The Aeneid (28 page)

                They were soon coming near the Sirens’ rocks, once a difficult
                coast and white with the bones of drowned men, and at that
                
moment sounding far with the endless grinding of breaker upon
                rock, when Father Aeneas sensed that he was adrift without a
                helmsman. In mid-ocean in the dead of night he took control of
                the ship himself, and grieving to the heart at the loss of his
870         friend, he cried out: ‘You trusted too much, Palinurus, to a clear
                sky and a calm sea, and your body will lie naked on an unknown
                shore.’

                So spoke Aeneas, weeping, and gave the ships their head and at
                long last they glided to land at the Euboean colony of Cumae.
                The prows were turned out to sea, the teeth of the anchors held
                and they moored with their curved sterns fringing the shore.
                Gleaming in the sun, an eager band of warriors rushed out on
                to the shore of the land of Hesperia, some searching for the
                seeds of flame hidden in the veins of flint, some raiding the dense
                woods, the haunts of wild beasts, and pointing the way to rivers
                they had found. But the devout Aeneas made for the citadel
10           where Apollo sits throned on high and for the vast cave standing
                there apart, the retreat of the awesome Sibyl, into whom Delian
                Apollo, the God of Prophecy, breathes mind and spirit as he
                reveals to her the future. They were soon coming up into the
                grove of Diana Trivia and Apollo’s golden shrine.

                They say that when Daedalus was fleeing from the kingdom
                of Minos, he dared to trust his life to the sky, floating off on
                swiftly driving wings towards the cold stars of the north, the
                Greater and Lesser Bears, by a route no man had ever gone
                before, until at last he was hovering lightly in the air above the
                citadel of Chalcidian Cumae. Here he first returned to earth,
                dedicating to Phoebus Apollo the wings that had oared him
20           through the sky, and founding a huge temple. On its doors were
                depicted the death of Androgeos, son of Minos, and then the
                Athenians, the descendants of Cecrops, ordered to pay a cruel
                penalty and yield up each year the living bodies of seven of their
                sons. The lots are drawn and there stands the urn. Answering
                this on the other door are Cnossus and the land of Crete rising
                from the sea. Here can be seen the loving of the savage bull and
                
Pasiphae laid out to receive it and deceive her husband Minos.
                Here too is the hybrid offspring, the Minotaur, half-man and
                half-animal, the memorial to a perverted love, and here is its
                home, built with such great labour, the inextricable Labyrinth.
                But Daedalus takes pity on the great love of the princess Ariadne
30           and unravels the winding paths of his own baffling maze, guiding
                the blind steps of Theseus with a thread. You too, Icarus, would
                have taken no small place in this great work had the grief of
                Daedalus allowed it. Twice your father tried to shape your fall
                in gold and twice his hands fell helpless. The Trojans would
                have gone on gazing and read the whole story through, but
                Achates, who had been sent ahead, now returned bringing with
                him Deiphobe, the daughter of Glaucus, priestess of Phoebus
                and Trivia, who spoke these words to the king: ‘This is no time
                for you to be looking at sights like these. Rather at this moment
                you should be sacrificing seven bullocks from a herd the yoke
                has never touched and seven yearling sheep as ritual prescribes.’
40           So she addressed Aeneas. Nor were the Trojans slow to obey,
                and when the sacrifices were performed she called them into the
                lofty temple.

                This rocky citadel had been colonized by Chalcidians from
                Euboea, and one side of it had been hollowed out to form a
                vast cavern into which led a hundred broad shafts, a hundred
                mouths, from which streamed as many voices giving the
                responses of the Sibyl. They had reached the threshold of the
                cavern when the virgin priestess cried: ‘Now is the time to ask
                your destinies. It is the god. The god is here.’ At that moment,
                as she spoke in front of the doors, her face was transfigured, her
                colour changed, her hair fell in disorder about her head and she
                stood there with heaving breast and her wild heart bursting in
50           ecstasy. She seemed to grow in stature and speak as no mortal
                had ever spoken when the god came to her in his power and
                breathed upon her. ‘Why are you hesitating, Trojan Aeneas?’
                she cried. ‘Why are you so slow to offer your vows and prayers?
                Until you have prayed the great mouths of my house are dumb
                and will not open.’ She spoke and said no more. A cold shiver
                ran through the very bones of the Trojans and their king poured
                out the prayers from the depths of his heart: ‘Phoebus Apollo,
                
you have always pitied the cruel sufferings of the Trojans. You
                guided the hands of Trojan Paris and the arrow he sent into the
                body of Achilles. You were my leader as I set out upon all
                the oceans that lap the great lands of the earth and reached the
60           far-flung peoples of Massylia and the fields that lie out to sea in
                front of the Syrtes. Now at long last we lay hold upon the shores
                of Italy that have so often receded before us. I pray that from
                this moment the fortunes of Troy may follow us no further. You
                too, you gods and goddesses who could not endure Troy and
                the great glory of the race of Dardanus, it is now right that you
                should have mercy upon the people of Pergamum. And you, O
                most holy priestess, you who know in advance what is to be,
                grant my prayer, for the kingdom I ask for is no more than what
                is owed me by the Fates, and allow the Trojans and their
70           homeless and harried gods to settle in Latium. Then I shall
                found a temple of solid marble to Phoebus and Trivia, and holy
                days in the name of Phoebus. And for you too there will be a
                great shrine in our kingdom. Here I shall establish your oracle
                and the riddling prophecies you have given my people and I
                shall dedicate chosen priests to your gracious service, only do not
                consign your prophecies to leaves to be confused and mocked by
                every wind that blows. Sing them in your own voice, I beg of
                you.’ He said no more.

                But the priestess, not yet submissive, was still in wild frenzy
                in her cave. The more she tried to shake her body free of the
80           great god the harder he strained upon her foaming mouth,
                taming that wild heart and moulding her by his pressure. And
                now the hundred huge doors of her house opened of their own
                accord and gave her answer to the winds: ‘At long last you have
                done with the perils of the ocean, but worse things remain for
                you to bear on land. The sons of Dardanus shall come into their
                kingdom in Lavinium (put that fear out of your mind), but it is
                a coming they will wish they had never known. I see wars,
                deadly wars, I see the Thybris foaming with torrents of blood.
                There you will find a Simois and a Xanthus. There, too, will be
                a Greek camp. A second Achilles is already born in Latium, and
90           he too is the son of a goddess. Juno too is part of Trojan destiny
                and will never be far away when you are a suppliant begging in
                
dire need among all the peoples and all the cities of Italy. Once
                again the cause of all this Trojan suffering will be a foreign
                bride, another marriage with a stranger. You must not give way
                to these adversities but must face them all the more boldly
                wherever your fortune allows it. Your road to safety, strange as
                it may seem, will start from a Greek city.’

                With these words from her shrine the Sibyl of Cumae sang
                her fearful riddling prophecies, her voice booming in the cave
100         as she wrapped the truth in darkness, while Apollo shook the
                reins upon her in her frenzy and dug the spurs into her flanks.
                The madness passed. The wild words died upon her lips, and
                the hero Aeneas began to speak: ‘O virgin priestess, suffering
                cannot come to me in any new or unforeseen form. I have
                already known it. Deep in my heart I have lived it all before.
                One prayer I have. Since they say the gate of the king of the
                underworld is here and here too in the darkness is the swamp
                which the tide of Acheron floods, I pray to be allowed to go and
                look upon the face of my dear father. Show me the way and
110         open the sacred doors for me. On these shoulders I carried him
                away through the flames and a hail of weapons and rescued
                him from the middle of his enemies. He came on my journey
                with me over all the oceans and endured all the threats of sea
                and sky, feeble as he was but finding a strength beyond his years.
                Besides, it was my father himself who begged and commanded
                me to come to you as a suppliant and approach your doors. Pity
                the father, O gracious one, and pity the son, I beg of you. All
                things are within your power and Hecate had her purpose in
                giving you charge of the grove of Avernus. Was not Orpheus
120         allowed to summon the shade of his wife with the sound of the
                strings of his Thracian lyre? And since Pollux was allowed to
                redeem his brother by sharing his death, does he not often travel
                that road and often return? Do I need to speak of Theseus? Or
                of great Hercules? I too am descended from highest Jupiter.’

                While he was still speaking these words of prayer with his
                hand upon the altar, the prophetess began her answer: ‘Trojan,
                son of Anchises, sprung from the blood of the gods, it is easy to
                go down to the underworld. The door of black Dis stands open
                night and day. But to retrace your steps and escape to the upper
                
air, that is the task, that is the labour. Some few have succeeded,
130         sons of the gods, loved and favoured by Jupiter or raised to the
                heavens by the flame of their own virtue. The middle of that
                world is filled with woods and the river Cocytus glides round
                them, holding them in its dark embrace. But if your desire is so
                great, if you have so much longing to sail twice upon the pools
                of Styx and twice to see black Tartarus, if it is your pleasure to
                indulge this labour of madness, listen to what must first be done.
                Hidden in a dark tree, there is a golden bough. Golden are its
                leaves and its pliant stem and it is sacred to Proserpina, the Juno
                of the underworld. A whole grove conceals it and the shades of
140         a dark, encircling valley close it in. But no man may enter the
                hidden places of the earth before plucking the golden foliage
                and fruit from this tree. The beautiful Proserpina has ordained
                that this is the offering that must be brought to her. When one
                golden branch has been torn from that tree, another comes to
                take its place and the stem puts forth leaves of the same metal.
                So then, lift up your eyes and look for it, and when in due time
                you find it, take it in your hand and pluck it. If you are a man
                called by the Fates, it will come easily of its own accord. But if
                not, no strength will prevail against it and hard steel will not be
150         able to hack it off. Besides, you have a friend lying dead. Of this
                you know nothing, but his body is polluting the whole fleet
                while you linger here at our door asking for oracles. First you
                must carry him to his place of rest and lay him in a tomb. Then
                you must bring black cattle to begin the purification. When all
                this is done, you will be able to see the groves of Styx and the
                kingdom where no living man may set his foot.’ So she spoke
                and no other word would cross her lips.

                With downcast eyes and sorrowing face Aeneas walked from
                the cave, revolving in his mind the fulfilment of these dark
                prophecies. With him stride for stride went the faithful Achates,
160         and his heart was no less heavy. Long did they talk and many
                different thoughts they shared. Who was this dead comrade of
                whom the priestess spoke? Whose body was this that had to be
                buried? And when they came to the shore, there above the tide
                line they found the body of Misenus, who had died a death he
                had not deserved. Misenus, son of Aeolus, who had no equal at
                
summoning the troops with his trumpet and kindling the God
                of War with his music, had been the comrade of great Hector,
                and by Hector’s side had borne the brunt of battle, excelling not
                only with the trumpet but also with the spear. But after Achilles
                had defeated Hector and taken his life, the brave Misenus had
170         found no less a hero to follow by joining Aeneas of the stock of
                Dardanus. Then one day in his folly he happened to be blowing
                into a sea shell, sending the sound ringing over the waves, and
                challenged the gods to play as well as he. At this his rival Triton,
                if the tale is to be believed, had caught him up and drowned him
                in the surf among the rocks. So then they raised around his
                body a loud noise of lamentation, not least the dutiful Aeneas.
                Without delay they hastened, still weeping, to obey the commands
                of the Sibyl, gathering trees to build an altar which would
                be his tomb and striving to raise it to the skies. Into the ancient
180         forest they went among the deep lairs of wild beasts. Down
                came the pines. The ilex rang under the axe. Beams of ash and
                oak were split along the grain with wedges, and they rolled great
                manna ashes down from the mountains.