector is stationed beside the gate,
and Achilles, suddenly perceiving he has been pursuing a mere phantom,
darts with a cry of wrath toward his foe. Seeing him coming, Hector's
parents implore him to seek refuge within the walls, but the young man
is too brave to accept such a proposal. Still, when he sees the fire
in Achilles' eyes, he cannot resist an involuntary recoil, and
turning, flees, with Achilles in close pursuit, hurling taunts at him.

These warriors circle the citadel, until the gods, looking on, knowing
they can no longer defer Hector's death, but wishing it to be
glorious, send Apollo down to urge him to fight. In the guise of one
of Hector's brothers, this god offers to aid him, so, thus supported,
Hector turns to meet Achilles, with whom before fighting he tries to
bargain that the victor shall respect the remains of the vanquished.
But Achilles refuses to listen to terms, and in the course of the
ensuing duel is ably seconded by Minerva, while Hector, who depends
upon his supposed brother to supply him with weapons when his fail, is
basely deserted by Apollo.

Seeing him disarmed, Achilles finally deals him a deadly blow, and,
although the dying hero tries to abate his resentment, loudly
proclaims he shall be a prey to vultures and wolves. Hearing this,
Hector curses his conqueror and dies, predicting Achilles shall be
slain by Paris. His victim having breathed his last, Achilles ties him
by the heels to his chariot, and then drives off with Hector's noble
head trailing in the dust!

Meantime Andromache, busy preparing for her husband's return, is so
startled by loud cries that she rushes off to the ramparts to find out
what has occurred. Arriving there just in time to see her husband
dragged away, she faints at the pitiful sight, and, on coming back to
her senses, bewails her sad fate, foresees an unhappy fate for her
infant son, and regrets not being able to bury her beloved husband.

_Book XXIII._ On reaching his tent with his victim, Achilles drags it
around Patroclus' remains, apostrophizing him and assuring him that
twelve Trojans shall be executed on his pyre, while his slayer's body
shall be a prey to the dogs. Then, having cast Hector's corpse on the
refuse heap, Achilles assembles the Greeks in his tent for a funeral
repast, after which they retire, leaving him to mourn. That night he
is visited by Patroclus' spirit, which warns him he will soon have to
die, and bespeaks funeral rites. This vision convinces Achilles that
the human soul does not perish with the body, and impels him to rouse
his companions at dawn to erect a huge pyre on the shore, where
innumerable victims are to be sacrificed to satisfy his friend's
spirit. Then he renews his promise that Hector's body shall be a prey
to the dogs, little suspecting that Venus has mounted guard over it,
so that no harm may befall it.

In describing the building and lighting of the pyre, the poet relates
how the flames were fanned by opposite winds, depicts the sacrifices
offered, the funeral games celebrated, and explains how the ashes were
finally placed in an urn, where those of Achilles were in time to
mingle with those of his friend.

_Book XXIV._ Although most of the Greek warriors are resting after the
strenuous pleasures of the day, Achilles weeps in his tent until
daybreak, when he harnesses his horses to his chariot and again drags
Hector's body around Patroclus' tomb, little suspecting how Venus and
Apollo guard it from all harm. It is only on the twelfth day after
Patroclus' death, that the gods interfere in behalf of the Trojans, by
sending Iris to Priam to guide him to Achilles' tent, where they
assure him his prayers will obtain his son's body. The rainbow goddess
not only serves as guide to the mourning father, but brings him unseen
into Achilles' tent, where, falling at the hero's feet, the aged
Priam sues in such touching terms that the Greek warrior's heart melts
and tears stream down his cheeks. Not only does he grant Priam's
request, but assures him he is far happier than Peleus, since he still
has several sons to cheer him although Hector has been slain.

  These words soft pity in the chief inspire,
  Touch'd with the dear remembrance of his sire.
  Then with his hand (as prostrate still he lay)
  The old man's cheek he gently turn'd away.
  Now each by turns indulged the gush of woe;
  And now the mingled tides together flow:
  This low on earth, that gently bending o'er;
  A father one, and one a son deplore:
  But great Achilles different passions rend,
  And now his sire he mourns, and now his friend.
  The infectious softness through the heroes ran
  One universal solemn shower began;
  They bore as heroes, but they felt as man.

Still guided by Iris, Priam conveys the body of his son back to Troy,
where his mother, wife, and the other Trojan women utter a touching
lament. Then a funeral pyre is built, and the Iliad of Homer closes
with brave Hector's obsequies.

  All Troy then moves to Priam's court again,
  A solemn, silent, melancholy train:
  Assembled there, from pious toil they rest,
  And sadly shared the last sepulchral feast.
  Such honors Ilion to her hero paid,
  And peaceful slept the mighty Hector's shade.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: All the quotations from the Iliad are taken from Pope's
translation.]




THE ODYSSEY


_Book I._ Homer's second great epic covers a period of forty-two days.
After the opening invocation he proceeds to relate the adventures of
Ulysses. Nearly ten years have elapsed since the taking of Troy, when
the gods looking down from Olympus behold him--sole survivor of his
troop--stranded on the Island of Calypso. After some mention of the
fate of the other Greeks, Jupiter decrees that Ulysses shall return to
Ithaca, where many suitors are besieging his wife Penelope. In
obedience with this decree, Pallas (Minerva) dons golden
sandals--which permit her to flit with equal ease over land and
sea--and visits Ithaca, where Ulysses' son, Telemachus, mournfully
views the squandering of his father's wealth. Here she is hospitably
received, and, after some conversation, urges Telemachus to visit the
courts of Nestor and Menelaus to inquire of these kings whether his
father is dead.

Telemachus has just promised to carry out this suggestion, when the
suitors' bard begins the recital of the woes which have befallen the
various Greek chiefs on their return from Troy. These sad strains
attract Penelope, who passionately beseeches the bard not to enhance
her sorrows by his songs!

Assuming a tone of authority for the first time, Telemachus bids his
mother retire and pray, then, addressing the suitors, vows that unless
they depart he will call down upon them the vengeance of the gods.
These words are resented by these men, who continue their revelry
until the night, when Telemachus retires, to dream of his projected
journey.

_Book II._ With dawn, Telemachus rises and betakes himself to the
market-place, where in public council he complains of the suitors'
depredations, and announces he is about to depart in quest of his
sire. In reply to his denunciations the suitors accuse Penelope of
deluding them, instancing how she promised to choose a husband as soon
as she had finished weaving a winding sheet for her father-in-law
Laertes. But, instead of completing this task as soon as possible, she
ravelled by night the work done during the day, until the suitors
discovered the trick.

  "The work she plied; but, studious of delay,
  By night reversed the labors of the day.
  While thrice the sun his annual journey made,
  The conscious lamp the midnight fraud survey'd;
  Unheard, unseen, three years her arts prevail:
  The fourth, her maid unfolds the amazing tale.
  We saw as unperceived we took our stand,
  The backward labors of her faithless hand"[3]

They now suggest that Telemachus send Penelope back to her father,
but the youth indignantly refuses, and the council closes while he
prays for vengeance. That he has not been unheard is proved by the
appearance of two eagles, which peck out the eyes of some of the
spectators. This is interpreted by an old man as an omen of Ulysses'
speedy return, and he admonishes all present to prove faithful, lest
they incur a master's wrath.

The assembly having dispersed, Telemachus hastens down to the shore,
where Minerva visits him in the guise of his tutor Mentor, and
instructs him to arrange for secret departure. Telemachus, therefore,
returns to the palace, where the suitors are preparing a new feast.
Refusing to join their revels, he seeks his old nurse Eurycleia, to
whom he entrusts the provisioning of his vessel, bidding her if
possible conceal his departure from Penelope for twelve days.
Meantime, in the guise of Telemachus, Minerva scours the town to
secure skilful oarsmen, and at sunset has a vessel ready to sail.
Then, returning to the palace, she enchains the senses of the suitors
in such deep slumber that Telemachus effects his, departure unseen,
and embarking with Mentor sets sail, his vessel speeding smoothly over
the waves all night.

_Book III._ At sunrise Telemachus reaches Pylos and finds Nestor and
his friends offering a sacrifice on the shore. Joining the
feasters,--who gather by fifties around tables groaning beneath the
weight of nine oxen apiece,--Telemachus makes known his name and
errand. In return, Nestor mentions the deaths of Patroclus and
Achilles, the taking of Troy, and the Greeks' departure from its
shores. He adds that, the gods having decreed they should not reach
home without sore trials, half the army lingered behind with Agamemnon
to offer propitiatory sacrifices, while the rest sailed on. Among
these were Nestor and Ulysses, but, while the former pressed on and
reached home, the latter, turning back to pacify the gods, was seen no
more! Since his return, Nestor has been saddened by the death of
Agamemnon, slain on his arrival at Mycenae by his faithless wife
Clytemnestra and her lover Aegistheus. His brother, Menelaus, more
fortunate, has recently reached home, having been long delayed in
Egypt by contrary winds.

While Nestor recounts these tales, day declines, so he invites
Telemachus to his palace for the night, promising to send him on the
morrow to Sparta, where he can question Menelaus himself. Although
Mentor urges Telemachus to accept this invitation, he declares he must
return to the ship, and vanishes in the shape of a bird, thus
revealing to all present his divine origin. A sumptuous meal in the
palace ensues, and the guest, after a good night, participates at
break of day in a solemn sacrifice.

_Book IV._ Riding in a chariot skilfully guided by one of Nestor's
sons, Telemachus next speeds on to Sparta, where he finds Menelaus
celebrating the marriages of a daughter and son. On learning that
strangers have arrived, Menelaus orders every attention shown them,
and only after they have been refreshed by food and drink, inquires
their errand. He states that he himself reached home only after
wandering seven years, and adds that he often yearns to know what has
become of Ulysses. At this name Telemachus' tears flow, and Helen, who
has just appeared, is struck by his resemblance to his father. When
Telemachus admits his identity, Menelaus and Helen mingle their tears
with his, for the memory of the past overwhelms them with sorrow. Then
to restore a more cheerful atmosphere, Helen casts "nepenthe" into the
wine, thanks to which beneficent drug all soon forget their woes. She
next relates how Ulysses once entered Troy in the guise of a beggar,
and how she alone recognized him in spite of his disguise. This
reminds Menelaus of the time when Ulysses restrained him and the other
Greeks in the wooden horse, and when Helen marched around it mimicking
the voices of their wives!

Soothed by "nepenthe," all retire to rest, and when morning dawns
Telemachus inquires whether Menelaus knows aught of his father. All
the information Menelaus vouchsafes is that when he surprised
Proteus, counting sea-calves on the island of Pharos, he was told he
would reach home only after making due sacrifices in Egypt to appease
the gods, that his brother had been murdered on arriving at Mycenae,
and that Ulysses--sole survivor of his crew--was detained by Calypso
in an island, whence he had no means of escape. The sea-god had
further promised that Menelaus should never die, stating that, as
husband of Helen and son-in-law of Jupiter, he would enjoy everlasting
bliss in the Elysian Fields. Then, after describing the sacrifices
which insured his return to Sparta, Menelaus invites Telemachus to
tarry with him, although the youth insists he must return home.

Meantime the suitors in Ulysses' palace entertain themselves with
games, in the midst of which they learn that Telemachus has gone.
Realizing that if he were dead Penelope's fortunate suitor would
become possessor of all Ulysses' wealth, they decide to man a vessel
to guard the port and slay Telemachus on his return. This plot is
overheard by a servant, who hastens to report it to Penelope. On
learning her son has ventured out to sea, she wrings her hands, and
reviles the nurse who abetted his departure until this wise woman
advises her rather to pray for her son's safe return! While Penelope
is offering propitiatory sacrifices, the suitors despatch a vessel in
Antinous' charge to lie in wait for the youth. But, during the sleep
which overcomes Penelope after her prayers, she is favored by a
vision, in which her sister assures her Telemachus will soon be
restored to her arms, although she refuses to give her any information
in regard to Ulysses.

_Book V._ Aurora has barely announced the return of day to gods and
men, when Jupiter assembles his council on Mount Olympus. There
Minerva rehearses Ulysses' grievances, demanding that he be at last
allowed to return home and his son saved from the suitors' ambush. In
reply Jupiter sends Mercury to bid Calypso provide her unwilling guest
with the means to leave her shores. Donning his golden sandals, the
messenger-god flits to the Island of Ogygia, enters Calypso's
wonderful cave, and delivers his message. Although reluctant to let
Ulysses depart, Calypso--not daring oppose the will of Jupiter--goes
in quest of her guest. Finding him gazing tearfully in the direction
of home, she promises to supply him with the means to build a raft
which, thanks to the gods, will enable him to reach Ithaca.

After a copious repast and a night's rest, Ulysses fells twenty trees
and constructs a raft, in which, after it has been provisioned by
Calypso, he sets sail. For seventeen days the stars serve as his
guides, and he is nearing the island of Phaeacia, when Neptune becomes
aware that his hated foe is about to escape. One stroke of the
sea-god's mighty trident then stirs up a tempest which dashes the raft
to pieces, and Ulysses is in imminent danger of perishing, when the
sea-nymph Leucothea gives him her life-preserving scarf, bidding him
cast it back into the waves when it has borne him safely to land!
Buoyed up by this scarf, Ulysses finally reaches the shore, where,
after obeying the nymph's injunctions, he buries himself in dead
leaves and sinks into an exhausted sleep.

  Close to the cliff with both his hands he clung,
  And stuck adherent, and suspended hung;
  Till the huge surge roll'd off; then backward sweep
  The refluent tides, and plunge him in the deep.
  And when the polypus, from forth his cave
  Torn with full force, reluctant beats the wave,
  His ragged claws are stuck with stones and sands;
  So the rough rock had shagg'd Ulysses' hands.
  And now had perish'd, whelm'd beneath the main,
  The unhappy man; e'en fate had been in vain;
  But all-subduing Pallas lent her power,
  And prudence saved him in the needful hour.

_Book VI._ While Ulysses is thus sleeping, Minerva, in a dream
admonishes Nausicaa, daughter of the Phaeacian king, to wash her
garments in readiness for her wedding. On awakening, the princess,
after bespeaking a chariot with mules to draw the clothes to the
washing place, departs with her maids for the shore.

The clothes washed and hung out to dry, the princess and her
attendants play ball, until their loud shrieks awaken Ulysses. Veiling
his nakedness behind leafy branches, he timidly approaches the
maidens, and addresses them from afar. Convinced he is, as he
represents, a shipwrecked man in need of aid, the princess provides
him with garments, and directs him to follow her chariot to the
confines of the city. There he is to wait until she has reached home
before presenting himself before her parents, as she does not wish his
presence with her to cause gossip in town.

_Book VII._ Having left Ulysses behind her, Nausicaa returns home,
where her chariot is unloaded; but shortly after she has retired,
Ulysses, guided by Minerva in disguise, enters the town and palace
unseen. It is only when, obeying Nausicaa's instructions, he seeks her
mother's presence and beseeches her aid, that he becomes visible to
all. King and queen gladly promise their protection to the suppliant,
who, while partaking of food, describes himself as a shipwrecked
mariner and asks to be sent home. After he has refreshed himself, the
queen, who has recognized the clothes he wears, learning how he
obtained them, delights in her daughter's charity and prudence. Then
she and her husband promise the wanderer their protection before
retiring to rest.

_Book VIII._ At daybreak the king conducts his guest to the public
square, where Minerva has summoned all the inhabitants. To this
assembly Alcinous makes known that a nameless stranger bespeaks their
aid, and proposes that after a banquet, where blind Demodocus will
entertain them with his songs, they load the suppliant with gifts and
send him home.

The projected festive meal is well under way when the bard begins
singing of a quarrel between Ulysses and Achilles, strains which so
vividly recall happier days that Ulysses, drawing his cloak over his
head, gives way to tears. Noting this emotion, Alcinous checks the
bard and proposes games. After displaying their skill in racing,
wrestling, discus-throwing, etc., the contestants mockingly challenge
Ulysses to give an exhibition of his proficiency in games of strength
and skill. Stung by their covert taunts, the stranger casts the discus
far beyond their best mark, and avers that although out of practice he
is not afraid to match them in feats of strength, admitting, however,
that he cannot compete with them in fleetness of foot or in the dance.
His prowess in one line and frank confession of inferiority in another
disarm further criticism, and the young men dance until the bard
begins singing of Vulcan's stratagem to punish a faithless spouse.[4]

All the Phaeacians now present gifts to the stranger, who finds
himself rich indeed, but who assures Nausicaa he will never forget she
was the first to lend him aid. Toward the close of the festivities the
blind bard sings of the wooden horse devised by Ulysses and abandoned
on the shore by the retreating Greeks. Then he describes its
triumphant entry into Troy, where for the first time in ten years all
sleep soundly without dread of a surprise. But, while the too
confident Trojans are thus resting peacefully upon their laurels, the
Greeks, emerging from this wooden horse, open the gates to their
comrades, and the sack of Troy begins! Because the stranger guest
again shows great emotion, Alcinous begs him to relate his adventures
and asks whether he has lost some relative in the war of Troy?

  Touch'd at the song, Ulysses straight resign'd
  To soft affliction all his manly mind:
  Before his eyes the purple vest he drew,
  Industrious to conceal the falling dew:
  But when the music paused, he ceased to shed
  The flowing tear, and raised his drooping head:
  And, lifting to the gods a goblet crown'd,
  He pour'd a pure libation to the ground.

_Book IX._ Thus invited to speak, Ulysses, after introducing himself
and describing his island home, relates how, the ruin of Troy
completed, he and his men left the Trojan shores. Driven by winds to
Ismarus, they sacked the town, but, instead of sailing off immediately
with their booty as Ulysses urged, tarried there until surprised by
their foes, from whom they were glad to escape with their lives!
Tossed by a tempest for many days, the Greek ships next neared the
land of the Lotus-Eaters, people who feasted upon the buds and
blossoms of a narcotic lotus. Sending three men ashore to reconnoitre,
Ulysses vainly awaited their return; finally, mistrusting what had
happened, he went in quest of them himself, only to find that having
partaken of the lotus they were dead to the calls of home and
ambition. Seizing these men, Ulysses conveyed them bound to his ship,
and, without allowing the rest to land, sailed hastily away from those
pernicious shores.

Before long he came to the land of the Cyclops, and disembarked on a
small neighboring island to renew his stock of food and water. Then,
unwilling to depart without having at least visited the Cyclops, he
took twelve of his bravest men, a skin-bottle full of delicious wine,
and set out to find Polyphemus, chief of the Cyclops. On entering the
huge cave where this giant pursued his avocation of dairyman, Ulysses
and his companions built a fire, around which they sat awaiting their
host's return. Before long a huge one-eyed monster drove in his
flocks, and, after closing the opening of his cave with a rock which
no one else could move, proceeded to milk his ewes and make cheese.

It was only while at supper that he noticed Ulysses and his men, who
humbly approached him as suppliants. After shrewdly questioning them
to ascertain whether they were alone, believing Ulysses' tale that
they were shipwrecked men, he seized and devoured two of them before
he lay down to rest. Although sorely tempted to slay him while he was
thus at their mercy, Ulysses refrained, knowing he and his companions
would never be able to move the rock.

At dawn the giant again milked his flock, and devoured--as a relish
for his breakfast--two more Greeks. Then he easily rolled aside the
rock, which he replaced when he and his flock had gone out for the
day, thus imprisoning Ulysses and his eight surviving men. During
that long day Ulysses sharpened to a point a young pine, and, after
hardening this weapon in the fire, secured by lot the helpers he
needed to execute his plan. That evening Polyphemus, having finished
his chores and cannibal repast, graciously accepted the wine which
Ulysses offered him. Pleased with its taste, he even promised the
giver a reward if he would only state his name. The wily Ulysses
declaring he was called Noman, the giant facetiously promised to eat
him last, before he fell into a drunken sleep. Then Ulysses and his
four men, heating the pointed pine, bored out the eye of Polyphemus,
who howled with pain:

  "Sudden I stir the embers, and inspire
  With animating breath the seeds of fire;
  Each drooping spirit with bold words repair,
  And urge my train the dreadful deed to dare.
  The stake now glow'd beneath the burning bed
  (Green as it was) and sparkled fiery red.
  Then forth the vengeful instrument I bring;
  With beating hearts my fellows form a ring.
  Urged by some present god, they swift let fall
  The pointed torment on his visual ball.
  Myself above them from a rising ground
  Guide the sharp stake, and twirl it round and round.
  As when a shipwright stands his workmen o'er,
  Who ply the wimble, some huge beam to bore;
  Urged on all hands it nimbly spins about,
  The grain deep-piercing till it scoops it out;
  In his broad eye so whirls the fiery wood;
  From the pierced pupil spouts the boiling blood;
  Singed are his brows; the scorching lids grow black;
  The jelly bubbles, and the fibres crack."

His fellow-Cyclops, awakened by his cries, gathered without his cave,
asking what was the matter. But, hearing him vehemently howl that
Noman was hurting him, they all declared he was evidently being
punished by the gods and left him to his plight!

When morning came, the groaning Cyclops rolled aside the rock,
standing beside it with arms outstretched to catch his prisoners
should they attempt to escape. Seeing this, Ulysses tied his men under
the sheep, and, clinging to the fleece of the biggest ram, had himself
dragged out of the cave. Passing his hand over the backs of the sheep
to make sure the strangers were not riding on them, Polyphemus
recognized by touch his favorite ram, and feelingly ascribed its slow
pace to sympathy with his woes.

  The master ram at last approach'd the gate,
  Charged with his wool and with Ulysses' fate.
  Him, while he pass'd, the monster blind bespoke:
  "What makes my ram the lag of all the flock?
  First thou wert wont to crop the flowery mead,
  First to the field and river's bank to lead,
  And first with stately step at evening hour
  Thy fleecy fellows usher to their bower.
  Now far the last, with pensive pace and slow
  Thou movest, as conscious of thy master's woe!
  Seest thou these lids that now unfold in vain,
  (The deed of Noman and his wicked train?)
  Oh! didst thou feel for thy afflicted lord,
  And would but fate the power of speech afford;
  Soon might'st thou tell me where in secret here
  The dastard lurks, all trembling with his fear:
  Swung round and round and dash'd from rock to rock,
  His batter'd brains should on the pavement smoke.
  No ease, no pleasure my sad heart receives,
  While such a monster as vile Noman lives."

Once out of the cave, Ulysses cut the bonds of his men, with whose aid
he drove part of Polyphemus' flock on board of his ship, which he had
hidden in a cove. He and his companions were scudding safely past the
headland where blind Polyphemus idly sat, when Ulysses tauntingly
raised his voice to make known his escape and real name. With a cry of
rage, the giant flung huge masses of rock in the direction of his
voice, hotly vowing his father Neptune would yet avenge his wrongs!

_Book X._ After leaving the island of the Cyclops, Ulysses visited
Aeolus, king of the winds, and was hospitably entertained in his cave.
In token of friendship and to enable Ulysses to reach home quickly,
Aeolus bottled up all the contrary winds, letting loose only those
which would speed him on his way. On leaving Aeolus, Ulysses so
carefully guarded the skin bottle containing the adverse gales that
his men fancied it must contain jewels of great price. For nine days
and nights Ulysses guided the rudder, and only when the shores of
Ithaca came in sight closed his eyes in sleep. This moment was
seized by his crew to open the bottle, whence the captive winds
escaped with a roar, stirring up a hurricane which finally drove them
back to Aeolus' isle.

  "They said: and (oh cursed fate!) the thongs unbound!
  The gushing tempest sweeps the ocean round;
  Snatch'd in the whirl, the hurried navy flew,
  The ocean widen'd and the shores withdrew.
  Roused from my fatal sleep, I long debate
  If still to live, or desperate plunge to fate;
  Thus doubting, prostrate on the deck I lay,
  Till all the coward thoughts of death gave way."

On seeing them return with tattered sails, Aeolus averred they had
incurred the wrath of some god and therefore drove them away from his
realm. Toiling at the oar, they reached, after seven days, the harbor
of the Laestrigonians, cannibal giants, from whose clutches only a few
ships escaped. Sorrowing for their lost friends, the Greeks next
landed in the island of Circe, where Ulysses remained with half his
men by the ships, while the rest set out to renew their supplies. This
party soon discovered the abode of the enchantress Circe, who, aware
of their approach, had prepared a banquet and a magic drug. Enticed by
her sweet voice, all the men save one sat down to her banquet, and ate
so greedily that the enchantress, contemptuously waving her wand over
them, bade them assume the forms of the animals they most resembled! A
moment later a herd of grunting pigs surrounded her, pigs which,
however, retained a distressing consciousness of their former human
estate.

  Milk newly press'd, the sacred flour of wheat,
  And honey fresh, and Pramnian wines the treat:
  But venom'd was the bread, and mix'd the bowl,
  With drugs of force to darken all the soul:
  Soon in the luscious feast themselves they lost,
  And drank oblivion of their native coast.
  Instant her circling wand the goddess waves,
  To hogs transforms them, and the sty receives.
  No more was seen the human form divine;
  Head, face, and members, bristle into swine:
  Still cursed with sense, their minds remain alone,
  And their own voice affrights them when they groan.

This dire transformation was viewed with horror by the man lurking
outside, who fled back to the ships, imploring Ulysses to depart.
Unwilling to desert his men, Ulysses on the contrary set out for
Circe's dwelling, meeting on the way thither Mercury in disguise, who
gave him an herb to annul the effect of Circe's drugs and directed him
how to free his companions.

Following these instructions, Ulysses entered Circe's abode, partook
of the refreshments offered him, and, when she waved her wand over
him, threatened to kill her unless she restored his men to their
wonted forms! The terrified Circe not only complied, but detained
Ulysses and his companions with her a full year. As at the end of that
time the men pleaded to return home, Ulysses told his hostess he must
leave. Then she informed him he must first visit the Cimmerian shore
and consult the shade of the blind seer Tiresias. The prospect of such
a journey greatly alarmed Ulysses, but when Circe had told him just
how to proceed, he bravely set out.

Wafted by favorable winds, Ulysses' ship soon reached the country of
eternal night. On landing there he dug a trench, and slew the black
victims Circe had given him, and with drawn sword awaited the approach
of a host of shades, among whom he recognized a man killed by accident
on Circe's island, who begged for proper funeral rites. By Circe's
order, Ulysses, after allowing the ghost of Tiresias to partake of the
victim's blood, learned from him that, although pursued by Neptune's
vengeance, he and his men would reach home safely, provided they
respected the cattle of the Sun on the island of Trinacria. The seer
added that all who attacked them would perish, and that, even if he
should escape death and return home, he would have to slay his wife's
insolent suitors before he could rest in peace.

After this had been accomplished, Ulysses was to resume his wanderings
until he came to a land where the oar he carried would be mistaken for
a winnowing fan. There he was to offer a propitiatory sacrifice to
Neptune, after which he would live to serene old age and die
peacefully among his own people. His conversation with Tiresias
finished, Ulysses interviewed his mother--of whose demise he had not
been aware--and conversed with the shades of sundry women noted for
having borne sons to gods or to famous heroes.

_Book XI._ This account had been heard with breathless interest by the
Phaeacians, whose king now implored Ulysses to go on. The hero then
described his interview with the ghost of Agamemnon,--slain by his
wife and her paramour on his return from Troy,--who predicted his safe
return home, and begged for tidings of his son Orestes, of whom
Ulysses knew nought. Ulysses next beheld Achilles, who, although ruler
of the dead, bitterly declared he would rather be the meanest laborer
on earth than monarch among shades!

  "Talk not of ruling in this dolorous gloom,
  Nor think vain words (he cried) can ease my doom.
  Rather I'd choose laboriously to bear
  A weight of woes and breathe the vital air,
  A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread,
  Than reign the sceptered monarch of the dead."

To comfort him, Ulysses described how bravely his son had fought at
the taking of Troy, where he had been one of the men in the wooden
horse. The only shade which refused to approach Ulysses was that of
Ajax, who still resented his having won the armor of Achilles. Besides
these shades, Ulysses beheld the judges of Hades and the famous
culprits of Tartarus. But, terrified by the "innumerable nation of the
dead" crowding around him, he finally fled in haste to his vessel, and
was soon wafted back to Circe's shore.

_Book XII._ There Ulysses buried his dead companion and, after
describing his visit to Hades, begged his hostess' permission to
depart. Circe consented, warning him to beware of the Sirens, of the
threatening rocks, of the monster Scylla and the whirlpool Charybdis
on either side of the Messenian Strait, and of the cattle of
Trinacria, giving him minute directions how to escape unharmed from
all these perils.

Morning having come, Ulysses took leave of Circe, and, on nearing the
reef of the Sirens, directed his men to bind him fast to the mast,
paying no heed to his gestures, after he had stopped their ears with
soft wax. In this way he heard, without perishing, the Sirens'
wonderful song, and it was only when it had died away in the distance
and the spell ceased that his men unbound him from the mast.

  "Thus the sweet charmers warbled o'er the main;
  My soul takes wing to meet the heavenly strain;
  I give the sign, and struggle to be free:
  Swift row my mates, and shoot along the sea;
  New chains they add, and rapid urge the way,
  Till, dying off, the distant sounds decay:
  Then scudding swiftly from the dangerous ground,
  The deafen'd ears unlock'd, the chains unbound."

Not daring describe to his companions the threatened horrors of
Charybdis and Scylla, Ulysses bade his steersman avoid the whirlpool,
and, fully armed, prepared to brave the monster Scylla. But,
notwithstanding his preparations, she snatched from his galley six men
who were seen no more! Although reluctant to land on Trinacria for
fear his sailors would steal the cattle of the Sun, Ulysses was
constrained to do so to allow them to rest. While they were there,
unfavorable winds began to blow, and continued so long that the Greeks
consumed all their provisions, and, in spite of their efforts to
supply their larder by hunting and fishing, began to suffer from
hunger. During one of Ulysses' brief absences the men, breaking their
promises, slew some of the beeves of the Sun, which although slain
moved and lowed as if still alive! Undeterred by such miracles, the
men feasted, but, on embarking six days later, they were overtaken by
a tempest in which all perished save Ulysses. Clinging to the mast of
his wrecked ship, he drifted between Charybdis and Scylla, escaping
from the whirlpool only by clinging to the branches at an overhanging
fig-tree. Then, tossed by the waves for nine days longer, Ulysses was
finally cast on the isle of Ogygia, whence he had come directly to
Phaeacia as already described.

_Book XIII._ Having finished this account of his ten years'
wanderings, Ulysses, after banqueting with Alcinous, was conveyed with
his gifts to the ship which was to take him home. Then, while he slept
in the prow, the skilful Phaeacian rowers entered a sheltered Ithacan
bay, where they set sleeper and gifts ashore and departed without
awaiting thanks. They were about to re-enter their own port when
Neptune, discovering they had taken his enemy home, struck their
vessel with his trident, thus transforming it into the galley-shaped
rock still seen there to-day.

Meantime Ulysses, awakening, hid his treasures away in a cave. Then,
accosted by Minerva in disguise, he gave a fantastic account of
himself, to which she lent an amused ear, before assuring him of her
identity and of his wife's fidelity. She then reported the insolence
of the suitors lying in wait to murder Telemachus at his return, and
suggested that Ulysses, in the guise of an aged beggar, should visit
his faithful swineherd until time to make his presence known.

_Book XIV._ Transformed by Minerva into a sordid mendicant, Ulysses
next visits the swineherd, who sets before him the best he has,
complaining that the greedy suitors deplete his herds. This old
servant is comforted when the beggar assures him his master will soon
return and reports having seen him lately. Ulysses' fictitious account
of himself serves as entertainment until the hour for rest, when the
charitable swineherd covers his guest with his best cloak.

_Book XV._ Meantime Minerva, hastening to Sparta, awakens in the heart
of the sleeping Telemachus a keen desire to return home, warns him of
the suitors' ambush, instructs him how to avoid it, and cautions him
on his return to trust none save the women on whose fidelity he can
depend. At dawn, therefore, Telemachus, after offering a sacrifice
and receiving Menelaus' and Helen's parting gifts, sets out, cheered
by favorable omens. Without pausing to visit Nestor,--whose son is to
convey his thanks,--Telemachus embarks, and, following Minerva's
instructions, lands near the swineherd's hut.

_Book XVI._ The swineherd is preparing breakfast, when Ulysses warns
him a friend is coming, for his dogs fawn upon the stranger and do not
bark. A moment later Telemachus enters the hut, and is warmly welcomed
by his servant, who wishes him to occupy the place of honor at his
table. But Telemachus modestly declines it in favor of the aged
stranger, to whom he promises clothes and protection as soon as he is
master in his own house. Then he bids the swineherd notify his mother
of his safe arrival, directing her to send word to Laertes of his
return. This man has no sooner gone than Minerva restores Ulysses to
more than his wonted vigor and good looks, bidding him make himself
known to his son and concert with him how to dispose of the suitors.
Amazed to see the beggar transformed into an imposing warrior,
Telemachus is overjoyed to learn who he really is. The first
transports of joy over, Ulysses advises his son to return home, lull
the suitors' suspicions by specious words, and, after removing all
weapons from the banquet hall, await the arrival of his father who
will appear in mendicant's guise.

While father and son are thus laying their plans, Telemachus' vessel
reaches port, where the suitors mourn the escape of their victim. They
dare not, however, attack Telemachus openly, for fear of forfeiting
Penelope's regard, and assure her they intend to befriend him.
Meantime, having delivered his message to his mistress, the swineherd
returns to his hut, where he spends the evening with Telemachus and
the beggar, little suspecting the latter is his master.

_Book XVII._ At daybreak Telemachus hastens back to the palace,
whither the swineherd is to guide the stranger later in the day, and
is rapturously embraced by his mother. After a brief interview,
Telemachus sends her back to her apartment to efface the trace of her
tears, adding that he is on his way to the market-place to meet a
travelling companion whom he wishes to entertain. After welcoming this
man with due hospitality, Telemachus gives his mother an account of
his trip. While he is thus occupied, Ulysses is wending his way to the
palace, where he arrives just as the suitors' wonted revels reach
their height. But as he enters the court-yard, his favorite hunting
dog expires for joy on recognizing him.

  He knew his lord;--he knew, and strove to meet;
  In vain he strove to crawl and kiss his feet;
  Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes,
  Salute his master and confess his joys.
  Soft pity touch'd the mighty master's soul:
  Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole;
  Stole unperceived: he turn'd his head, and dried
  The drop humane.

Humbly making the rounds of the tables like the beggar he seems,
Ulysses is treated kindly by Telemachus, but grossly insulted by the
suitors, one of whom, Antinous, actually flings a stool at him. Such a
violation of the rights of hospitality causes some commotion in the
palace, and so rouses the indignation of Penelope that she expresses a
wish to converse with the beggar, who may have heard of her absent
spouse.

_Book XVIII._ Meantime Ulysses has also come into conflict with the
town-beggar (Irus), a lusty youth, who challenges him to fight. To his
dismay, Ulysses displays such a set of muscles on laying aside his
robe that the insolent challenger wishes to withdraw. He is, however,
compelled by the suitors to fight, and is thoroughly beaten by
Ulysses, whose strength arouses the suitors' admiration. Then, in
reply to their questions, Ulysses favors them with another of those
tales which do far more honor to his imagination than to his veracity.

Meantime Penelope indulges in a nap, during which Minerva restores all
her youthful charms. Then she descends into the hall, to chide
Telemachus for allowing a stranger to be insulted beneath his father's
roof. She next remarks that she foresees she will soon have to choose
a husband among the suitors present, as it is only too evident Ulysses
is dead, and, under pretext of testing their generosity, induces them
all to bestow upon her gifts, which she thriftily adds to her stores.
Beside themselves with joy at the prospect that their long wooing will
soon be over, the suitors sing and dance, until Telemachus advises
them to return home.

_Book XIX._ The suitors having gone, Ulysses helps Telemachus remove
all the weapons, while the faithful nurse mounts guard over the palace
women. Secretly helped by Minerva, father and son accomplish their
task, and are sitting before the fire when Penelope comes to ask the
beggar to relate when and how he met Ulysses. This time the stranger
gives so accurate a description of Ulysses, that Penelope, wishing to
show him some kindness, summons the old nurse to bathe his feet.
Because she herself dozes while this homely task is being performed,
she is not aware that the old nurse recognizes her master by a scar on
his leg, and is cautioned by him not to make his presence known.

  Deep o'er his knee inseam'd, remain'd the scar:
  Which noted token of the woodland war
  When Euryclea found, the ablution ceased;
  Down dropp'd the leg, from her slack hand released:
  The mingled fluids from the base redound;
  The vase reclining floats the floor around!
  Smiles dew'd with tears the pleasing strife express'd
  Of grief, and joy, alternate in her breast.
  Her fluttering words in melting murmurs died;
  At length abrupt--"My son!--my king!" she cried.

Her nap ended, Penelope resumes her conversation with the beggar,
telling him she has been favored by a dream portending the death of
the suitors. Still, she realizes there are two kinds of dreams,--those
that come true issuing from Somnus' palace by the gate of horn, while
deceptive dreams pass through an ivory gate. After providing for the
beggar's comfort, Penelope retires, and as usual spends most of the
night mourning for her absent partner.

_Book XX._ Sleeping beneath the portico on the skins of the animals
slain to feast the horde of suitors, Ulysses sees the maids slip out of
the palace to join the suitors, who have wooed them surreptitiously.
Then he falls asleep and is visited by Minerva, who infuses new
strength and courage in his veins. At dawn Ulysses is awakened by
Telemachus, and soon after the house is once more invaded by the
suitors, who with their own hands slay the animals provided for their
food. Once more they display their malevolence by ill treating the
beggar, and taunt Telemachus, who apparently pays no heed to their
words.

_Book XXI._ Meantime Minerva has prompted Penelope to propose to the
suitors to string Ulysses' bow and shoot an arrow through twelve
rings. Armed with this weapon, and followed by handmaids bearing bow,
string, and arrows, Penelope appears in the banquet-hall, where the
suitors eagerly accept her challenge. But, after Antinous has vainly
striven to bend the bow, the others warily try sundry devices to
ensure its pliancy.

Meantime, noticing that the swineherd and one of his companions--upon
whose fidelity he counts--have left the hall, Ulysses follows them,
makes himself known by means of his scar, and directs them what to do.
Then, returning into the hall, he silently watches the suitors'
efforts to bend the bow, and, when the last has tried and failed,
volunteers to make the attempt, thereby rousing general ridicule. All
gibes are silenced, however, when the beggar not only spans the bow,
but sends his first arrow through the twelve rings. At the same time
the faithful servants secure the doors of the apartment, and
Telemachus, darting to his father's side, announces he is ready to
take part in the fray.

_Book XXII._

  Then fierce the hero o'er the threshold strode;
  Stript of his rags, he blazed out like a god.
  Full in their face the lifted bow he bore,
  And quiver'd deaths, a formidable store;
  Before his feet the rattling shower he threw,
  And thus, terrific, to the suitor-crew:
  "One venturous game this hand hath won to-day;
  Another, princes! yet remains to play:
  Another mark our arrow must attain.
  Phoebus, assist! nor be the labor vain."
  Swift as the word the parting arrow sings;
  And bears thy fate, Antinous, on its wings.
  Wretch that he was, of unprophetic soul!
  High in his hands he rear'd the golden bowl:
  E'en then to drain it lengthen'd out his breath;
  Changed to the deep, the bitter draught of death!
  For fate who fear'd amidst a feastful band?
  And fate to numbers, by a single hand?
  Full through his throat Ulysses' weapon pass'd,
  And pierced his neck. He falls, and breathes his last.

Grimly announcing his second arrow will reach a different goal by
Apollo's aid, Ulysses shoots the insolent Antinous through the heart
and then begins to taunt and threaten the other suitors. Gazing wildly
around them for weapons or means of escape, these men discover how
cleverly they have been trapped. One after another now falls beneath
the arrows of Ulysses, who bids his son hasten to the storeroom and
procure arms for them both as there are not arrows enough to dispose
of his foes. Through Telemachus' heedlessness in leaving the doors
open, the suitors contrive to secure weapons too, and the fight in the
hall rages until they all have been slain. Then the doors are thrown
open, and the faithless maids are compelled to remove the corpses and
purify the room, before they are hanged!

_Book XXIII._ The old nurse has meantime had the privilege of
announcing Ulysses' safe return to his faithful retainers, and last of
all to the sleeping Penelope. Unable to credit such tidings,--although
the nurse assures her she has seen his scar,--Penelope imagines the
suitors must have been slain by some god who has come to her rescue.
She decides, therefore, to go down and congratulate her son upon being
rid of those who preyed upon his wealth. Seeing she does not
immediately fall upon his father's neck, Telemachus hotly reproaches
her, but she rejoins she must have some proof of the stranger's
identity and is evidently repelled by his unprepossessing appearance.
Hearing this, Ulysses suggests that all present purify themselves,
don fresh garments, and partake of a feast, enlivened by the songs of
their bard. While he is attended by the old nurse, Minerva sheds upon
him such grace that, when he reappears, looking like a god, he dares
reproach Penelope for not recognizing him. Then, hearing her order
that his bed be removed to the portico, he hotly demands who cut down
the tree which formed one of its posts? Because this fact is known
only to Penelope and to the builder of the bed, she now falls upon
Ulysses' neck, begging his pardon. Their joy at being united is marred
only by Ulysses' determination soon to resume his travels, and pursue
them until Tiresias' prediction has been fulfilled. That night is
spent in mutual confidences in regard to all that has occurred during
their twenty years' separation, and when morning dawns Ulysses and his
son go to visit Laertes.

_Book XXIV._ Mindful of his office as conductor of souls to Hades,
Mercury has meanwhile entered the palace of Ulysses, and, waving his
wand, has summoned the spirits of the suitors, who, uttering plaintive
cries, follow him down to the infernal regions.

  Cyllenius now to Pluto's dreary reign
  Conveys the dead, a lamentable train!
  The golden wand, that causes sleep to fly,
  Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye,
  That drives the ghosts to realms of night or day,
  Points out the long uncomfortable way.
  Trembling the spectres glide, and plaintive vent
  Thin hollow screams, along the deep descent.
  As in the cavern of some rifty den,
  Where flock nocturnal bats and birds obscene,
  Cluster'd they hang, till at some sudden shock,
  They move, and murmurs run through all the rock:
  So cowering fled the sable heaps of ghosts;
  And such a scream fill'd all the dismal coasts.

There they overhear Ajax giving Achilles a minute account of his
funeral,--the grandest ever seen,--and when questioned describe
Penelope's stratagem in regard to the Web and to Ulysses' bow.

Meanwhile Ulysses has arrived at his father's farm, where the old man
is busy among his trees. To prepare Laertes for his return, Ulysses
relates one of his fairy tales ere he makes himself known. Like
Penelope, Laertes proves incredulous, until Ulysses points out the
trees given him when a child and exhibits his scar.

  Smit with the signs which all his doubts explain,
  His heart within him melts; his knees sustain
  Their feeble weight no more; his arms alone
  Support him, round the loved Ulysses thrown:
  He faints, he sinks, with mighty joys oppress'd:
  Ulysses clasps him to his eager breast.

To celebrate their reunion, a banquet is held, which permits the
Ithacans to show their joy at their master's return. Meanwhile the
friends of the suitors, having heard of the massacre, determine to
avenge them by slaying father and son. But, aided by Minerva and
Jupiter, these two heroes present so formidable an appearance, that
the attacking party concludes a treaty, which restores peace to Ithaca
and ends the Odyssey.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: The quotations of the Odyssey are taken from Pope's
translation.]

[Footnote 4: See chapter on Venus in the author's "Myths of Greece and
Rome."]




LATIN EPICS


Latin literature took its source in the Greek, to which it owes much
of its poetic beauty, for many of its masterpieces are either
translations or imitations of the best Greek writings. There have
been, for instance, numerous translations of the Iliad and Odyssey,
the first famous one being by the "father of Roman dramatic and epic
poetry," Livius Andronicus, who lived in the third century B.C. He
also attempted to narrate Roman history in the same strain, by
composing an epic of some thirty-five books, which are lost.

Another poet, Naevius, a century later composed the Cyprian Iliad, as
well as a heroic poem on the first Punic war (Bellum Punicum), of
which only fragments have come down to us. Then, in the second century
before our era, Ennius made a patriotic attempt to sing the origin of
Rome in the Annales in eighteen books, of which only parts remain,
while Hostius wrote an epic entitled Istria, which has also perished.
Lucretius' epic "On the Nature of Things" is considered an example of
the astronomical or physical epic.

The Augustan age proved rich in epic poets, such as Publius Terentius
Varro, translator of the Argonautica and author of a poem on Julius
Caesar; Lucius Varius Rufus, whose poems are lost; and, greatest of
all, Virgil, of whose latest and greatest work, the Aeneid, a complete
synopsis follows. Next to this greatest Latin poem ranks Lucan's
Pharsalia, wherein he relates in ten books the rivalry between Caesar
and Pompey, while his contemporary Statius, in his Thebais and
unfinished Achilleis, works over the time-honored cycles of Thebes and
Troy. During the same period Silius Italicus supplied a lengthy poem
on the second Punic war, and Valerius Flaccus a new translation or
adaptation of the Argonautica.

In the second century of our own era Quintius Curtius composed an epic
on Alexander, and in the third century Juvencus penned the first
Christian epic, using the Life of Christ as his theme. In the fifth
century Claudianus harked back to the old Greek myths of the battle of
the Giants and of the Abduction of Persephone, although by that time
Christianity was well established in Italy. From that epoch Roman
literature practically ceased to exist, for although various attempts
at Latin epics were made by mediaeval poets, none of them proved of
sufficient merit to claim attention here.




THE AENEID


_Book I._ After stating he is about to sing the deeds of the heroic
ancestor of the Romans, Virgil describes how, seven years after
escaping from burning Troy, Aeneas' fleet was overtaken by a terrible
storm off the coast of Africa. This tempest, raised by the turbulent
children of Aeolus at Juno's request, threatened before long to
destroy the Trojan fleet. But, disturbed by the commotion overhead and
by Aeneas' frantic prayers for help, Neptune suddenly arose from the
bottom of the sea, angrily ordered the winds back to their cave, and
summoned sea-nymphs and tritons to the Trojans' aid. Soon, therefore,
seven of the vessels came to anchor in a sheltered bay, where Aeneas
landed with his friend Achates. While reconnoitring, they managed to
kill seven stags with which to satisfy the hunger of the men, whom
Aeneas further cheered by the assurance that they were the destined
ancestors of a mighty people.

Meantime Venus, beholding the plight of her son Aeneas, had hastened
off to Olympus to remind Jupiter of his promise to protect the remnant
of the Trojan race. Bestowing a kiss, the King of the Gods assured her
that after sundry vicissitudes Aeneas would reach Italy, where in due
time his son would found Alba Longa. Jupiter added a brief sketch of
what would befall this hero's race, until, some three hundred years
after his death, one of his descendants, the Vestal Ilia, would bear
twin sons to Mars, god of War. One of these, Romulus, would found
the city of Rome, where the Trojan race would continue its heroic
career and where Caesar would appear to fill the world with his fame.

  "From Troy's fair stock shall Caesar rise,
  The limits of whose victories
  Are ocean, of his fame the skies."[5]

Having thus quieted Venus' apprehensions in regard to her son, Jupiter
directed Mercury to hasten off to Carthage so as to warn Dido she is
to receive hospitably the Trojan guests.

After a sleepless night Aeneas again set out with Achates to explore,
and encountered in the forest his goddess mother in the guise of a
Tyrian huntress. In respectful terms--for he suspected she was some
divinity in disguise--Aeneas begged for information and learned he has
landed in the realm of Dido. Warned in a vision that her brother had
secretly slain her husband and was plotting against her life, this
Tyrian queen had fled from Tyre with friends and wealth, and, on
reaching this part of Africa, had, thanks to the clever device of a
bull's hide, obtained land enough to found the city of Byrsa or
Carthage. In return Aeneas gave the strange huntress his name,
relating how the storm had scattered all his vessels save the seven
anchored close by. To allay his anxiety in regard to his friends,
Venus assured him that twelve swans flying overhead were omens of the
safety of his ships, and it was only when she turned to leave him that
Aeneas recognized his mother, who, notwithstanding his desire to
embrace her, promptly disappeared.

The two Trojans now walked on in the direction she indicated until
dazzled by the beauty of the new city of Carthage, which was rising
rapidly, thanks to the activity of Dido's subjects. In its centre
stood a wonderful temple, whose brazen gates were decorated with
scenes from the War of Troy. Hidden from all eyes by a divine mist,
Aeneas and Achates tearfully gazed upon these reminders of the glories
past and mingled with the throng until Queen Dido appeared.

She was no sooner seated upon her throne than she summoned into her
presence some prisoners just secured, in whom Aeneas recognized with
joy the various captains of his missing ships. Then he overheard them
bewail the storm which robbed them of their leader, and was pleased
because Dido promised them entertainment and ordered a search made for
their chief.

The right moment having come, the cloud enveloping Aeneas and Achates
parted, and Dido thus suddenly became aware of the presence of other
strangers in their midst. Endowed by Venus with special attractions so
as to secure the favor of the Libyan queen, Aeneas stepped gracefully
forward, made himself known, and, after paying due respect to the
queen, joyfully greeted his comrades. Happy to harbor so famous a
warrior, Dido invited Aeneas to a banquet in her palace, an invitation
he gladly accepted, charging Achates to hasten back to the ships to
announce their companions' safety and to summon Iulus or Ascanius to
join his father. To make quite sure Aeneas should captivate Dido's
heart, Venus now substituted Cupid for Iulus, whom she meantime
conveyed to one of her favorite resorts. It was therefore in the guise
of the Trojan prince that Cupid, during the banquet, caressingly
nestled in Dido's arms and stealthily effaced from her heart all
traces of her former husband's face, filling it instead with a
resistless passion for Aeneas, which soon impelled her to invite him
to relate his escape from Troy.

_Book II._ With the eyes of all present upon him, Aeneas related how
the Greeks finally devised a colossal wooden horse, wherein their
bravest chiefs remained concealed while the remainder of their forces
pretended to sail home, although they anchored behind a neighboring
island to await the signal to return and sack Troy. Overjoyed by the
departure of the foe, the Trojans hastened down to the shore, where,
on discovering the huge wooden horse, they joyfully proposed to drag
it into their city as a trophy. In vain their priest, Laocoon,
implored them to desist, hurling his spear at the horse to prove it
was hollow and hence might conceal some foe. This daring and apparent
sacrilege horrified the Trojans, who, having secured a Greek fugitive
in a swamp near by, besought him to disclose what purpose the horse
was to serve. Pretending to have suffered great injustice at the
Greeks' hands, the slave (Sinon) replied that if they removed the
wooden horse into their walls the Trojans would greatly endanger the
safety of their foes, who had left it on the shore to propitiate
Neptune. Enticed by this prospect, the Trojans proved more eager than
ever to drag the horse into their city, even though it necessitated
pulling down part of their walls. Meantime part of the crowd gathered
about Laocoon who was to offer public thanks on the sea-shore, but,
even while he was standing at the altar, attended by his sons, two
huge serpents arose out of the sea and, coiling fiercely around priest
and both acolytes, throttled them in spite of their efforts.

  He strains his strength their knots to tear,
  While gore and slime his fillets smear,
  And to the unregardful skies
  Sends up his agonizing cries.

On seeing this, the horror-struck Trojans immediately concluded
Laocoon was being punished for having attacked the wooden horse, which
they joyfully dragged into Troy, although the prophet-princess,
Cassandra, besought them to desist, foretelling all manner of woe.

Night now fell upon the city, where, for the first time in ten years,
all slept peacefully without fear of surprise. At midnight Sinon
released the captive Greeks from the wooden steed, and, joined by
their companions, who had noiselessly returned, they swarmed all over
the undefended city. Aeneas graphically described for Dido's benefit
his peaceful sleep, when the phantom of the slaughtered Hector bade
him arise and flee with his family, because the Greeks had already
taken possession of Troy! At this moment loud clamors awakened him,
confirming what he had just heard in dream. Aeneas immediately rushed
to the palace to defend his king, he and his men stripping the armor
from fallen Greeks to enable them to get there unmolested. Still, they
arrived only in time to see Achilles' son rush into the throne-room
and cruelly murder the aged Priam after killing his youngest son. They
also beheld the shrieking women ruthlessly dragged off into captivity,
Cassandra wildly predicting the woes which would befall the Greek
chiefs on their way home.

  Ah see! the Priameian fair,
  Cassandra, by her streaming hair
    Is dragged from Pallas' shrine,
  Her wild eyes raised to Heaven in vain--
  Her eyes, alas! for cord and chain
    Her tender hands confine.

The fall of aged Priam and the plight of the women reminding Aeneas of
the danger of his own father, wife, and son, he turned to rush home.
On his way thither he met his mother, who for a moment removed the
mortal veil from his eyes, to let him see Neptune, Minerva, and Juno
zealously helping to ruin Troy. Because Venus passionately urged her
son to escape while there was yet time, Aeneas, on reaching home,
besought his father Anchises to depart, but it was only when the old
man saw a bright flame hover over the head of his grandson, Iulus,
that he realized heaven intended to favor his race and consented to
leave. Seeing him too weak to walk, his son bade him hold the
household goods, and carried him off on his back, leading his boy by
the hand and calling to his wife and servants to follow. Thus
burdened, Aeneas reached a ruined fane by the shore, only to discover
his beloved wife was missing. Anxiously retracing his footsteps, he
encountered her shade, which bade him cease seeking for her among the
living and hasten to Hesperia, where a new wife and home awaited him.

  "Then, while I dewed with tears my cheek
   And strove a thousand things to speak,
     She melted into night:
   Thrice I essayed her neck to clasp:
   Thrice the vain semblance mocked my grasp,
     As wind or slumber light."

Thus enlightened in regard to his consort's fate and wishes, Aeneas
hastened back to his waiting companions, and with them prepared to
leave the Trojan shores.

_Book III._ Before long Aeneas' fleet landed on the Thracian coast,
where, while preparing a sacrifice, our hero was horrified to see
blood flow from the trees he cut down. This phenomenon was, however,
explained by an underground voice, relating how a Trojan was robbed
and slain by the inhabitants of this land, and how trees had sprung
from the javelins stuck in his breast.

Unwilling to linger in such a neighborhood, Aeneas sailed to Delos,
where an oracle informed him he would be able to settle only in the
land whence his ancestors had come. Although Anchises interpreted this
to mean they were to go to Crete, the household gods informed Aeneas,
during the journey thither, that Hesperia was their destined goal.
After braving a three-days tempest, Aeneas landed on the island of the
Harpies, horrible monsters who defiled the travellers' food each time
a meal was spread. They not only annoyed Aeneas in this way, but
predicted, when attacked, that he should find a home only when driven
by hunger to eat boards.

  "But ere your town with walls ye fence,
     Fierce famine, retribution dread
   For this your murderous violence,
     Shall make you eat your boards for bread."

Sailing off again, the Trojans next reached Epirus, which they found
governed by Helenus, a Trojan, for Achilles' son had already been
slain. Although Hector's widow was now queen of the realm where she
had been brought a captive, she still mourned for her noble husband,
and gladly welcomed the fugitives for his sake. It was during the
parting sacrifice that Helenus predicted that, after long wanderings,
his guests would settle in Italy, in a spot where they would find a
white sow suckling thirty young. He also cautioned Aeneas about the
hidden dangers of Charybdis and Scylla, and bade him visit the Cumaean
Sibyl, so as to induce her, if possible, to lend him her aid.

Restored and refreshed by this brief sojourn among kinsmen, Aeneas and
his followers resumed their journey, steering by the stars and
avoiding all landing in eastern or southern Italy which was settled by
Greeks. After passing Charybdis and Scylla unharmed, and after gazing
in awe at the plume of smoke crowning Mt. Aetna, the Trojans rescued
one of the Greeks who had escaped with Ulysses from the Cyclops' cave
but who had not contrived to sail away.

To rest his weary men, Aeneas finally landed at Drepanum, in Sicily,
where his old father died and was buried with all due pomp. It was
shortly after leaving this place, that Aeneas' fleet had been
overtaken by the terrible tempest which had driven his vessels to
Dido's shore.

  So King Aeneas told his tale
    While all beside were still,
  Rehearsed the fortunes of his sail
    And fate's mysterious will:
  Then to its close his legend brought
  And gladly took the rest he sought.

_Book IV._ While Aeneas rested peacefully, Dido's newborn passion kept
her awake, causing her at dawn to rouse her sister Anna, so as to
impart to her the agitated state of her feelings. Not only did Anna
encourage her sister to marry again, but united with her in a prayer
to which Venus graciously listened, although Juno reminded her that
Trojans and Carthaginians were destined to be foes. Still, as Goddess
of Marriage, Juno finally consented that Aeneas and Dido be brought
together in the course of that day's hunt.

We now have a description of the sunrise, of the preparations for the
chase, of the queen's dazzling appearance, and of the daring
huntsmanship of the false Iulus. But the brilliant hunting expedition
is somewhat marred in the middle of the day by a sudden thunderstorm,
during which Aeneas and Dido accidentally seek refuge in the same
cave, where we are given to understand their union takes place. So
momentous a step, proclaimed by the hundred-mouthed Goddess of Fame,
rouses the ire of the native chiefs, one of whom fervently hopes
Carthage may rue having spared these Trojan refugees. This prayer is
duly registered by Jupiter, who further bids Mercury remind Aeneas his
new realm is to be founded in Italy and not on the African coast!

Thus divinely ordered to leave, Aeneas dares not disobey, but,
dreading Dido's reproaches and tears, he prepares to depart secretly.
His plans are, however, detected by Dido, who vehemently demands, how
he dares forsake her now? By Jupiter's orders, Aeneas remains unmoved
by her reproaches, and sternly reminds her that he always declared he
was bound for Italy. So, leaving Dido to brood over her wrongs, Aeneas
hastens down to the shore to hasten his preparations for departure.
Seeing this, Dido implores her sister to detain her lover, and, as
this proves vain, orders a pyre erected, on which she places all the
objects Aeneas has used.

That night the gods arouse Aeneas from slumber to bid him sail without
taking leave of the Tyrian queen. In obedience to this command, our
hero cuts with his sword the rope which moors his vessel to the
Carthaginian shore, and sails away, closely followed by the rest of
his fleet. From the watch-tower at early dawn, Dido discovers his
vanishing sails, and is so overcome by grief that, after rending "her
golden length of hair" and calling down vengeance upon Aeneas, she
stabs herself and breathes her last in the midst of the burning pyre.
The Carthaginians, little expecting so tragical a denouement, witness
the agony of their beloved queen in speechless horror, while Anna
wails aloud. Gazing down from heaven upon this sad scene, Juno
directs Iris to hasten down and cut off a lock of Dido's hair, for it
is only when this mystic ceremony has been performed that the soul can
leave the body. Iris therefore speedily obeys, saying:

  "This lock to Dis I bear away
   And free you from your load of clay:"
   So shears the lock: the vital heats
   Disperse, and breath in air retreats.

_Book V._ Sailing on, Aeneas, already dismayed by the smoke rising
from the Carthaginian shore, is further troubled by rapidly gathering
clouds. His weather-wise pilot, Palinurus, suggests that, since "the
west is darkening into wrath," they run into the Drepanum harbor,
which they enter just one year after Anchises' death. There they show
due respect to the dead by a sacrifice, of which a serpent takes his
tithe, and proceed to celebrate funeral games. We now have a detailed
account of the winning of prizes for the naval, foot, horse and
chariot races, and the boxing and archery matches.

While all the men are thus congenially occupied, the Trojan women,
instigated by Juno in disguise, set fire to the ships, so they need no
longer wander over seas they have learned to loathe. One of the
warriors, seeing the smoke, raises the alarm, and a moment later his
companions dash down to the shore to save their ships. Seeing his
fleet in flames, Aeneas wrings his hands, and prays with such fervor
that a cloudburst drenches his burning vessels. Four, however, are
beyond repair; so Aeneas, seeing he no longer has ship-room for all
his force, allows the Trojans most anxious to rest to settle in
Drepanum, taking with him only those who are willing to share his
fortunes.

Before he leaves, his father's ghost appears to him, bidding him,
before settling in Latium, descend into Hades by way of Lake Avernus,
and visit him in the Elysian Fields to hear what is to befall his
race.

When Aeneas leaves Drepanum on the next day, his mother pleads so
successfully in his behalf that Neptune promises to exact only one
life as toll.

  "One life alone shall glut the wave;
   One head shall fall the rest to save."

_Book VI._ Steering to Cumae, where the Sibyl dwells, Aeneas seeks her
cave, whose entrance is barred by bronzen gates, on which is
represented the story of Daedalus,--the first bird man,--who, escaping
from the Labyrinth at Crete, gratefully laid his wings on this altar.
We are further informed that the Sibyl generally wrote her oracles on
separate oak leaves, which were set in due order in her cave, but
which the wind, as soon as the doors opened, scattered or jumbled
together, so that most of her predictions proved unintelligible to
those who visited her shrine. After a solemn invocation, Aeneas
besought her not to baffle him by writing on oak leaves, and was
favored by her apparition and the announcement that, after escaping
sundry perils by land and sea and reddening the Tiber with blood, he
would, thanks to Greek aid, triumph over his foes and settle in Latium
with a new bride. Undaunted by the prospect of these trials, Aeneas
besought the Sibyl to guide him down to Hades, to enable him to visit
his father, a journey she flatly refused to undertake, unless he
procured the golden bough which served as a key to that region, and
unless he showed due respect to the corpse of his friend. Although
both conditions sounded mysterious when uttered, Aeneas discovered, on
rejoining his crew, that one of his Trojans had been slain. After
celebrating his funeral, our hero wandered off into a neighboring
forest, where some doves--his mother's birds--guided him to the place
where grew the golden bough he coveted.

Armed with this talisman and escorted by the Sibyl, Aeneas, by way of
Lake Avernus, entered the gloomy cave which formed the entrance to
Hades. Following the flying footsteps of his mystic guide, he there
plunged into the realm of night, soon reaching the precinct of
departed souls, where he saw innumerable shades. Although he
immediately crossed the river in Charon's leaky punt, many spirits
were obliged to wait a hundred years, simply because they could not
pay for their passage. Among these unfortunates Aeneas recognized his
recently drowned pilot, who related how he had come to his death and
by what means he was going to secure funeral honors.

In spite of the three-headed dog and sundry other grewsome sights,
Aeneas and his guide reached the place where Minos holds judgment over
arriving souls, and viewed the region where those who died for love
were herded together. Among these ghosts was Dido, but, although
Aeneas pityingly addressed her, she sullenly refused to answer a word.
Farther on Aeneas came to the place of dead heroes, and there beheld
brave Hector and clever Teucer, together with many other warriors who
took part in the Trojan War.

After allowing him to converse a brief while with these friends, the
Sibyl vouchsafed Aeneas a passing glimpse of Tartarus and of its great
criminals, then she hurried him on to the Elysian Fields, the home of
"the illustrious dead, who fighting for their country bled," to
inquire for Anchises. The visitors were immediately directed to a
quiet valley, where they found the aged Trojan, pleasantly occupied
contemplating the unborn souls destined to pass gradually into the
upper world and animate the bodies of his progeny. On beholding his
son, who, as at Drepanum, vainly tried to embrace him, Anchises
revealed all he had learned in regard to life, death, and im