Authors: Virgil
‘One thing more: if the prophet Helenus has any insight into
the future, if there is any reason to believe what I say, if Apollo
fills my mind with the truth, there is one prophecy I shall make
to you above all others, one counsel I shall repeat to you again
and again – worship the godhead of great Juno first and foremost
in your prayers, of your own free will submit your vows to Juno
and win over the mighty Queen of Heaven with your offerings
440 as you pray. If you do this you will at last leave Sicily behind
you and succeed in reaching the shores of Italy. When you have
landed and come to the city of Cumae and the sacred lakes of
Avernus among their sounding forests, there deep in a cave in
the rock you will see a virgin priestess foretelling the future in
prophetic frenzy by writing signs and names on leaves. After
she has written her prophecies on these leaves she seals them all
up in her cave where they stay in their appointed order. But the
leaves are so light that when the door turns in its sockets the
slightest breath of wind dislodges them. The draught from
450 the door throws them into confusion and the priestess never
makes it her concern to catch them as they flutter round her
rocky cave and put them back in order or join up the prophecies.
So men depart without receiving advice and are disappointed in
the house of the Sibyl. No matter how impatient your comrades,
no matter how the winds may cry out to your sails to take to sea,
though you know that you could fill the canvas with favouring
breezes, you must not begrudge the time but must stay to visit
the priestess. Approach her oracle with prayers and beg her by
her own gracious will to prophesy to you herself, opening her
460 lips and speaking to you in her own voice. She will tell you of
the peoples of Italy and the wars that are to come, and how you
are to escape or endure all the labours that lie before you. If
you do her reverence she will give you a prosperous voyage.
This is as much as my voice may utter to give you guidance.
Now go forward and by your actions raise the greatness of Troy
to the skies.’
After the prophet Helenus had told us these things in the
friendliness of his heart, he then ordered his people to carry gifts
of solid gold and carved ivory down to our ships and stowed a
great quantity of silver in their hulls with cauldrons from
Jupiter’s temple at Dodona, a breastplate of chain mail interwoven
with triple threads of gold and a noble helmet with crest
and streaming plumes once worn by Neoptolemus. There were
470 other gifts for my father, and he also gave us horses and leaders
of men, rowers to make up the crews and arms for my comrades.
Meanwhile Anchises was ordering us to fit out the ships with
their sails and not lose the following winds when the priest of
Apollo addressed him in deep respect: ‘Anchises, the gods love
you. You have been thought worthy of the highest of all honours,
the love of Venus. You have been twice rescued from the ruins
of Troy, and now before you, look, the land of Ausonia. Sail
there and take possession of it. But you must sail past the
opposite coast. The part of Ausonia which Apollo reveals to
480 you is far from here. Go then, Anchises, fortunate in the devotion
of your son. There is no more to say. Why do I keep you talking
when the wind is rising?’
Andromache also grieved at this parting that was to be our
last and brought us robes embroidered with gold thread and a
Phrygian cloak for Ascanius. She was as generous as Helenus
had been, heaping the gifts of her weaving upon him and saying:
‘Take these too, my boy, and I hope the work of my hands may
remind you of Andromache, wife of Hector, and be a token of
my long-enduring love for you. Accept them. They are the last
gifts you will receive from your own people. You are the only
490 image left to me of my own son Astyanax. He had just those
eyes, and just those hands. His face was just like yours. He
would have been growing up now, the same age as yourself.’
The tears were starting to my eyes as I was leaving them, and
I spoke these words. ‘Live on and enjoy the blessing of heaven.
Your destiny has been accomplished. But we are called from
fate to fate. Your rest is won. You do not need to plough tracts
of ocean searching for the ever-receding Ausonian fields. You
have before your eyes an image of the river Xanthus and a Troy
made by your own hands, more fortunate, I pray, than the Troy
500 that was, and less of a stumbling-block to the Greeks. If ever I
reach the river Thybris and the fields through which the Thybris
flows and see my people with their own city walls, we shall in
some future age unite our cities and the peoples of Hesperia and
Epirus, for we are kith and kin, the same Dardanus is our
founder and the same destiny attends us. We shall make them
both one Troy in spirit. Let that be a duty for our descendants.’
Down the coast we sailed near the Ceraunian rocks where the
crossing to Italy is shortest, and as we sailed the sun set and
shadow darkened the mountains. At last we lay down by the
waves of the sea in the lap of earth, and after allotting the next
510 day’s order of rowing, we took our ease all along the dry beach
and sleep washed into our weary limbs.
Night in its chariot drawn by the Hours was not yet coming
up to the middle of the sky, but there was no more sleep for
Palinurus. He rose from his bed and studied all the winds,
pricking up his ears to test the air and marking the path of every
star gliding in the silent sky, Arcturus and the rainy Hyades and
the two Triones, the oxen of the Plough, and he looked round
to the south at Orion armed in gold, and saw that the whole
sky was serene and settled. Clear came his signal from the high
520 stern. We broke camp, started our voyage and spread the wings
of our sails.
The stars had been put to flight and dawn was reddening in
the sky when we sighted in the far distance the dim hills and
plains of Italy. ‘Italy!’ – the first shout was from Achates – and
‘Italy!’ – the men took up the cry in cheerful salute. Then Father
Anchises, standing on the high stern, garlanded a great mixing
bowl, filled it with unwatered wine and called upon the gods:
‘O you who rule sea, land and storm, give us an easy wind for
our voyage. Blow kindly upon us.’
530 His prayer was answered. The breeze freshened and a harbour
opened up before us, growing nearer and nearer till we could
see the temple of Minerva on the citadel. My comrades furled
their sails and pointed their prows to the shore. The harbour
was shaped like a bow, curving away from the swell which came
in from the east. The rocks at the mouth were foaming with salt
spray but the harbour lay tucked away behind. Towering rocks
on either side stretched down their arms to form a double wall
and the temple stood well back from the shore. The first omen
I saw here was four horses white as snow cropping the grass on
540 a broad plain and my father Anchises interpreted it: ‘This land
that receives us is promising us war! Men arm horses for war
and so this troop of horses means threat of war. Yet at other
times they are harnessed to chariots and accept reins under the
yoke in harmony. There is hope of peace also.’
At that moment we prayed to the sacred godhead of Pallas,
clasher of arms, the first goddess to welcome us in this hour of
our joy. Standing at the altar we veiled our heads with Phrygian
cloth, and in accordance with the instructions which Helenus
had told us to follow before all others, duly paid the prescribed
honour to Juno of Argos with our burnt offerings.
We did not linger there but as soon as we had performed the
rites in due order we raised our sails, swung the yards round
550 and left behind us this home of Greeks, this land we could not
trust. Next we saw the bay of Tarentum, the city of Hercules if
the story is true, and over against it rose the temple of the
goddess Juno at Lacinium, the citadel of Caulon and the bay of
Scylaceum, that great breaker of ships. Then from far out at sea
we sighted Mount Etna in Sicily and heard a loud moaning of
waters and grinding of rocks and the voice of breakers beating
on the shore, as the sea began to rise and swirl the sand in
its surge. Father Anchises cried out: ‘This must be the deadly
Charybdis. These are the cliffs Helenus warned us against. These
560 are the terrible rocks. Use all your strength to save yourselves,
comrades. Keep well in time and rise to the oar.’ They did as
they were bidden. Palinurus was the first to wrench his ship to
port and out to sea with a loud creaking of the bow, and the
whole fleet with every sail and oar steered to port with him. A
great arching wave came and lifted us to the sky and a moment
later as the wave was sucked down we plunged into the abyss
of hell. Three times the cliffs roared between their hollow rocks.
Three times we saw the foam shoot up and spatter the stars.
Meanwhile the sun had set, the wind had fallen and we were
weary and lost, drifting towards the shore of the Cyclopes.
570 The harbour there is out of the wind. It is still and spacious
but close by Mount Etna thunders and hurls down its deadly
debris. Sometimes it shoots a pitch-black cloud of swirling
smoke and glowing ashes into the sky and tosses up balls of
flame to lick the stars. Sometimes it belches boulders, tearing
out the bowels of the mountain and throwing molten rock up
into the air, seething and groaning in its very depths. The story
goes that the body of Enceladus, half-consumed by the fire of
the thunderbolt, is crushed under this great mass. Mighty Etna
580 lies on top of him breathing fire from its shattered furnaces and
every time he turns over from one weary flank to another the
whole of Sicily trembles and murmurs and wreathes the sky
with smoke. We hid in the woods and lived through a night of
horror, not seeing what was making these monstrous sounds.
The fire of the stars was quenched and the dark bowl of heaven
was denied their radiance. Clouds darkened the sky and
unbroken night obscured the moon.
At last the Morning Star appeared and the next day was
590 beginning to rise. The Goddess of the Dawn had dispersed the
dank mists from the sky when suddenly we saw a strange sight.
Coming out of the woods was a man we did not know, in
pitiable plight and half-dead with hunger, coming towards us
on the shore with his hands stretched out in supplication. We
stared at him. The filth on his body was indescribable. He had
a straggling beard and the rags he wore were pinned together
by thorns, but for all that he was a Greek, one of those who had
been sent to Troy bearing the arms of his country. When still at
a distance he saw our Trojan clothes and Trojan armour, he
checked his stride and stood in terror at the sight of us. But he
600 soon rushed down to the shore weeping and pleading: ‘I beg
you, Trojans, by all the stars, by the gods above, by the bright
air of heaven which we breathe, take me aboard your ships.
Take me anywhere. That is all I ask. I know I was one of those
who sailed with the Greek fleet. I admit I made war against the
gods of your homes in Troy. If that offence is so great, tear me
limb from limb, scatter the pieces on the waves and let them
sink into the vastness of the sea. If I am to die, I shall be pleased
to die at the hands of men.’