Authors: Virgil
Suddenly Polites, one of Priam’s sons, came in sight. He had
escaped death at the hands of Pyrrhus and now, wounded and
with enemy weapons on every side, he was running through the
long porticos of the palace and across the empty halls with
530 Pyrrhus behind him in full cry, almost within reach, pressing
him hard with his spear and poised to strike. As soon as he
reached his father and mother, he fell and vomited his life’s
blood before their eyes. There was no escape for Priam. Death
was now upon him, but he did not check himself or spare the
anger in his voice. ‘As for you,’ he cried, ‘and for what you have
done, if there is any power in heaven that cares for such things,
may the gods pay you well. May they give you the reward you
have deserved for making me see my own son dying before my
540 eyes, for defiling a father’s face with the murder of his son. You
pretend that Achilles was your father, but this is not how Achilles
treated his enemy Priam. He had respect for my rights as a
suppliant and for the trust I placed in him. He gave me back the
bloodless body of Hector for burial and allowed me to return
to the city where I was king.’ With these words the old man
feebly threw his harmless spear. It rattled on the bronze of
Pyrrhus’ shield and hung there useless sticking on the surface of
the central boss. Pyrrhus then made his reply. ‘In that case you
will be my messenger and go to my father, son of Peleus. Let
him know about my wicked deeds and do not forget to tell
him about the degeneracy of his son Neoptolemus. Now, die.’
550 As he spoke the word, he was dragging Priam to the very altar,
his body trembling as it slithered through pools of his son’s
blood. Winding Priam’s hair in his left hand, in his right he
raised his sword with a flash of light and buried it to the hilt
in Priam’s side.
So ended the destiny of Priam. This was the death that fell to
his lot. He who had once been the proud ruler over so many
lands and peoples of Asia died with Troy ablaze before his eyes
and the citadel of Pergamum in ruins. His mighty trunk lay
upon the shore, the head hacked from the shoulders, a corpse
without a name.
Then for the first time I knew the horror that was all about
560 me. What was I to do? There came into my mind the image of
my own dear father, as I looked at the king who was his equal
in age breathing out his life with that cruel wound. There came
into my mind also my wife Creusa whom I had left behind, the
plundering of my home and the fate of young Iulus. I turned to
look at the men fighting by my side. Exhausted, they had all
deserted me and thrown themselves from the roof or given their
suffering bodies to the flames.
Now that I was alone, I caught sight of Helen keeping watch
on the doors of the temple of Vesta where she was staying quietly
570 in hiding. The fires gave a bright light and I was gazing all
around me wherever I went. This Helen, this Fury sent to be the
scourge both of Troy and of her native Greece, was afraid of the
Trojans, who hated her for the overthrow of their city. She was
afraid the Greeks would punish her and afraid of the wrath of
the husband she had deserted, so, hated by all, she had gone
into hiding and was sitting there at the altar. The passion flared
in my heart and I longed in my anger to avenge my country even
as it fell and to exact the penalty for her crimes. ‘So this woman
will live to set eyes on Sparta and her native Mycenae again,
and walk as queen in the triumph she has won? Will she see her
580 husband, her father’s home and her children and be attended
by women of Troy and Phrygian slaves, while Priam lies dead
by the sword, Troy has been put to the flames and the shores of
the land of Dardanus have sweated so much blood? This will
not be. Although there is no fame worth remembering to be
won by punishing a woman and such a victory wins no praise,
nevertheless I
shall
win praise for blotting out this evil and
exacting a punishment which is richly deserved. I shall also take
pleasure in feeding the flames of vengeance and appeasing the
ashes of my people.’
590 As I ran towards her ranting and raving, my loving mother
suddenly appeared before my eyes. I had never before seen her
so clearly, shining in perfect radiance through the darkness of
the night. She revealed herself as a goddess as the gods in heaven
see her, in all her majesty of form and stature. As she caught my
right hand and held me back, she opened her rosy lips and spoke
to me – ‘O my son, what bitterness can have been enough to stir
this wild anger in you? Why this raging passion? Where is all
the love you used to have for me? Will you not first go and see
where you have left your father, crippled with age, and find
whether your wife Creusa is still alive, and your son Ascanius?
600 The whole Greek army is prowling all around them and they
would have been carried off by the flames or slashed by the
swords of the enemy if my loving care were not defending them.
It is not the hated beauty of the Spartan woman, the daughter
of Tyndareus, that is overthrowing all this wealth and laying
low the topmost towers of Troy, nor is it Paris although you all
blame him, it is the gods, the cruelty of the gods. Look, for I
shall tear away from all around you the dank cloud that veils
your eyes and dulls your mortal vision. You are my son, do not
be afraid to do what I command you, and do not disobey me.
610 Here where you see shattered masonry, stone torn from stone,
and waves of dust-laden smoke, Neptune has loosened the
foundations with his great trident and is shaking the walls,
tearing up your whole city from the place where it is set. Here
too is Juno, cruellest of all, the first to seize the Scaean Gate,
standing there sword in hand, and furiously calling up the
supporting columns from the ships. Now look behind you,
Tritonian Pallas is already sitting on top of your citadel shining
out of the cloud with her terrible Gorgon, while the Father of
the Gods himself puts heart into the Greeks and gives them
strength. It is Jupiter himself who is rousing the gods against
the armies of Troy. Escape, my son, escape with all haste. Put
620 an end to your struggle, I shall not leave your side till I see you
safely standing on the threshold of your father’s door.’ She
finished speaking and melted into the dense shadows of that
night, and there before my eyes I saw the dreadful vision of the
gods in all their might, the enemies of Troy.
At that moment I seemed to see the whole of Ilium settling
into the flames and Neptune’s Troy toppling over from its
foundations like an ancient ash tree high in the mountains which
farmers have hacked with blow upon blow of their double axes,
labouring to fell it; again and again it threatens to fall, its foliage
630 shudders and its head trembles and nods until at last it succumbs
to its wounds and breaks with a dying groan, spreading ruin
along the ridge. I came down from the roof and with the god to
lead me, a way opened through fire and sword. The weapons
parted and the flames drew back before me.
When at last I had reached the door of my father’s house and
our ancient home, my first wish was to find my father and take
him into the high mountains, but he refused to go on living now
that Troy had been levelled to the earth. He would not hear of
exile, but cried: ‘Those of you with young blood still thick in
your veins, those of you whose strength is sound and unimpaired,
640 you are the ones who must busy yourselves with escaping.
If the gods in heaven had wished me to go on living, they
would have preserved this place for me. I have already seen one
sack of the city and survived its capture, and that is more than
enough. Here I lie and here I stay. Take your farewells and leave
me. My own right hand will earn me my death. The enemy will
take pity on me. They will
be looking for spoils. I shall have no
tomb, but that is an easy loss to bear. For long years, ever since
the Father of the Gods and King of Men blew the wind of his
thunderbolt upon me and touched me with its fire, I have been
lingering here hated by the gods and useless to men.’
650 As he said these words he stood there rooted and no power
could move him. Streaming with tears, my wife Creusa, Ascanius,
all of us begged him not to bring everything down on his
own head: when Fate batters a house, the father should not add
his weight to the blows. But he still refused. He stood by his
decision and stayed where he was. I rushed to take up arms
again in complete despair. Death was the only thing I could
hope for. What course could I follow? What fate was in store
for us? ‘Did you think I could run away and leave my father
here?’ I exclaimed. ‘How did such a sacrilege escape my father’s
660 lips? If the gods above decree that nothing of this great city is to
survive, if your mind is fixed and it is your pleasure to add
yourself and those you love to the destruction of the city, the
door is open and the deaths you want will come. Pyrrhus will
soon be here, soaked in the blood of Priam. He is the one who
murders the son before the face of the father, and the father at
the altar. O my loving mother, is this why you took me through
fire and sword, so that I could see my enemy in the innermost
sanctuary of my home, and Ascanius and my father and my wife
Creusa with them lying sacrificed in each other’s blood? Bring
me my armour, comrades. Bring it here. This is the last light we
670 shall see and it is calling the defeated. Give me back to the
Greeks. Let me go back and rejoin the battle. Today we die. But
not all of us shall die unavenged.’
I buckled on my sword again and was fixing my left arm into
the shield. But as I was leaving Creusa suddenly threw herself
at my feet in the doorway and held me, stretching out our little
son Iulus towards me. ‘If you are going to your death,’ she cried,
‘take us with you to share your fate, whatever it is. But if you
have reason to put any hope in arms, your first duty is to guard
this house. If you leave us here, what fate is waiting for little
Iulus, for your father and for the woman who used to be called
your wife?’
680 Her cries of anguish were filling the whole house, when suddenly
there was a great miracle. At the very moment when we
were both holding Iulus and he was there between our sorrowing
faces, a light began to stream from the top of the pointed cap he
was wearing and the flame seemed to lick his soft hair and feed
round his forehead without harming him. We took fright and
rushed to beat out the flames in his hair and quench the holy
fire with water, but Father Anchises, looking joyfully up to the
stars of heaven and raising his hands palms upward, lifted his
voice in prayer: ‘O All-powerful Jupiter, if ever you yield to
690 prayers, look down upon us, that is all we ask, and if we deserve
anything for our devotion, give us help at last, Father Jupiter,
and confirm this omen.’
Scarcely had he spoken when a sudden peal of thunder rang
out on the left and a star fell from the sky, trailing a great torch
of light in its course through the darkness. We watched it glide
over the topmost pinnacles of the house and bury itself, still
bright, in the woods of Mount Ida, leaving its path marked out
behind it, a broad furrow of light, and the whole place smoked
all around with sulphur. Now at last my father was truly convinced.
700 He rose up and addressed the gods, praying to the sacred
star: ‘There is now no more delay. Now I follow, O gods of my
fathers. Wherever you lead, there am I. Preserve this house.
Preserve my grandson. This is your sign. Troy is in your mighty
hands. Anchises yields. I am willing to go with you, my son, and
be your companion.’