Authors: Virgil
190 ‘First of all, look at this vaulted cavern among the rocks. You
see how this great massive home inside the mountain has been
torn apart and is now abandoned, with boulders lying everywhere
in ruins. Here, deep in the vast recesses of the rock, was
once a cave which the rays of the sun never reached. This was
the home of a foul-featured, half-human monster by the name
of Cacus. The floor of the cave was always warm with freshly
shed blood, and the heads of men were nailed to his proud doors
and hung there pale and rotting. The father of this monster was
Vulcan, and it was his father’s black fire he vomited from his
mouth as he moved his massive bulk. Long did we pray and in
200 the end we too were granted the help and the presence of a god.
For the great avenger was at hand. Exulting in the slaughter
of the triple-bodied Geryon and the spoils he had taken, the
victorious Hercules was driving the huge bulls through our land
and the herd was grazing the valley and drinking the water of
the river. But Cacus was a robber, and thinking in the savagery
of his heart not to leave any crime or treachery undared or
unattempted, he stole from pasture four magnificent bulls and
as many lovely heifers. So that there would be no hoof prints
210 pointing forwards in the direction of the cave, he dragged them
in by their tails to reverse the tracks, and was now keeping his
plunder hidden deep in the darkness of the rock. There were no
tracks leading to the cave for any searcher to see.
‘Meanwhile, when his herd had grazed its fill, and the son of
Amphitryon was moving them out of pasture and preparing to
go on his way, the cows began to low plaintively at leaving
the place, filling the whole grove with their complaints, and
bellowing to the hills they were leaving behind them. Then, deep
in the cave, a single cow lowed in reply. Cacus had guarded her
well, but she thwarted his hopes. At this Hercules blazed up in
220 anger. The black bile of his fury rose in him, and snatching up
his arms and heavy knotted club, he made off at a run for
the windswept heights of the mountain. Never before had our
people seen Cacus afraid. Never before had there been terror in
these eyes. He turned and fled, running to his cave with the
speed of the wind, fear lending wings to his feet. There he shut
himself up, dropping a huge rock behind him and breaking the
iron chains on which it had been suspended by his father’s art,
so that its great mass was jammed against the doorposts and
blocked the entrance. There was Hercules in a passion, trying
230 every approach, turning his head this way and that and grinding
his teeth. Three times he went round the whole of Mount
Aventine in his anger. Three times he tried to force the great rock
doorway without success. Three times he sat down exhausted in
the valley.
‘Above the ridge on top of the cave, there stood a sharp needle
of flint with sheer rocks falling away on either side. It rose to a
dizzy height and was a favourite nesting-place of carrion birds.
Hercules put his weight on the right-hand side of it where it
leaned over the ridge towards the river on its left. He rocked it,
loosened it, wrenched it free from its deep base and then gave a
sudden heave, a heave at which the great heavens thundered,
240
the banks of the river leapt apart and the river flowed backwards
in alarm. The cave and whole huge palace of Cacus were unroofed
and exposed to view and his shadowy caverns were
opened to all their depths. It was as though the very depths of the
earth were to gape in some cataclysm and unbar the chambers of
the underworld, the pale kingdom loathed by the gods, so that
the vast abyss could be seen from above with the shades of the
dead in panic as the light floods in.
‘So Cacus was caught in the sudden rush of light and trapped
in his cavern in the rock, howling as never before, while Hercules
250 bombarded him from above with any missile that came to hand,
belabouring him with branches of trees and rocks the size of
millstones. There was no escape for him now, but he vomited
thick smoke from his monstrous throat and rolled clouds of it
all round his den to blot it from sight. Deep in his cave he
churned out fumes as black as night and the darkness was shot
through with fire. Hercules was past all patience. He threw
himself straight down, leaping through the flames where the
smoke spouted thickest and the black cloud boiled in the vast
cavern. There, as Cacus vainly belched his fire in the darkness,
260 Hercules caught him in a grip and held him, forcing his eyes out
of their sockets and squeezing his throat till the blood was dry
in it. Then, tearing out the doors and opening up the dark house
of Cacus, he brought into the light of heaven the stolen cattle
whose theft Cacus had denied, and dragged the foul corpse out
by the feet. No one could have enough of gazing at his terrible
eyes and face, at the coarse bristles on his beastly chest and the
throat charred by fires now dead.
‘Ever since that time we have honoured his name and succeeding
generations have celebrated this day with rejoicing. This
270 altar was set up in its grove by Potitius, the first founder of these
rites of Hercules, and by the Pinarii, the guardians of the rites.
We shall always call it the Greatest Altar, and the greatest altar
it will always be. Come then warriors, put a crown of leaves
around your hair in honour of this great exploit, and hold out
your cups in your right hands. Call upon the god who is a god
for all of us and offer him wine with willing hearts.’ No sooner
had he spoken than his head was shaded by a wreath and
pendant of the green-silver leaves of Hercules’ poplar woven
into his hair, and the sacred goblet filled his hand. Soon they
were all pouring their libations on the table and praying to
the gods.
280 Meanwhile the Evening Star was drawing nearer as the day
sank in the heavens and there came a procession of priests led by
Potitius, wearing their ritual garb of animal skins and carrying
torches. They were starting the feast again with a second course
of goodly offerings, and they heaped the altar with loaded
dishes. Then the Salii, the priests of Mars, their heads bound
with poplar leaves, came to sing around the altar fires. On one
side was a chorus of young warriors, on the other a chorus of
old men, hymning the praise of Hercules and his great deeds:
how he seized the two snakes, the first monsters sent against
him by his stepmother, and throttled them, one in each hand;
290 how too he tore stone from stone the cities of Troy and Oechalia,
famous in war; how he endured a thousand labours under king
Eurystheus to fulfil the fate laid upon him by the cruel will of
Juno. ‘O unconquered Hercules,’ they sang, ‘you are the slayer
of the half-men born of the cloud, the Centaurs Hylaeus and
Pholus; of the monstrous Cretan bull and the huge lion of Nemea
in its rocky lair; the pools of the Styx trembled at your coming,
and the watchdog of Orcus cringed where he lay in his cave
weltering in blood on heaps of half-eaten bones. But nothing
you have seen has ever made you afraid, not even Typhoeus
300 himself, rising up to heaven with his weapons in his hands. Nor
did reason fail you when the hundred heads of the Lernaean
Hydra hissed around you. Hail, true son of Jupiter, the latest
lustre added to the company of the gods, come to us now, to
your own holy rite, and bless us with your favouring presence.’
To end their hymn they sang of the cave of Cacus, and Cacus
himself breathing fire, till the whole grove rang and all the hills
re-echoed.
As soon as the sacred rites were completed, they all returned
to the city. The king, weighed down with age, kept Aeneas and
his son Pallas by his side as he walked, and made the way
310 seem shorter by all the things he told them. Aeneas was lost in
admiration and his eyes were never still as he looked about him
enthralled by the places he saw, asking questions about them
and joyfully listening to Evander’s explanations of all the relics
of the men of old. This is what was said that day by Evander,
the founder of the citadel of Rome: ‘These woods used to be the
haunt of native fauns and nymphs and a race of men born from
the hard wood of oak-tree trunks. They had no rules of conduct
and no civilization. They did not know how to yoke oxen for
ploughing, how to gather wealth or husband what they had,
but they lived off the fruit of the tree and the harsh diet of
320 huntsmen. In those early days, in flight from the weapons of
Jupiter, came Saturn from heavenly Olympus, an exile who had
lost his kingdom. He brought together this wild and scattered
mountain people, gave them laws and resolved that the name of
the land should be changed to Latium, since he had
lain
hidden
within its borders. His reign was what men call the Golden Age,
such was the peace and serenity of the people under his rule.
But gradually a worse age of baser metal took its place and with
it came the madness of war and the lust for possessions. Then
bands of Ausonians arrived and Sicanian peoples, and the land
330 of Saturn lost its name many times. Next there were kings,
among them the cruel and monstrous Thybris, after whom we
Italians have in later years called the river Thybris, and the old
river Albula has lost its true name. I had been driven from my
native land and was setting course for the most distant oceans
when Fortune, that no man can resist, and Fate, that no man
can escape, set me here in this place, driven by fearsome words
of warning from my mother, the nymph Carmentis, and by the
authority of the god Apollo.’
He had just finished saying this and moved on a little, when
he pointed out the Altar of Carmentis and the Carmental Gate,
as the Romans have called it from earliest times in honour of
340 the nymph Carmentis. She had the gift of prophecy and was the
first to foretell the future greatness of the sons of Aeneas and
the future fame of Pallanteum. From here he pointed out the
great grove which warlike Romulus set up as a sanctuary – he
was to call it the Asylum – and also the Lupercal there under its
cool rock, then called by Arcadian tradition they had brought
from Parrhasia, the cave of Pan Lycaeus, the wolf god. He also
pointed out the grove of the Argiletum, and, calling upon that
consecrated spot to be his witness, he told the story of the killing
of his guest Argus.
From here he led the way to the house of Tarpeia and the
Capitol, now all gold, but in those distant days bristling with
350 rough scrub. Even then a powerful sense of a divine presence in
the place caused great fear among the country people, even then
they went in awe of the wood and the rock. ‘This grove,’ said
Evander, ‘this leafy-topped hill, is the home of some god, we
know not which. My Arcadians believe they have often seen
Jupiter himself shaking the darkening aegis in his right hand to
drive along the storm clouds. And then here are the ruined walls
of these two towns. What you are looking at are relics of the
men of old. These are their monuments. One of these citadels
was founded by Father Janus; the other by Saturn. This one
used to be called the Janiculum; the other, Saturnia.’
360 Talking in this way they were coming up to Evander’s humble
home, and there were cattle everywhere, lowing in the Roman
Forum and the now luxurious district of the Carinae. When
they arrived at his house, Evander said: ‘The victorious Hercules
of the line of Alceus stooped to enter this door. This was a
palace large enough for him. You are my guest, and you too
must have the courage to despise wealth. You must mould
yourself to be worthy of the god. Come into my poor home and
do not judge it too harshly.’ With these words he led the mighty
Aeneas under the roof-tree of his narrow house and set him
down on a bed of leaves covered with the hide of a Libyan bear.
Night fell and its dark wings enfolded the earth.