“Whatever of true life there was in thee,Leaps in our age’s veins.. . . . . . .Here, ’mid the bleak waves of our strife and care,Float the green ‘Fortunate Isles,’Where all thy hero-spirits dwell and shareOur martyrdoms and toils.The present moves attendedWith all of brave and excellent and fairThat made the old time splendid.”
“Whatever of true life there was in thee,Leaps in our age’s veins.. . . . . . .Here, ’mid the bleak waves of our strife and care,Float the green ‘Fortunate Isles,’Where all thy hero-spirits dwell and shareOur martyrdoms and toils.The present moves attendedWith all of brave and excellent and fairThat made the old time splendid.”
“Whatever of true life there was in thee,Leaps in our age’s veins.. . . . . . .Here, ’mid the bleak waves of our strife and care,Float the green ‘Fortunate Isles,’Where all thy hero-spirits dwell and shareOur martyrdoms and toils.The present moves attendedWith all of brave and excellent and fairThat made the old time splendid.”
“Whatever of true life there was in thee,
Leaps in our age’s veins.
. . . . . . .
Here, ’mid the bleak waves of our strife and care,
Float the green ‘Fortunate Isles,’
Where all thy hero-spirits dwell and share
Our martyrdoms and toils.
The present moves attended
With all of brave and excellent and fair
That made the old time splendid.”
Milton also alludes to the same fable in “Paradise Lost,” Book III., 1. 568:
“Like those Hesperian gardens famed of old,Fortunate fields and groves and flowery vales,Thrice happy isles.”
“Like those Hesperian gardens famed of old,Fortunate fields and groves and flowery vales,Thrice happy isles.”
“Like those Hesperian gardens famed of old,Fortunate fields and groves and flowery vales,Thrice happy isles.”
“Like those Hesperian gardens famed of old,
Fortunate fields and groves and flowery vales,
Thrice happy isles.”
And in Book II. he characterizes the rivers of Erebus according to the meaning of their names in the Greek language:
“Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate,Sad Acheron of sorrow black and deep;Cocytus named of lamentation loudHeard on the rueful stream; fierce PhlegethonWhose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.Far off from these a slow and silent stream,Lethe, the river of oblivion, rollsHer watery labyrinth, whereof who drinksForthwith his former state and being forgets,Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.”
“Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate,Sad Acheron of sorrow black and deep;Cocytus named of lamentation loudHeard on the rueful stream; fierce PhlegethonWhose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.Far off from these a slow and silent stream,Lethe, the river of oblivion, rollsHer watery labyrinth, whereof who drinksForthwith his former state and being forgets,Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.”
“Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate,Sad Acheron of sorrow black and deep;Cocytus named of lamentation loudHeard on the rueful stream; fierce PhlegethonWhose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.Far off from these a slow and silent stream,Lethe, the river of oblivion, rollsHer watery labyrinth, whereof who drinksForthwith his former state and being forgets,Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.”
“Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate,
Sad Acheron of sorrow black and deep;
Cocytus named of lamentation loud
Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon
Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.
Far off from these a slow and silent stream,
Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls
Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks
Forthwith his former state and being forgets,
Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.”
As Æneas and the Sibyl pursued their way back to earth, he said to her, “Whether thou be a goddess or a mortal beloved of the gods, by me thou shalt always be held in reverence. When I reach the upper air I will cause a temple to be built to thy honor, and will myself bring offerings.” “I am no goddess,” said the Sibyl; “I have no claim to sacrifice or offering. I am mortal; yet if I could have accepted the love of Apollo I might have been immortal. He promised me the fulfilment of my wish, if I would consent to be his. I took a handful of sand, and holding it forth, said, ‘Grant me to see as many birthdays as there are sand grains in my hand.’ Unluckily I forgot to ask for enduring youth. This also he would have granted, could I have accepted his love, but offended at my refusal, he allowed me to grow old. My youth and youthful strength fled long ago. I have lived seven hundred years, and to equal the number of the sand grains I have still to see three hundred springs and three hundred harvests. My body shrinks up as years increase, and in time, I shall be lost to sight, but my voice will remain, and future ages will respect my sayings.”
These concluding words of the Sibyl alluded to her prophetic power. In her cave she was accustomed to inscribe on leaves gathered from the trees the names and fates of individuals. The leaves thus inscribed were arranged in order within the cave, and might be consulted by her votaries. But if perchance at the opening of the door the wind rushed in and dispersed the leaves the Sibyl gave no aid to restoring them again, and the oracle was irreparably lost.
The following legend of the Sibyl is fixed at a later date. In the reign of one of the Tarquins there appeared before the king a woman who offered him nine books for sale. The king refused to purchase them, whereupon the woman went away and burned three of the books, and returning offered the remaining books for the same price she had asked for the nine. The king again rejected them; but when the woman, after burning three books more, returned and asked for the three remaining the same price which she had before asked for the nine, his curiosity was excited, and he purchased the books. They were found to contain the destinies of the Roman state. They were kept in the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, preserved in a stone chest, and allowed to be inspected only by especial officers appointed for that duty, who, on great occasions, consulted them and interpreted their oracles to the people.
There were various Sibyls; but the Cumæan Sibyl, of whom Ovid and Virgil write, is the most celebrated of them. Ovid’s story of her life protracted to one thousand years may be intended to represent the various Sibyls as being only reappearances of one and the same individual.
Young, in the “Night Thoughts,” alludes to the Sibyl. Speaking of Worldly Wisdom, he says:
“If future fate she plans ’tis all in leaves,Like Sibyl, unsubstantial, fleeting bliss;At the first blast it vanishes in air.. . . . . . .As worldly schemes resemble Sibyl’s leaves,The good man’s days to Sibyl’s books compare,The price still rising as in number less.”
“If future fate she plans ’tis all in leaves,Like Sibyl, unsubstantial, fleeting bliss;At the first blast it vanishes in air.. . . . . . .As worldly schemes resemble Sibyl’s leaves,The good man’s days to Sibyl’s books compare,The price still rising as in number less.”
“If future fate she plans ’tis all in leaves,Like Sibyl, unsubstantial, fleeting bliss;At the first blast it vanishes in air.. . . . . . .As worldly schemes resemble Sibyl’s leaves,The good man’s days to Sibyl’s books compare,The price still rising as in number less.”
“If future fate she plans ’tis all in leaves,
Like Sibyl, unsubstantial, fleeting bliss;
At the first blast it vanishes in air.
. . . . . . .
As worldly schemes resemble Sibyl’s leaves,
The good man’s days to Sibyl’s books compare,
The price still rising as in number less.”
THETIS BEARING THE ARMOR OF ACHILLES.From painting by François Gerard.
THETIS BEARING THE ARMOR OF ACHILLES.From painting by François Gerard.
CIRCE AND THE FRIENDS OF ULYSSES.From painting by Briton Rivière.
CIRCE AND THE FRIENDS OF ULYSSES.From painting by Briton Rivière.
Æneas, having parted from the Sibyl and rejoined his fleet, coasted along the shores of Italy and cast anchor in the mouth of the Tiber. The poet, having brought his hero to this spot, the destined termination of his wanderings, invokes his Muse to tell him the situation of things at that eventful moment. Latinus, third in descent from Saturn, ruled the country. He was now old and had no male descendant, but had one charming daughter, Lavinia, who was sought in marriage by many neighboring chiefs, one of whom, Turnus, king of the Rutulians, was favored by the wishes of her parents. But Latinus had been warned in a dream by his father Faunus, that the destined husband of Lavinia should come from a foreign land. From that union should spring a race destined to subdue the world.
Our readers will remember that in the conflict with the Harpies one of those half-human birds had threatened the Trojans with dire sufferings. In particular she predicted that before their wanderings ceased they should be pressed by hunger to devour their tables. This portent now came true; for as they took their scanty meal, seated on the grass, the men placed their hard biscuit on their laps, and put thereon whatever their gleanings in the woods supplied. Having despatched the latter they finished by eating the crusts. Seeing which, the boy Iulus said playfully, “See, we are eating our tables.” Æneas caught the words and accepted the omen. “All hail, promised land!” he exclaimed, “this is our home, this our country.” He then took measures to find out who were the present inhabitants of the land, and who their rulers. A hundred chosen men were sent to the village of Latinus, bearing presents and a request for friendship and alliance. They went and were favorably received. Latinus immediately concluded thatthe Trojan hero was no other than the promised son-in-law announced by the oracle. He cheerfully granted his alliance and sent back the messengers mounted on steeds from his stables, and loaded with gifts and friendly messages.
Juno, seeing things go thus prosperously for the Trojans, felt her old animosity revive, summoned Alecto from Erebus, and sent her to stir up discord. The Fury first took possession of the queen, Amata, and roused her to oppose in every way the new alliance. Alecto then speeded to the city of Turnus, and assuming the form of an old priestess, informed him of the arrival of the foreigners and of the attempts of their prince to rob him of his bride. Next she turned her attention to the camp of the Trojans. There she saw the boy Iulus and his companions amusing themselves with hunting. She sharpened the scent of the dogs, and led them to rouse up from the thicket a tame stag, the favorite of Silvia, the daughter of Tyrrheus, the king’s herdsman. A javelin from the hand of Iulus wounded the animal, and he had only strength left to run homewards, and died at his mistress’s feet. Her cries and tears roused her brothers and the herdsmen, and they, seizing whatever weapons came to hand, furiously assaulted the hunting party. These were protected by their friends, and the herdsmen were finally driven back with the loss of two of their number.
These things were enough to rouse the storm of war, and the queen, Turnus, and the peasants all urged the old king to drive the strangers from the country. He resisted as long as he could, but, finding his opposition unavailing, finally gave way and retreated to his retirement.
It was the custom of the country, when war was to be undertaken, for the chief magistrate, clad in his robes of office, with solemn pomp to open the gates of the temple of Janus, which were kept shut as long as peace endured. His people now urged the old king to perform that solemn office, but he refused to do so. While theycontested, Juno herself, descending from the skies, smote the doors with irresistible force, and burst them open. Immediately the whole country was in a flame. The people rushed from every side breathing nothing but war.
Turnus was recognized by all as leader; others joined as allies, chief of whom was Mezentius, a brave and able soldier, but of detestable cruelty. He had been the chief of one of the neighboring cities, but his people drove him out. With him was joined his son Lausus, a generous youth, worthy of a better sire.
Camilla, the favorite of Diana, a huntress and warrior, after the fashion of the Amazons, came with her band of mounted followers, including a select number of her own sex, and ranged herself on the side of Turnus. This maiden had never accustomed her fingers to the distaff or the loom, but had learned to endure the toils of war, and in speed to outstrip the wind. It seemed as if she might run over the standing corn without crushing it, or over the surface of the water without dipping her feet. Camilla’s history had been singular from the beginning. Her father, Metabus, driven from his city by civil discord, carried with him in his flight his infant daughter. As he fled through the woods, his enemies in hot pursuit, he reached the bank of the river Amazenus, which, swelled by rains, seemed to debar a passage. He paused for a moment, then decided what to do. He tied the infant to his lance with wrappers of bark, and poising the weapon in his upraised hand thus addressed Diana: “Goddess of the woods! I consecrate this maid to you;” then hurled the weapon with its burden to the opposite bank. The spear flew across the roaring water. His pursuers were already upon him, but he plunged into the river and swam across, and found the spear, with the infant safe on the other side. Thenceforth he lived among the shepherds and brought up his daughter in woodland arts. While a child she was taught to use the bow and throw the javelin. With her sling she couldbring down the crane or the wild swan. Her dress was a tiger’s skin. Many mothers sought her for a daughter-in-law, but she continued faithful to Diana and repelled the thought of marriage.
Such were the formidable allies that ranged themselves against Æneas. It was night and he lay stretched in sleep on the bank of the river under the open heavens. The god of the stream, Father Tiber, seemed to raise his head above the willows and to say, “O goddess-born, destined possessor of the Latin realms, this is the promised land, here is to be your home, here shall terminate the hostility of the heavenly powers, if only you faithfully persevere. There are friends not far distant. Prepare your boats and row up my stream; I will lead you to Evander, the Arcadian chief, he has long been at strife with Turnus and the Rutulians, and is prepared to become an ally of yours. Rise! offer your vows to Juno, and deprecate her anger. When you have achieved your victory then think of me.” Æneas woke and paid immediate obedience to the friendly vision. He sacrificed to Juno, and invoked the god of the river and all his tributary fountains to lend their aid. Then for the first time a vessel filled with armed warriors floated on the stream of the Tiber. The river smoothed its waves, and bade its current flow gently, while, impelled by the vigorous strokes of the rowers, the vessels shot rapidly up the stream.
About the middle of the day they came in sight of the scattered buildings of the infant town, where in after times the proud city of Rome grew, whose glory reached the skies. By chance the old king, Evander, was that day celebrating annual solemnities in honor of Hercules and all the gods. Pallas, his son, and all the chiefs of the little commonwealth stood by. When they saw the tall ship gliding onward near the wood, they were alarmed at the sight, and rose from the tables. But Pallas forbade the solemnities to be interrupted, and seizing a weapon, stepped forward to the river’s bank.He called aloud, demanding who they were, and what their object. Æneas, holding forth an olive-branch, replied, “We are Trojans, friends to you, and enemies to the Rutulians. We seek Evander, and offer to join our arms with yours.” Pallas, in amaze at the sound of so great a name, invited them to land, and when Æneas touched the shore he seized his hand, and held it long in friendly grasp. Proceeding through the wood, they joined the king and his party and were most favorably received. Seats were provided for them at the tables, and the repast proceeded.
When the solemnities were ended all moved towards the city. The king, bending with age, walked between his son and Æneas, taking the arm of one or the other of them, and with much variety of pleasing talk shortening the way. Æneas with delight looked and listened, observing all the beauties of the scene, and learning much of heroes renowned in ancient times. Evander said, “These extensive groves were once inhabited by fauns and nymphs, and a rude race of men who sprang from the trees themselves, and had neither laws nor social culture. They knew not how to yoke the cattle nor raise a harvest, nor provide from present abundance for future want; but browsed like beasts upon the leafy boughs, or fed voraciously on their hunted prey. Such were they when Saturn, expelled from Olympus by his sons, came among them and drew together the fierce savages, formed them into society, and gave them laws. Such peace and plenty ensued that men ever since have called his reign the golden age; but by degrees far other times succeeded, and the thirst of gold and the thirst of blood prevailed. The land was a prey to successive tyrants, till fortune and resistless destiny brought me hither, an exile from my native land, Arcadia.”
Having thus said, he showed him the Tarpeian rock, and the rude spot then overgrown with bushes where in after times the Capitol rose in all its magnificence. He next pointed to some dismantled walls, and said, “Herestood Janiculum, built by Janus, and there Saturnia, the town of Saturn.” Such discourse brought them to the cottage of poor Evander, whence they saw the lowing herds roaming over the plain where now the proud and stately Forum stands. They entered, and a couch was spread for Æneas, well stuffed with leaves, and covered with the skin of a Libyan bear.
Next morning, awakened by the dawn and the shrill song of birds beneath the eaves of his low mansion, old Evander rose. Clad in a tunic, and a panther’s skin thrown over his shoulders, with sandals on his feet and his good sword girded to his side, he went forth to seek his guest. Two mastiffs followed him, his whole retinue and body guard. He found the hero attended by his faithful Achates, and, Pallas soon joining them, the old king spoke thus:
“Illustrious Trojan, it is but little we can do in so great a cause. Our state is feeble, hemmed in on one side by the river, on the other by the Rutulians. But I propose to ally you with a people numerous and rich, to whom fate has brought you at the propitious moment. The Etruscans hold the country beyond the river. Mezentius was their king, a monster of cruelty, who invented unheard-of torments to gratify his vengeance. He would fasten the dead to the living, hand to hand and face to face, and leave the wretched victims to die in that dreadful embrace. At length the people cast him out, him and his house. They burned his palace and slew his friends. He escaped and took refuge with Turnus, who protects him with arms. The Etruscans demand that he shall be given up to deserved punishment, and would ere now have attempted to enforce their demand; but their priests restrain them, telling them that it is the will of heaven that no native of the land shall guide them to victory, and that their destined leader must come from across the sea. They have offered the crown to me, but I am too old to undertake such great affairs, and my son is native-born, which precludes him from the choice. You, equally by birth and time of life, and fame in arms, pointed out by the gods, have but to appear to be hailed at once as their leader. With youI will join Pallas, my son, my only hope and comfort. Under you he shall learn the art of war, and strive to emulate your great exploits.”
Then the king ordered horses to be furnished for the Trojan chiefs, and Æneas, with a chosen band of followers and Pallas accompanying, mounted and took the way to the Etruscan city,[33]having sent back the rest of his party in the ships. Æneas and his band safely arrived at the Etruscan camp and were received with open arms by Tarchon and his countrymen.
In the meanwhile Turnus had collected his bands and made all necessary preparations for the war. Juno sent Iris to him with a message inciting him to take advantage of the absence of Æneas and surprise the Trojan camp. Accordingly the attempt was made, but the Trojans were found on their guard, and having received strict orders from Æneas not to fight in his absence, they lay still in their intrenchments, and resisted all the efforts of the Rutulians to draw them into the field. Night coming on, the army of Turnus, in high spirits at their fancied superiority, feasted and enjoyed themselves, and finally stretched themselves on the field and slept secure.
In the camp of the Trojans things were far otherwise. There all was watchfulness and anxiety and impatience for Æneas’s return. Nisus stood guard at the entrance of the camp, and Euryalus, a youth distinguished above all in the army for graces of person and fine qualities, was with him. These two were friends and brothers in arms. Nisus said to his friend, “Do you perceive what confidence and carelessness the enemy display? Their lights are few and dim, and the men seem all oppressed with wine or sleep. You know how anxiously our chiefs wish to send to Æneas, and to get intelligence from him. Now, I am strongly moved to make my way through the enemy’s camp and to go in searchof our chief. If I succeed, the glory of the deed will be reward enough for me, and if they judge the service deserves anything more, let them pay it to you.”
Euryalus, all on fire with the love of adventure, replied, “Would you, then, Nisus, refuse to share your enterprise with me? And shall I let you go into such danger alone? Not so my brave father brought me up, nor so have I planned for myself when I joined the standard of Æneas, and resolved to hold my life cheap in comparison with honor.” Nisus replied, “I doubt it not, my friend; but you know the uncertain event of such an undertaking, and whatever may happen to me, I wish you to be safe. You are younger than I and have more of life in prospect. Nor can I be the cause of such grief to your mother, who has chosen to be here in the camp with you rather than stay and live in peace with the other matrons in Acestes’ city.” Euryalus replied, “Say no more. In vain you seek arguments to dissuade me. I am fixed in the resolution to go with you. Let us lose no time.” They called the guard, and committing the watch to them, sought the general’s tent. They found the chief officers in consultation, deliberating how they should send notice to Æneas of their situation. The offer of the two friends was gladly accepted, themselves loaded with praises and promised the most liberal rewards in case of success. Iulus especially addressed Euryalus, assuring him of his lasting friendship. Euryalus replied, “I have but one boon to ask. My aged mother is with me in the camp. For me she left the Trojan soil, and would not stay behind with the other matrons at the city of Acestes. I go now without taking leave of her. I could not bear her tears nor set at nought her entreaties. But do thou, I beseech you, comfort her in her distress. Promise me that and I shall go more boldly into whatever dangers may present themselves.” Iulus and the other chiefs were moved to tears, and promised to do all his request. “Your mother shall be mine,” said Iulus, “and all that I have promised to you shall be made good to her, if you do not return to receive it.”
The two friends left the camp and plunged at once into the midst of the enemy. They found no watch,no sentinels posted, but, all about, the sleeping soldiers strewn on the grass and among the wagons. The laws of war at that early day did not forbid a brave man to slay a sleeping foe, and the two Trojans slew, as they passed, such of the enemy as they could without exciting alarm. In one tent Euryalus made prize of a helmet brilliant with gold and plumes. They had passed through the enemy’s ranks without being discovered, but now suddenly appeared a troop directly in front of them, which, under Volscens, their leader, were approaching the camp. The glittering helmet of Euryalus caught their attention, and Volscens hailed the two, and demanded who and whence they were. They made no answer, but plunged into the wood. The horsemen scattered in all directions to intercept their flight. Nisus had eluded pursuit and was out of danger, but Euryalus being missing he turned back to seek him. He again entered the wood and soon came within sound of voices. Looking through the thicket he saw the whole band surrounding Euryalus with noisy questions. What should he do? how extricate the youth, or would it be better to die with him.
Raising his eyes to the moon, which now shone clear, he said, “Goddess! favor my effort!” and aiming his javelin at one of the leaders of the troop, struck him in the back and stretched him on the plain with a deathblow. In the midst of their amazement another weapon flew and another of the party fell dead. Volscens, the leader, ignorant whence the darts came, rushed sword in hand upon Euryalus. “You shall pay the penalty of both,” he said, and would have plunged the sword into his bosom, when Nisus, who from his concealment saw the peril of his friend, rushed forward exclaiming, “ ’Twas I, ’twas I; turn your swords against me, Rutulians, I did it; he only followed me as a friend.” While he spoke the sword fell, and pierced the comely bosom of Euryalus. His head fell over on his shoulder, like a flower cut down by the plough. Nisus rushed upon Volscens and plunged his sword into his body, and was himself slain on the instant by numberless blows.
Æneas, with his Etrurian allies, arrived on the scene of action in time to rescue his beleaguered camp; and now the two armies being nearly equal in strength, the war began in good earnest. We cannot find space for all the details, but must simply record the fate of the principal characters whom we have introduced to our readers. The tyrant Mezentius, finding himself engaged against his revolting subjects, raged like a wild beast. He slew all who dared to withstand him, and put the multitude to flight wherever he appeared. At last he encountered Æneas, and the armies stood still to see the issue. Mezentius threw his spear, which striking Æneas’s shield glanced off and hit Anthor. He was a Grecian by birth, who had left Argos, his native city, and followed Evander into Italy. The poet says of him with simple pathos which has made the words proverbial, “He fell, unhappy, by a wound intended for another, looked up at the skies, and dying remembered sweet Argos.”[34]Æneas now in turn hurled his lance. It pierced the shield of Mezentius, and wounded him in the thigh. Lausus, his son, could not bear the sight, but rushed forward and interposed himself, while the followers pressed round Mezentius and bore him away. Æneas held his sword suspended over Lausus and delayed to strike, but the furious youth pressed on and he was compelled to deal the fatal blow. Lausus fell, and Æneas bent over him in pity. “Hapless youth,” he said, “what can I do for you worthy of your praise? Keep those arms in which you glory, and fear not but that your body shall be restored to your friends, and have due funeral honors.” So saying, he called the timid followers and delivered the body into their hands.
Mezentius meanwhile had been borne to the riverside, and washed his wound. Soon the news reached him of Lausus’s death, and rage and despair supplied the place of strength. He mounted his horse and dashed into the thickest of the fight, seeking Æneas. Having found himhe rode round him in a circle, throwing one javelin after another, while Æneas stood fenced with his shield, turning every way to meet them. At last, after Mezentius had three times made the circuit, Æneas threw his lance directly at the horse’s head. It pierced his temples and he fell, while a shout from both armies rent the skies. Mezentius asked no mercy, but only that his body might be spared the insults of his revolted subjects, and be buried in the same grave with his son. He received the fatal stroke not unprepared, and poured out his life and his blood together.
While these things were doing in one part of the field, in another Turnus encountered the youthful Pallas. The contest between champions so unequally matched could not be doubtful. Pallas bore himself bravely, but fell by the lance of Turnus. The victor almost relented when he saw the brave youth lying dead at his feet, and spared to use the privilege of a conqueror in despoiling him of his arms. The belt only, adorned with studs and carvings of gold, he took and clasped round his own body. The rest he remitted to the friends of the slain.
After the battle there was a cessation of arms for some days to allow both armies to bury their dead. In this interval Æneas challenged Turnus to decide the contest by single combat, but Turnus evaded the challenge. Another battle ensued, in which Camilla, the virgin warrior, was chiefly conspicuous. Her deeds of valor surpassed those of the bravest warriors, and many Trojans and Etruscans fell pierced with her darts or struck down by her battle-axe. At last an Etruscan named Aruns, who had watched her long, seeking for some advantage, observed her pursuing a flying enemy whose splendid armor offered a tempting prize. Intent on the chase she observed not her danger, and the javelin of Aruns struck her and inflicted a fatal wound. She fell and breathed her last in the arms of her attendant maidens. But Diana, who beheld her fate, suffered not her slaughter to be unavenged. Aruns, as he stole away,glad, but frightened, was struck by a secret arrow, launched by one of the nymphs of Diana’s train, and died ignobly and unknown.
At length the final conflict took place between Æneas and Turnus. Turnus had avoided the contest as long as he could, but at last, impelled by the ill success of his arms and by the murmurs of his followers, he braced himself to the conflict. It could not be doubtful. On the side of Æneas were the expressed decree of destiny, the aid of his goddess-mother at every emergency, and impenetrable armor fabricated by Vulcan, at her request, for her son. Turnus, on the other hand, was deserted by his celestial allies, Juno having been expressly forbidden by Jupiter to assist him any longer. Turnus threw his lance, but it recoiled harmless from the shield of Æneas. The Trojan hero then threw his, which penetrated the shield of Turnus, and pierced his thigh. Then Turnus’s fortitude forsook him and he begged for mercy; and Æneas would have given him his life, but at the instant his eye fell on the belt of Pallas, which Turnus had taken from the slaughtered youth. Instantly his rage revived, and exclaiming, “Pallas immolates thee with this blow,” he thrust him through with his sword.
Here the poem of the “Æneid” closes, and we are left to infer that Æneas, having triumphed over his foes, obtained Lavinia for his bride. Tradition adds that he founded his city, and called it after her name, Lavinium. His son Iulus founded Alba Longa, which was the birthplace of Romulus and Remus and the cradle of Rome itself.
There is an allusion to Camilla in those well-known lines of Pope, in which, illustrating the rule that “the sound should be an echo to the sense,” he says:
“When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw,The line too labors and the words move slow.Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,Flies o’er th’ unbending corn or skims along the main.”—Essay on Criticism.
“When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw,The line too labors and the words move slow.Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,Flies o’er th’ unbending corn or skims along the main.”—Essay on Criticism.
“When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw,The line too labors and the words move slow.Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,Flies o’er th’ unbending corn or skims along the main.”—Essay on Criticism.
“When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw,The line too labors and the words move slow.Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,Flies o’er th’ unbending corn or skims along the main.”—Essay on Criticism.
“When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw,
The line too labors and the words move slow.
Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o’er th’ unbending corn or skims along the main.”
—Essay on Criticism.
————
Theteachings of Anchises to Æneas, respecting the nature of the human soul, were in conformity with the doctrines of the Pythagoreans. Pythagoras (born five hundred and forty years B.C.) was a native of the island of Samos, but passed the chief portion of his life at Crotona in Italy. He is therefore sometimes called “the Samian,” and sometimes “the philosopher of Crotona.” When young he travelled extensively, and it is said visited Egypt, where he was instructed by the priests in all their learning, and afterwards journeyed to the East, and visited the Persian and Chaldean Magi, and the Brahmins of India.
At Crotona, where he finally established himself, his extraordinary qualities collected round him a great number of disciples. The inhabitants were notorious for luxury and licentiousness, but the good effects of his influence were soon visible. Sobriety and temperance succeeded. Six hundred of the inhabitants became his disciples and enrolled themselves in a society to aid each other in the pursuit of wisdom, uniting their property in one common stock for the benefit of the whole. They were required to practise the greatest purity and simplicity of manners. The first lesson they learned wassilence; for a time they were required to be only hearers. “He [Pythagoras] said so” (Ipse dixit), was to be held by them as sufficient, without any proof. It was only the advanced pupils, after years of patient submission, who were allowed to ask questions and to state objections.
Pythagoras considerednumbersas the essence and principle of all things, and attributed to them a real and distinct existence; so that, in his view, they were the elements out of which the universe was constructed.How he conceived this process has never been satisfactorily explained. He traced the various forms and phenomena of the world to numbers as their basis and essence. The “Monad” orunithe regarded as the source of all numbers. The numberTwowas imperfect, and the cause of increase and division.Threewas called the number of the whole because it had a beginning, middle, and end.Four, representing the square, is in the highest degree perfect; andTen, as it contains the sum of the four prime numbers, comprehends all musical and arithmetical proportions, and denotes the system of the world.
As the numbers proceed from the monad, so he regarded the pure and simple essence of the Deity as the source of all the forms of nature. Gods, demons, and heroes are emanations of the Supreme, and there is a fourth emanation, the human soul. This is immortal, and when freed from the fetters of the body passes to the habitation of the dead, where it remains till it returns to the world, to dwell in some other human or animal body, and at last, when sufficiently purified, it returns to the source from which it proceeded. This doctrine of the transmigration of souls (metempsychosis), which was originally Egyptian and connected with the doctrine of reward and punishment of human actions, was the chief cause why the Pythagoreans killed no animals. Ovid represents Pythagoras addressing his disciples in these words: “Souls never die, but always on quitting one abode pass to another. I myself can remember that in the time of the Trojan war I was Euphorbus, the son of Panthus, and fell by the spear of Menelaus. Lately being in the temple of Juno, at Argos, I recognized my shield hung up there among the trophies. All things change, nothing perishes. The soul passes hither and thither, occupying now this body, now that, passing from the body of a beast into that of a man, and thence to a beast’s again. As wax is stamped with certain figures, then melted, then stamped anew with others, yet is always the same wax, so the soul, being always the same, yet wears, at different times, different forms. Therefore, if the love of kindredis not extinct in your bosoms, forbear, I entreat you, to violate the life of those who may haply be your own relatives.”
Shakspeare, in the “Merchant of Venice,” makes Gratiano allude to the metempsychosis, where he says to Shylock:
“Thou almost mak’st me waver in my faith,To hold opinion with Pythagoras,That souls of animals infuse themselvesInto the trunks of men; thy currish spiritGoverned a wolf; who hanged for human slaughterInfused his soul in thee; for thy desiresAre wolfish, bloody, starved and ravenous.”
“Thou almost mak’st me waver in my faith,To hold opinion with Pythagoras,That souls of animals infuse themselvesInto the trunks of men; thy currish spiritGoverned a wolf; who hanged for human slaughterInfused his soul in thee; for thy desiresAre wolfish, bloody, starved and ravenous.”
“Thou almost mak’st me waver in my faith,To hold opinion with Pythagoras,That souls of animals infuse themselvesInto the trunks of men; thy currish spiritGoverned a wolf; who hanged for human slaughterInfused his soul in thee; for thy desiresAre wolfish, bloody, starved and ravenous.”
“Thou almost mak’st me waver in my faith,
To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
That souls of animals infuse themselves
Into the trunks of men; thy currish spirit
Governed a wolf; who hanged for human slaughter
Infused his soul in thee; for thy desires
Are wolfish, bloody, starved and ravenous.”
The relation of the notes of the musical scale to numbers, whereby harmony results from vibrations in equal times, and discord from the reverse, led Pythagoras to apply the word “harmony” to the visible creation, meaning by it the just adaptation of parts to each other. This is the idea which Dryden expresses in the beginning of his “Song for St. Cecilia’s Day”:
“From harmony, from heavenly harmonyThis everlasting frame began;From harmony to harmonyThrough all the compass of the notes it ran,The Diapason closing full in Man.”
“From harmony, from heavenly harmonyThis everlasting frame began;From harmony to harmonyThrough all the compass of the notes it ran,The Diapason closing full in Man.”
“From harmony, from heavenly harmonyThis everlasting frame began;From harmony to harmonyThrough all the compass of the notes it ran,The Diapason closing full in Man.”
“From harmony, from heavenly harmony
This everlasting frame began;
From harmony to harmony
Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The Diapason closing full in Man.”
In the centre of the universe (he taught) there was a central fire, the principle of life. The central fire was surrounded by the earth, the moon, the sun, and the five planets. The distances of the various heavenly bodies from one another were conceived to correspond to the proportions of the musical scale. The heavenly bodies, with the gods who inhabited them, were supposed to perform a choral dance round the central fire, “not without song.” It is this doctrine which Shakspeare alludes to when he makes Lorenzo teach astronomy to Jessica in this fashion:
“Look, Jessica, see how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold!There’s not the smallest orb that thou behold’stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim;Such harmony is in immortal souls!But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in we cannot hear it.”—Merchant of Venice.
“Look, Jessica, see how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold!There’s not the smallest orb that thou behold’stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim;Such harmony is in immortal souls!But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in we cannot hear it.”—Merchant of Venice.
“Look, Jessica, see how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold!There’s not the smallest orb that thou behold’stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim;Such harmony is in immortal souls!But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in we cannot hear it.”—Merchant of Venice.
“Look, Jessica, see how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold!There’s not the smallest orb that thou behold’stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim;Such harmony is in immortal souls!But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in we cannot hear it.”—Merchant of Venice.
“Look, Jessica, see how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold!
There’s not the smallest orb that thou behold’st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim;
Such harmony is in immortal souls!
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in we cannot hear it.”
—Merchant of Venice.
The spheres were conceived to be crystalline or glassy fabrics arranged over one another like a nest of bowls reversed. In the substance of each sphere one or more of the heavenly bodies was supposed to be fixed, so as to move with it. As the spheres are transparent we look through them and see the heavenly bodies which they contain and carry round with them. But as these spheres cannot move on one another without friction, a sound is thereby produced which is of exquisite harmony, too fine for mortal ears to recognize. Milton, in his “Hymn on the Nativity,” thus alludes to the music of the spheres:
“Ring out, ye crystal spheres!Once bless our human ears(If ye have power to charm our senses so);And let your silver chimeMove in melodious time,And let the base of Heaven’s deep organ blow;And with your ninefold harmonyMake up full concert with the angelic symphony.”
“Ring out, ye crystal spheres!Once bless our human ears(If ye have power to charm our senses so);And let your silver chimeMove in melodious time,And let the base of Heaven’s deep organ blow;And with your ninefold harmonyMake up full concert with the angelic symphony.”
“Ring out, ye crystal spheres!Once bless our human ears(If ye have power to charm our senses so);And let your silver chimeMove in melodious time,And let the base of Heaven’s deep organ blow;And with your ninefold harmonyMake up full concert with the angelic symphony.”
“Ring out, ye crystal spheres!
Once bless our human ears
(If ye have power to charm our senses so);
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time,
And let the base of Heaven’s deep organ blow;
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full concert with the angelic symphony.”
Pythagoras is said to have invented the lyre. Our own poet Longfellow, in “Verses to a Child,” thus relates the story:
“As great Pythagoras of yore,Standing beside the blacksmith’s door,And hearing the hammers as they smoteThe anvils with a different note,Stole from the varying tones that hungVibrant on every iron tongue,The secret of the sounding wire,And formed the seven-chorded lyre.”
“As great Pythagoras of yore,Standing beside the blacksmith’s door,And hearing the hammers as they smoteThe anvils with a different note,Stole from the varying tones that hungVibrant on every iron tongue,The secret of the sounding wire,And formed the seven-chorded lyre.”
“As great Pythagoras of yore,Standing beside the blacksmith’s door,And hearing the hammers as they smoteThe anvils with a different note,Stole from the varying tones that hungVibrant on every iron tongue,The secret of the sounding wire,And formed the seven-chorded lyre.”
“As great Pythagoras of yore,
Standing beside the blacksmith’s door,
And hearing the hammers as they smote
The anvils with a different note,
Stole from the varying tones that hung
Vibrant on every iron tongue,
The secret of the sounding wire,
And formed the seven-chorded lyre.”
See also the same poet’s “Occultation of Orion”—
“The Samian’s great Æolian lyre.”
“The Samian’s great Æolian lyre.”
“The Samian’s great Æolian lyre.”
“The Samian’s great Æolian lyre.”
Sybaris, a neighboring city to Crotona, was as celebrated for luxury and effeminacy as Crotona for the reverse. The name has become proverbial. J. R. Lowell uses it in this sense in his charming little poem “To the Dandelion”:
“Not in mid June the golden cuirassed beeFeels a more summer-like, warm ravishmentIn the white lily’s breezy tent(His conquered Sybaris) than I when firstFrom the dark green thy yellow circles burst.”
“Not in mid June the golden cuirassed beeFeels a more summer-like, warm ravishmentIn the white lily’s breezy tent(His conquered Sybaris) than I when firstFrom the dark green thy yellow circles burst.”
“Not in mid June the golden cuirassed beeFeels a more summer-like, warm ravishmentIn the white lily’s breezy tent(His conquered Sybaris) than I when firstFrom the dark green thy yellow circles burst.”
“Not in mid June the golden cuirassed bee
Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment
In the white lily’s breezy tent
(His conquered Sybaris) than I when first
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.”
A war arose between the two cities, and Sybaris was conquered and destroyed. Milo, the celebrated athlete, led the army of Crotona. Many stories are told of Milo’s vast strength, such as his carrying a heifer of four years old upon his shoulders and afterwards eating the whole of it in a single day. The mode of his death is thus related: As he was passing through a forest he saw the trunk of a tree which had been partially split open by wood-cutters, and attempted to rend it further; but the wood closed upon his hands and held him fast, in which state he was attacked and devoured by wolves.
Byron, in his “Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte,” alludes to the story of Milo:
“He who of old would rend the oakDeemed not of the rebound;Chained by the trunk he vainly broke,Alone, how looked he round!”
“He who of old would rend the oakDeemed not of the rebound;Chained by the trunk he vainly broke,Alone, how looked he round!”
“He who of old would rend the oakDeemed not of the rebound;Chained by the trunk he vainly broke,Alone, how looked he round!”
“He who of old would rend the oak
Deemed not of the rebound;
Chained by the trunk he vainly broke,
Alone, how looked he round!”
The Egyptians acknowledged as the highest deity Amun, afterwards called Zeus, or Jupiter Ammon. Amun manifested himself in his word or will, which created Kneph and Athor, of different sexes. From Kneph and Athor proceeded Osiris and Isis. Osiris was worshipped as the god of the sun, the source of warmth,life, and fruitfulness, in addition to which he was also regarded as the god of the Nile, who annually visited his wife, Isis (the Earth), by means of an inundation. Serapis or Hermes is sometimes represented as identical with Osiris, and sometimes as a distinct divinity, the ruler of Tartarus and god of medicine. Anubis is the guardian god, represented with a dog’s head, emblematic of his character of fidelity and watchfulness. Horus or Harpocrates was the son of Osiris. He is represented seated on a Lotus flower, with his finger on his lips, as the god of Silence.
In one of Moore’s “Irish Melodies” is an allusion to Harpocrates:
“Thyself shall, under some rosy bower,Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip;Like him, the boy, who born amongThe flowers that on the Nile-stream blush,Sits ever thus,—his only songTo Earth and Heaven, ‘Hush all, hush!’ ”
“Thyself shall, under some rosy bower,Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip;Like him, the boy, who born amongThe flowers that on the Nile-stream blush,Sits ever thus,—his only songTo Earth and Heaven, ‘Hush all, hush!’ ”
“Thyself shall, under some rosy bower,Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip;Like him, the boy, who born amongThe flowers that on the Nile-stream blush,Sits ever thus,—his only songTo Earth and Heaven, ‘Hush all, hush!’ ”
“Thyself shall, under some rosy bower,
Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip;
Like him, the boy, who born among
The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush,
Sits ever thus,—his only song
To Earth and Heaven, ‘Hush all, hush!’ ”
Osiris and Isis were at one time induced to descend to the earth to bestow gifts and blessings on its inhabitants. Isis showed them first the use of wheat and barley, and Osiris made the instruments of agriculture and taught men the use of them, as well as how to harness the ox to the plough. He then gave men laws, the institution of marriage, a civil organization, and taught them how to worship the gods. After he had thus made the valley of the Nile a happy country, he assembled a host with which he went to bestow his blessings upon the rest of the world. He conquered the nations everywhere, but not with weapons, only with music and eloquence. His brother Typhon saw this, and filled with envy and malice sought during his absence to usurp his throne. But Isis, who held the reins of government, frustrated his plans. Still more embittered, he now resolved to kill his brother. This he did in the following manner: Having organized a conspiracy of seventy-two members, he went with themto the feast which was celebrated in honor of the king’s return. He then caused a box or chest to be brought in, which had been made to fit exactly the size of Osiris, and declared that he would give that chest of precious wood to whosoever could get into it. The rest tried in vain, but no sooner was Osiris in it than Typhon and his companions closed the lid and flung the chest into the Nile. When Isis heard of the cruel murder she wept and mourned, and then with her hair shorn, clothed in black and beating her breast, she sought diligently for the body of her husband. In this search she was materially assisted by Anubis, the son of Osiris and Nephthys. They sought in vain for some time; for when the chest, carried by the waves to the shores of Byblos, had become entangled in the reeds that grew at the edge of the water, the divine power that dwelt in the body of Osiris imparted such strength to the shrub that it grew into a mighty tree, enclosing in its trunk the coffin of the god. This tree with its sacred deposit was shortly after felled, and erected as a column in the palace of the king of Phœnicia. But at length by the aid of Anubis and the sacred birds, Isis ascertained these facts, and then went to the royal city. There she offered herself at the palace as a servant, and being admitted, threw off her disguise and appeared as a goddess, surrounded with thunder and lightning. Striking the column with her wand she caused it to split open and give up the sacred coffin. This she seized and returned with it, and concealed it in the depth of a forest, but Typhon discovered it, and cutting the body into fourteen pieces scattered them hither and thither. After a tedious search, Isis found thirteen pieces, the fishes of the Nile having eaten the other. This she replaced by an imitation of sycamore wood, and buried the body at Philæ, which became ever after the great burying place of the nation, and the spot to which pilgrimages were made from all parts of the country. A temple of surpassing magnificence was also erected there in honor of the god, and at every place where one of his limbs had been found minor temples and tombs were built to commemorate the event. Osiris became afterthat the tutelar deity of the Egyptians. His soul was supposed always to inhabit the body of the bull Apis, and at his death to transfer itself to his successor.
Apis, the Bull of Memphis, was worshipped with the greatest reverence by the Egyptians. The individual animal who was held to be Apis was recognized by certain signs. It was requisite that he should be quite black, have a white square mark on the forehead, another, in the form of an eagle, on his back, and under his tongue a lump somewhat in the shape of a scarabæus or beetle. As soon as a bull thus marked was found by those sent in search of him, he was placed in a building facing the east, and was fed with milk for four months. At the expiration of this term the priests repaired at new moon, with great pomp, to his habitation and saluted him Apis. He was placed in a vessel magnificently decorated and conveyed down the Nile to Memphis, where a temple, with two chapels and a court for exercise, was assigned to him. Sacrifices were made to him, and once every year, about the time when the Nile began to rise, a golden cup was thrown into the river, and a grand festival was held to celebrate his birthday. The people believed that during this festival the crocodiles forgot their natural ferocity and became harmless. There was, however, one drawback to his happy lot: he was not permitted to live beyond a certain period, and if, when he had attained the age of twenty-five years, he still survived, the priests drowned him in the sacred cistern and then buried him in the temple of Serapis. On the death of this bull, whether it occurred in the course of nature or by violence, the whole land was filled with sorrow and lamentations, which lasted until his successor was found.
We find the following item in one of the newspapers of the day:
“The Tomb of Apis.—The excavations going on at Memphis bid fair to make that buried city as interesting as Pompeii. The monster tomb of Apis is now open, after having lain unknown for centuries.”
Milton, in his “Hymn on the Nativity,” alludes tothe Egyptian deities, not as imaginary beings, but as real demons, put to flight by the coming of Christ.