Studies in the Poetry of Italy, I. Roman Part 15

We, the followers of you and your fortune since the Dardan land sank in flame--we, the comrades of the fleet which you have been guiding over the swollen main--we it is that will raise to the stars the posterity that shall come after you, and crown your city with imperial sway. Be it yours to build mighty walls for mighty dwellers, and not abandon the task of flight for its tedious length. Change your settlement; it is not this coast that the Delian G.o.d moved you to accept--not in Crete that Apollo bade you sit down. No, there is a place--the Greeks call it Hesperia--a land old in story, strong in arms and in the fruitfulness of its soil--the Oenotrians were its settlers. Now report says that later generations have called the nation Italian, from the name of their leader. That is our true home: thence sprung Darda.n.u.s and father Iasius, the first founder of our line. Quick! rise, and tell the glad tale, which brooks no question, to your aged sire; tell him that he is to look for Corythus and the country of Ausonia.

Jupiter bars you from the fields of Dicte.

Conington.

Again on board, they sail for many stormy days until they reach the islands of the Strophades. Here dwell the Harpies, loathsome human birds, whose touch is defilement and whose speech is bitter with railing. Yet even here aeneas finds a prophecy of his destiny. Offended by the onslaught of the Trojans, Celaeno, one of the Harpy band, thus reviles and prophesies:

What, is it war for the oxen you have slain and the bullocks you have felled, true sons of Laomedon? Is it war that _you_ are going to make on _us_, to expel us, blameless Harpies, from our ancestral realm? Take, then, into your minds these my words, and print them there. The prophecy which the Almighty Sire imparted to Phoebus, Phoebus Apollo to me, I, the chief of the Furies, make known to you. For Italy, I know, you are crowding all sail: well, the winds shall be at your call as you go to Italy, and you shall be free to enter its harbors; but you shall not build walls around your fated city, before fell hunger and your murderous wrong against us drive you to gnaw and eat up your very tables.

Conington.

Hastily aeneas leaves this place with an earnest prayer that this dire threat may be averted. Past green Zacynthos, Dulichium, and craggy Neritos they go, past Ithaca, cursing it for crafty Ulysses' sake, and reach the rocky sh.o.r.es of Actium; then on past the Phaeacian land to Buthrotum in Epirus, on the western sh.o.r.e of Greece. He is astounded and delighted to find that the strange fortunes of war have set Helenus, son of Priam, here as king, with Andromache, wife of the lamented Hector, as his queen. We may be sure that the meeting was sweet and bitter too for all the exiles.

They pa.s.s many days in hospitable intercourse, recalling the vanished life of their old Phrygian home, and recounting the checkered experiences of their recent years. And now, one bright morning, the breezes call loudly to the sails, and aeneas would pursue his way. He knows by now that Italy is the object of his quest, but how he may reach the destined spot in that vast stretch of coast, and what wanderings still await him, he does not know. But Helenus, his host, is famed as a diviner of hidden things, and to him aeneas appeals.

Helenus first warns his friend that he must shun that part of Italy which seems so near at hand, for on this eastern sh.o.r.e the Greeks have many cities; but he must sail far around, until he reach the farthest sh.o.r.e. Above all, let him not try to speed his course through the straits of Sicily, for here the dread monsters Scylla and Charybdis keep the way. They shall at last come to "c.u.mae on the western sh.o.r.e, and the haunted lake, and the woods that rustle over Avernus," and there shall they learn further of their fates from the inspired prophetess of Apollo's shrine. Their final resting-place, where heaven shall permit them to found their city and end their wanderings, by this strange token they shall know--a huge white sow with thirty young, lying at ease beneath a spreading oak. "Such," says Helenus, "are the counsels which it is given you to receive from my lips. Go on your way, and by your actions lift to heaven the greatness of Troy."

With exchange of gifts, tokens of mutual love, sad at parting, but with high thoughts of glorious destiny, the royal pair speed their guests on their way. One reach to the northward, a night on the sandy sh.o.r.e, an early embarkation in the misty dusk of the morning, and aeneas turns his prows once more to the unknown west.

And now the stars were fled, and Aurora was just reddening in the sky, when in the distance we see the dim hills and low plains of Italy. "Italy!" Achates was the first to cry. Italy, our crews welcome with a shout of rapture. Then, my father Anchises wreathed a mighty bowl with a garland, and filled it with wine, and called on the G.o.ds, standing upon the tall stern: "Ye powers that rule sea and land and weather, waft us a fair wind and a smooth pa.s.sage, and breathe auspiciously!"

Conington.

They make a hasty landing on this nearest sh.o.r.e, pay solemn tribute to Juno as Helenus had bidden them, and speeding across the great curving bay of Tarentum, hug fast the sh.o.r.es of southern Italy. Barely escaping the dangerous straits of Sicily, they pa.s.s the night upon the sh.o.r.e near aetna, whose awful rumblings, whirlwinds of glowing ashes, and belched up avalanches of molten stone, appall their hearts. This night of dread ends in a morning of horror, for there, upon the mountainside, they see the Cyclopean monsters whom Ulysses and his band had so narrowly escaped. Hastily they push away from this dread coast, and sail clear around to western Sicily, where aeneas' aged father dies, and is buried in the friendly realm of King Acestes.

From here one more short course would have brought them to their journey's end; but Juno's implacable hate had stirred the winds against them, and by that dark storm they had been driven far away and wrecked on the coast of Africa.

Thus father aeneas, alone, amid the hush of all around, was recounting heaven's destined dealings, and telling of his voyages; and now at length he was silent, made an end, and took his rest.

Conington.

Ages after this, Oth.e.l.lo the Moor won the love of Desdemona by tales of valor and of suffering:

My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs; She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished That heaven had made her such a man. She thanked me, And bade me if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her.

By these same means, unwittingly has aeneas stirred the love in Dido's heart. She goes to her bed, but not to sleep. All night she tosses restlessly, picturing the hero's face and recalling his words; and in the morning, sick of soul, she pours her tears and cares into her sister Anna's bosom.

O sister, what dread visions of the night invade My troubled soul! What of this stranger lodged within Our halls, how n.o.ble in his mien, how brave in heart, Of what puissant arms! From heav'n in truth his race Must be derived, for fear betokens low-born souls.

Alas, how tempest-tossed of fate was he! How to The dregs the bitter cup of war's reverses hath He drained! If in my soul the purpose were not fixed That not to any suitor would I yield myself In wedlock, since the time when he who won my love Was reft away, perchance I might have yielded now.

For sister, I confess it, since my husband's fate, Since that sad day when by his blood my father's house Was sprinkled, this of all men has my feelings moved.

Again I feel the force of pa.s.sion's sway. But no!

May I be gulfed within earth's yawning depths; may Jove Almighty hurl me with his thunders to the shades, The pallid shades of Erebus and night profound, Before, O constancy, I violate thy laws!

He took my heart who first engaged my maiden love.

Still may he keep his own, and in the silent tomb Preserve my love inviolate.

Miller.

Anna advises her sister to yield to this new love, and argues that policy as well as inclination is on her side. Such a union as this would strengthen her against her brother, and exalt the sway of Carthage to unhoped for glory.

And to what glory shalt thou see thy city rise, What strong, far-reaching sway upreared on such a tie!

a.s.sisted by the Trojan arms, our youthful state Up to the very pinnacle of fame shall soar.

Miller.

Thus advised, Dido gives herself up to pa.s.sion's sway. Her city is forgotten, her queenly ambition gone. In hospitality, in feasting, and the dalliance of love the days go by. And seemingly aeneas, too, has forgotten his glorious destiny, his promised land of Italy, and is sunk in a languorous dream of present bliss.

But the fates of future Rome must not be thwarted. He is rudely awakened from his dream by Mercury, who at the command of Jove suddenly appears before him as he is engaged in urging on the walls and towers of Carthage.

And can it be that thou art building here the walls Of Tyrian Carthage, and uprearing her fair towers, Thou dotard, of thy realm and thy great destiny Forgetful! Jove himself, the ruler of the G.o.ds, Who holds the heavens and earth and moves them at his will, To thee from bright Olympus straight hath sent me here.

He bade me bear on speeding pinions these commands: What dost thou here? or with what hopes dost thou delay Upon the Libyan sh.o.r.es? If thou, indeed, art moved By no regard of thine own glorious destiny, Respect at least the budding hopes of him, thy son, Who after thee shall hold the scepter; for to him Are due the realms of Italy, the land of Rome.

Miller.

aeneas is overwhelmed with astonishment and remorse. At once all his old ambitions regain their sway, and his mind is bent upon instant departure. He cries aloud:

O Jove, and I had near forgot my destiny, To oblivion lulled amid the sweets of this fair land!

But now my heart's sole longing is for Italy, Which waits me by the promise of the fates. But how From this benumbing pa.s.sion shall I free myself?

How face the queen and put away her clinging love?

[_To his attendants._] "Go ye, and swiftly call the Trojans to the sh.o.r.e; Bid them equip the vessels quickly for the sea, And frame for this our sudden voyage some fitting cause."

Miller.

But Dido has seen the hurrying Trojan mariners, and with her natural perceptions sharpened by suspicious fear, at once divines the meaning of this sudden stir. Maddened with the pangs of blighted love, she seeks aeneas and pours out her hot indignation mingled with pitiful pleadings.

And didst thou hope that thou couldst hide thy fell design, O faithless, and in silence steal away from this My land? Does not our love, and pledge of faith once given, Nor thought of Dido, doomed to die a cruel death, Detain thee? Can it be that under wintry skies Thou wouldest launch thy fleet and urge thy onward way 'Mid stormy blasts across the sea, O cruel one?

But what if not a stranger's land and unknown homes Thou soughtest; what if Troy, thy city, still remained: Still wouldst thou fare to Troy along the wave-tossed sea?

Is't I thou fleest? By these tears and thy right hand-- Since in my depth of crus.h.i.+ng woe I've nothing left-- And by our marriage bond and sacred union joined, If ever aught of mercy I have earned of thee, If I have ever giv'n thee one sweet drop of joy, Have pity on my falling house, and change, I pray, Thy cruel purpose if there still is room for prayer.

For thee the Libyan races hate me, and my lords Of Tyre; for thee my latest scruple was o'ercome; My fame, by which I was ascending to the stars, My kingdom, fates,--all these have I giv'n up for thee.

And thou, for whom dost thou abandon me, O guest?-- Since from the name of husband this sole name remains.

What wait I more? Is't till Pygmalion shall come, And lay my walls in ruins, or the desert prince, Iarbus, lead me captive home? O cruel fate!

If only ere thou fledst some pledge had been conceived Of thee, if round my halls some son of thine might sport, To bear thy name and bring thine image back to me, Then truly should I seem not utterly bereft.

Miller.

aeneas is seemingly unmoved by this appeal. With the warnings of Jupiter still sounding in his ears, he dares not let his love answer a word to Dido's pleadings. And so he coldly answers her that he is but following the bidding of his fate, which is leading him to Italy, even as hers had led her to this land of Africa.

Dido has stood during this reply with averted face and scornful look, and now turns upon him in a pa.s.sion of grief and rage. No pleadings now, but scornful denunciation and curses.

Thou art no son of Venus, nor was Darda.n.u.s The ancient founder of thy race, thou faithless one; But Caucasus with rough and flinty crags begot, And fierce Hyrcanian tigers suckled thee. For why Should I restrain my speech, or greater evil wait?

Did he one sympathetic sigh of sorrow heave?

Did he one tear let fall, o'ermastered by my grief?

Now neither Juno, mighty queen, nor father Jove Impartial sees; for faith is everywhere betrayed.

That s.h.i.+pwrecked beggar in my folly did I take And cause to sit upon my throne; I saved his fleet, His friends I rescued--Oh, the furies drive me mad!

Now 'tis Apollo's dictate, now the Lycian lots, And now "the very messenger of heaven sent down By Jove himself" to bring this mandate through the air!

A fitting task is that for heaven's immortal lords!

Such cares as these disturb their everlasting calm!

I seek not to detain nor answer thee; sail on To Italy, seek fated realms beyond the seas.

For me, if pious prayers can aught avail, I pray That thou amid the wrecking reefs mayst drain the cup Of retribution to the dregs and vainly call Upon the name of Dido. Distant though I be, With fury's torch will I pursue thee, and when death Shall free my spirit, will I haunt thee everywhere.

O thou shalt meet thy punishment, perfidious one; My soul shall know, for such glad news would penetrate The lowest depths of h.e.l.l.