The Story of Troy's Fall

All were hushed, and sate with steadfast countenance; thereon, high from his cushioned seat, lord Aeneas thus began:

Everyone fell silent and sat with steady expressions. Then, from his raised, cushioned seat, Lord Aeneas began:

'Dreadful, O Queen, is the woe thou bidst me recall, how the Grecians pitiably overthrew the wealth and lordship of Troy; and I myself saw these things in all their horror, and I bore great part in them. What Myrmidon or Dolopian, or soldier of stern Ulysses, could in such a tale restrain his tears! and now night falls dewy from the steep of heaven, and the setting stars counsel to slumber. Yet if thy desire be such to know our calamities, and briefly to hear Troy's last agony, though my spirit shudders at the remembrance and recoils in pain, I will essay.

'Queen, the sorrow you ask me to recall is dreadful. The Grecians destroyed Troy's wealth and power in a heartbreaking conquest. I saw all the horror myself and played a great part in it. What Myrmidon or Dolopian, or soldier of stern Ulysses, could hear such a story without tears? And now dewy night falls from the heights of heaven, and the setting stars urge us to sleep. Yet if you wish so much to know our suffering and hear briefly of Troy's final agony, I will try. Though my spirit shudders at the memory and recoils in pain, I will tell you.

'Broken in war and beaten back by fate, and so many years now slid away, the Grecian captains build by Pallas' divine craft a horse of mountainous build, ribbed with sawn fir; they feign it vowed for their return, and this rumour goes about. Within the blind sides they stealthily imprison chosen men picked out one by one, and fill the vast cavern of its womb full with armed soldiery.

'Broken by war and driven back by fate, the Grecian captains have seen many years pass. With Pallas' divine skill, they build a mountain-sized horse from planks of fir. They pretend it is an offering for their safe return, and the rumor spreads. Inside its hidden sides, they secretly place chosen men, picked one by one. They fill its vast, hollow belly with armed soldiers.

'There lies in sight an island well known in fame, Tenedos, rich of store while the realm of Priam endured, now but a bay and roadstead treacherous to ships. Hither they launch forth, and hide on the solitary shore: we fancied they were gone, and had run down the wind for Mycenae. So all the Teucrian land put her long grief away. The gates are flung open; men go rejoicingly to see the Doric camp, the deserted stations and abandoned shore. Here the Dolopian troops were tented, here cruel Achilles; here their squadrons lay; here the lines were wont to meet in battle. Some gaze astonished at the deadly gift of Minerva the Virgin, and wonder at the horse's bulk; and Thymoetes begins to advise that it be drawn within our walls and set in the citadel, whether in guile, or that the doom of Troy was even now setting thus. But Capys and they whose mind was of better counsel, bid us either hurl sheer into the sea the guileful and sinister gift of Greece, or heap flames beneath to consume it, or pierce and explore the hollow hiding-place of its womb. The wavering crowd is torn apart in high dispute.

'Within sight lies Tenedos, an island famous throughout the world. It was rich in resources while Priam's kingdom stood. Now it is only a bay and anchorage, treacherous to ships. The Greeks sailed there and hid on its lonely shore. We thought they had gone, sailing before the wind to Mycenae. So all the Teucrian land set aside its long grief. The gates were flung open. People went out joyfully to see the Doric camp, the deserted positions, and the abandoned shore. Here the Dolopian troops had camped, here cruel Achilles. Here their squadrons had lain, and here the armies had met in battle. Some gazed in amazement at the deadly gift of Minerva the Virgin and wondered at the horse's great size. Thymoetes was the first to advise that it be dragged inside our walls and placed in the citadel. Whether he did so out of deceit, or because Troy's fate was already taking this course, is uncertain. But Capys and those who gave better counsel urged us to throw the treacherous and sinister Greek gift into the sea. Or we should pile wood beneath it and burn it, or pierce its hollow belly and search the hiding place within. The uncertain crowd was divided by a fierce argument.

'At that, foremost of all and with a great throng about him, Laocoön runs hotly down from the high citadel, and cries from far: "Ah, wretched citizens, what height of madness is this? Believe you the foe is gone? or think you any Grecian gift is free of treachery? is it thus we know Ulysses? Either Achaeans are hid in this cage of wood, or the engine is fashioned against our walls to overlook the houses and descend upon the city; some delusion lurks there: trust not the horse, O Trojans. Be it what it may, I fear the Grecians even when they offer gifts." Thus speaking, he hurled his mighty spear with great strength at the creature's side and the curved framework of the belly: the spear stood quivering, and the jarred cavern of the womb sounded hollow and uttered a groan. And had divine ordinance, had a soul not infatuate been with us, he had moved us to lay violent steel on the Argolic hiding place; and Troy would now stand, and you, tall towers of Priam, yet abide.

At that, Laocoön rushed down from the high citadel ahead of everyone else, with a great crowd around him. He cried out from a distance: "Ah, wretched citizens, what madness is this? Do you believe the enemy has gone? Do you think any Grecian gift is free of treachery? Is that what we know of Ulysses? Either Achaeans are hiding in this wooden cage, or the machine was built to attack our walls. It could overlook our houses and descend upon the city. Some trick is hidden there. Do not trust the horse, Trojans. Whatever it is, I fear the Grecians even when they bring gifts." As he spoke, he hurled his mighty spear with great force at the creature's side, into its curved belly. The spear stuck there, quivering. The blow made the hollow belly ring out with a groan. If the gods had willed it, and if our minds had not been clouded, he would have persuaded us to attack the Argolic hiding place with steel. Troy would still stand today, and your tall towers, Priam, would still stand.

'Lo, Dardanian shepherds meanwhile dragged clamorously before the King a man with hands tied behind his back, who to compass this very thing, to lay Troy open to the Achaeans, had gone to meet their ignorant approach, confident in spirit and doubly prepared to spin his snares or to meet assured death. From all sides, in eagerness to see, the people of Troy run streaming in, and vie in jeers at their prisoner. Know now the treachery of the Grecians, and from a single crime learn all. . . . For as he stood amid our gaze confounded, disarmed, and cast his eyes around the Phrygian columns, "Alas!" he cried, "what land now, what seas may receive me? or what is the last doom that yet awaits my misery? who have neither any place among the Grecians, and likewise the Dardanians clamour in wrath for the forfeit of my blood." At that lament our spirit was changed, and all assault stayed: we encourage him to speak, and tell of what blood he is sprung, or what assurance he brings his captors.

Meanwhile, Dardanian shepherds noisily dragged a man before the King, his hands tied behind his back. He had approached them while they suspected nothing, intending to bring this about and open Troy to the Achaeans. He was confident and ready either to set his traps or to face certain death. The people of Troy rushed in from all sides, eager to see him, and competed to mock their prisoner. Now learn of the Grecians' treachery, and from a single crime learn all. . . . He stood helpless and unarmed under our gaze, looking around at the ranks of Phrygians. "Alas!" he cried, "what land or sea will take me now? What final fate still awaits me in my misery? I have no place among the Grecians, and the Dardanians are also shouting angrily for my blood." His lament changed our hearts, and all attacks stopped. We encouraged him to speak, to tell us his ancestry and what reason he could give his captors to trust him.

'"In all things assuredly," says he, "O King, befall what may, I will confess to thee the truth; nor will I deny myself of Argolic birth—this first—nor, if Fortune hath made Sinon unhappy, shall her malice mould him to a cheat and a liar. Hath a tale of the name of Palamedes, son of Belus, haply reached thine ears, and of his glorious rumour and renown; whom under false evidence the Pelasgians, because he forbade the war, sent innocent to death by wicked witness; now they bewail him when he hath left the light;—in his company, being near of blood, my father, poor as he was, sent me hither to arms from mine earliest years. While he stood unshaken in royalty and potent in the councils of the kings, we too wore a name and honour. When by subtle Ulysses' malice (no unknown tale do I tell) he left the upper regions, my shattered life crept on in darkness and grief, inly indignant at the fate of my innocent friend. Nor in my madness was I silent: and, should any chance offer, did I ever return a conqueror to my native Argos, I vowed myself his avenger, and with my words I stirred his bitter hatred. From this came the first taint of ill; from this did Ulysses ever threaten me with fresh charges, from this flung dark sayings among the crowd and sought confederate arms. Nay, nor did he rest, till by Calchas' service—but yet why do I vainly unroll the unavailing tale, or why hold you in delay, if all Achaeans are ranked together in your mind, and it is enough that I bear the name? Take the vengeance deferred; this the Ithacan would desire, and the sons of Atreus buy at a great ransom."

'"Whatever happens, O King," he says, "I will tell you the whole truth. First, I will not deny that I was born in Argos. And though Fortune has made Sinon unhappy, her cruelty will not make him a cheat and a liar. Perhaps you have heard the story of Palamedes, son of Belus, and his glorious fame and renown. Because he opposed the war, the Pelasgians put him to death on false testimony, though he was innocent. Now that he has left the light of day, they mourn him. "Palamedes was my close relative, and my father, poor as he was, sent me here to fight alongside him from my earliest years. As long as he held firm in his royal position and had influence in the councils of the kings, I too had a name and honor. Then, through the malice of cunning Ulysses, he left the world of the living. This is no unfamiliar story. My shattered life went on in darkness and grief, and inwardly I raged at the fate of my innocent friend. In my madness, I did not keep silent. I vowed to avenge him if a chance ever came and I returned victorious to my native Argos. My words stirred Ulysses' bitter hatred. "This was the beginning of my troubles. From then on, Ulysses kept threatening me with fresh charges. He spread dark hints among the crowd and sought allies in his attack on me. He did not rest until, with Calchas' help. But why do I waste time telling this useless story? Why do I delay you, if you count all Achaeans alike and it is enough that I bear the name? Take the vengeance you have delayed. The Ithacan would welcome it, and the sons of Atreus would pay a great ransom for it."'

'Then indeed we press on to ask and inquire the cause, witless of wickedness so great and Pelasgian craft. Tremblingly the false-hearted one pursues his speech:

'Then we press him to explain why, unaware of such great wickedness and Pelasgian trickery. Trembling, the deceitful man continues his story:

'"Often would the Grecians have taken to flight, leaving Troy behind, and disbanded in weariness of the long war: and would God they had! as often the fierce sea-tempest barred their way, and the gale frightened them from going. Most of all when this horse already stood framed with beams of maple, storm clouds roared over all the sky. In perplexity we send Eurypylus to inquire of Phoebus' oracle; and he brings back from the sanctuary these words of terror: With blood of a slain maiden, O Grecians, you appeased the winds when first you came to the Ilian coasts; with blood must you seek your return, and an Argive life be the accepted sacrifice. When that utterance reached the ears of the crowd, their hearts stood still, and a cold shudder ran through their inmost sense: for whom is doom purposed? who is claimed of Apollo? At this the Ithacan with loud clamour drags Calchas the soothsayer forth amidst them, and demands of him what is this the gods signify. And now many an one foretold me the villain's craft and cruelty, and silently saw what was to come. Twice five days he is speechless in his tent, and will not have any one denounced by his lips, or given up to death. Scarcely at last, at the loud urgence of the Ithacan, he breaks into speech as was planned, and appoints me for the altar. All consented; and each one's particular fear was turned, ah me! to my single destruction. And now the dreadful day was at hand; the rites were being ordered for me, the salted corn, and the chaplets to wreathe my temples. I broke away, I confess it, from death; I burst my bonds, and lurked all night darkling in the sedge of the marshy pool, till they might set their sails, if haply they should set them. Nor have I any hope more of seeing my old home nor my sweet children and the father whom I desire. Of them will they even haply claim vengeance for my flight, and wash away this crime in their wretched death. By the heavenly powers I beseech thee, the deities to whom truth is known, by all the faith yet unsullied that is anywhere left among mortals; pity woes so great; pity an undeserving sufferer."

'"Often the Grecians wanted to flee, leaving Troy behind, and disband, weary of the long war. If only they had! Each time, fierce storms at sea blocked their way, and the gale frightened them from sailing. Most of all, storm clouds roared across the sky when this horse already stood built of maple beams. In our confusion, we sent Eurypylus to consult Phoebus' oracle. He brought back these terrifying words from the sanctuary: With the blood of a slain maiden, O Grecians, you calmed the winds when you first came to the Ilian shores. You must seek your return with blood, and an Argive life must be the accepted sacrifice. When the crowd heard these words, their hearts stood still, and a cold shudder reached their innermost being. For whom was this fate intended? Whom did Apollo demand? "At this, the Ithacan dragged Calchas the soothsayer before them, shouting loudly. He demanded that Calchas tell them what the gods meant. Many had already warned me of the villain's cunning and cruelty. They saw in silence what was coming. For ten days Calchas remained silent in his tent. He refused to name anyone or hand anyone over to death. At last, only under the Ithacan's loud urging, he spoke as they had planned and chose me for the altar. All agreed. Each man's fear for himself, alas, was turned into my destruction alone. "And now the dreadful day was near. The rites were being prepared for me, the salted grain and the wreaths for my temples. I confess it, I escaped death. I broke my bonds and hid all night in the dark reeds of a marshy pool. I waited for them to set sail, if indeed they did. I no longer have any hope of seeing my old home, my sweet children, or the father I long for. Perhaps they will even punish my family for my escape and wash away my crime with their wretched deaths. I beg you by the powers of heaven, by the gods who know the truth, and by any faith that remains unspoiled among mortals: pity such great suffering. Pity a man who does not deserve it."

'At these his tears we grant him life, and accord our pity. Priam himself at once commands his shackles and strait bonds to be undone, and thus speaks with kindly words: "Whoso thou art, now and henceforth dismiss and forget the Greeks: thou shalt be ours. And unfold the truth to this my question: wherefore have they reared this vast size of horse? who is their counsellor? or what their aim? what propitiation, or what engine of war is this?" He ended; the other, stored with the treacherous craft of Pelasgia, lifts to heaven his freed hands. "You, everlasting fires," he cries, "and your inviolable sanctity be my witness; you, O altars and accursed swords I fled, and chaplets of the gods I wore as victim! unblamed may I break the oath of Greek allegiance, unblamed hate them and bring all to light that they conceal; nor am I bound by any laws of country. Do thou only keep by thy promise, O Troy, and preserve faith with thy preserver, as my news shall be true, as my recompense great.

Moved by his tears, we spare his life and show him pity. Priam himself immediately orders his shackles and tight bonds removed. Then he speaks kindly: "Whoever you are, forget the Greeks from now on. You will be one of us. And answer my question truthfully: why did they build this enormous horse? Who advised them? What is their aim? Is it an offering to appease the gods, or a weapon of war?" He finishes. The other man, full of Pelasgia's treacherous cunning, raises his freed hands to heaven. "You, eternal fires," he cries, "and your sacred, inviolable power, bear witness. And you, altars and cursed swords I escaped, and garlands of the gods I wore as a victim, bear witness too! Let me break my oath of allegiance to the Greeks without blame. Let me hate them and reveal all they conceal without blame. I am no longer bound by the laws of my country. Only keep your promise, Troy, and remain faithful to your savior, just as my news will be true and my reward great.

'"All the hope of Greece, and the confidence in which the war began, ever centred in Pallas' aid. But since the wicked son of Tydeus, and Ulysses, forger of crime, made bold to tear the fated Palladium from her sanctuary, and cut down the sentries on the towered height; since they grasped the holy image, and dared with bloody hands to touch the maiden chaplets of the goddess; since then the hope of Greece ebbed and slid away backwards, their strength was broken, and the mind of the goddess estranged. Whereof the Tritonian gave token by no uncertain signs. Scarcely was the image set in the camp; flame shot sparkling from its lifted eyes, and salt sweat started over its body; thrice, wonderful to tell, it leapt from the ground with shield and spear quivering. Immediately Calchas prophesies that the seas must be explored in flight, nor may Troy towers be overthrown by Argive weapons, except they repeat their auspices at Argos, and bring back that divine presence they have borne away with them in the curved ships overseas. And now they have run down the wind for their native Mycenae, to gather arms and gods to attend them; they will remeasure ocean and be on you unawares. So Calchas expounds the omens. This image at his warning they reared in recompense for the Palladium and the injured deity, to expiate the horror of sacrilege. Yet Calchas bade them raise it to this vast size with oaken crossbeams, and build it up to heaven, that it may not find entry at the gates nor be drawn within the city, nor protect your people beneath the consecration of old. For if hand of yours should violate Minerva's offering, then utter destruction (the gods turn rather on himself his augury!) should be upon Priam's empire and the Phrygian people. But if under your hands it climbed into your city, Asia should advance in mighty war to the walls of Pelops, and a like fate awaited our children's children."

'“All the hope of Greece, and the confidence with which the war began, rested on Pallas' help. But the wicked son of Tydeus and Ulysses, that maker of crimes, dared to tear the fated Palladium from her sanctuary. They killed the sentries on the towered heights. They seized the sacred image and dared to touch the goddess's maiden garlands with bloody hands. Since then, the hope of Greece has ebbed away, their strength has been broken, and the goddess has turned against them. The Tritonian gave unmistakable signs of this. The image had barely been set in the camp when flames flashed from its raised eyes. Salty sweat broke out over its body. And, astonishingly, three times it leapt from the ground, its shield and spear quivering. Calchas immediately prophesied that the Greeks must flee across the sea. Troy's towers could not be overthrown by Argive weapons unless they repeated their auspices at Argos. They must also bring back the divine presence they had carried away across the sea in their curved ships. And now they have sailed before the wind to their native Mycenae, to gather arms and gods to accompany them. They will cross the sea again and catch you by surprise. That is how Calchas interprets the signs. At his warning, they built this image to make amends for the Palladium and the offended goddess. They meant to atone for the horror of their sacrilege. Yet Calchas ordered them to build it to this enormous size, with oak beams reaching to the sky. Then it could not pass through the gates or be drawn into the city. Nor could it protect your people as the sacred image once did. For if your hands harmed Minerva's offering, utter destruction would fall on Priam's empire and the Phrygian people. May the gods turn that prophecy on Calchas himself instead! But if your hands brought the image into your city, Asia would march in mighty war against the walls of Pelops. The same fate would await our children's children.”'

'So by Sinon's wiles and craft and perjury the thing gained belief; and we were ensnared by treachery and forced tears, we whom neither the son of Tydeus nor Achilles of Larissa, whom not ten years nor a thousand ships brought down.

'So Sinon's tricks, deceit, and lies made the story believable. His treachery and fake tears trapped us. Yet neither the son of Tydeus nor Achilles of Larissa had defeated us. Neither had ten years of war or a thousand ships.

'Here another sight, greater, alas! and far more terrible meets us, and alarms our thoughtless senses. Laocoön, allotted priest of Neptune, was slaying a great bull at the accustomed altars. And lo! from Tenedos, over the placid depths (I shudder as I recall) two snakes in enormous coils press down the sea and advance together to the shore; their breasts rise through the surge, and their blood-red crests overtop the waves; the rest trails through the main behind and wreathes back in voluminous curves; the brine gurgles and foams. And now they gained the fields, while their bloodshot eyes blazed with fire, and their tongues lapped and flickered in their hissing mouths. We scatter, pallid at the sight. They in unfaltering train make towards Laocoön. And first the serpents twine in their double embrace his two little children, and bite deep in their wretched limbs; then him likewise, as he comes up to help with arms in his hand, they seize and fasten in their enormous coils; and now twice clasping his waist, twice encircling his neck with their scaly bodies, they tower head and neck above him. He at once strains his hands to tear their knots apart, his fillets spattered with foul black venom; at once raises to heaven awful cries; as when, bellowing, a bull shakes the wavering axe from his neck and runs wounded from the altar. But the two snakes glide away to the high sanctuary and seek the fierce Tritonian's citadel, and take shelter under the goddess' feet beneath the circle of her shield. Then indeed a strange terror thrills in all our amazed breasts; and Laocoön, men say, hath fulfilled his crime's desert, in piercing the consecrated wood and hurling his guilty spear into its body. All cry out that the image must be drawn to its home and supplication made to her deity. . . . We sunder the walls, and lay open the inner city. All set to the work; they fix rolling wheels under its feet, and tie hempen bands on its neck. The fated engine climbs our walls, big with arms. Around it boys and unwedded girls chant hymns and joyfully lay their hand on the rope. It moves up, and glides menacing into the middle of the town. O native land! O Ilium, house of gods, and Dardanian city renowned in war! four times in the very gateway did it come to a stand, and four times armour rang in its womb. Yet we urge it on, mindless and infatuate, and plant the ill-ominous thing in our hallowed citadel. Even then Cassandra opens her lips to the coming doom, lips at a god's bidding never believed by the Trojans. We, the wretched people, to whom that day was our last, hang the shrines of the gods with festal boughs throughout the city. Meanwhile the heavens wheel on, and night rises from the sea, wrapping in her vast shadow earth and sky and the wiles of the Myrmidons; about the town the Teucrians are stretched in silence; slumber laps their tired limbs.

'Then another sight confronts us, greater, alas, and far more terrible. It alarms our unsuspecting senses. Laocoön, the appointed priest of Neptune, was sacrificing a great bull at the usual altars. Then two enormous snakes came from Tenedos, moving side by side over the calm sea toward the shore. I shudder to recall it. Their chests rose from the water, and their blood-red crests stood above the waves. The rest of their bodies trailed behind through the sea, winding in great curves. The salt water gurgled and foamed. Now they reached the shore. Their bloodshot eyes blazed with fire, and their tongues flickered in their hissing mouths. We scattered, pale at the sight. The snakes moved straight toward Laocoön without hesitation. First they wrapped their coils around his two young children and bit deep into their helpless bodies. Then Laocoön came to help, carrying weapons, but they seized him too and bound him in their enormous coils. They wrapped their scaly bodies twice around his waist and twice around his neck. Their heads and necks towered above him. He strained to pull their coils apart, his priestly headbands spattered with foul black venom. At the same time, he raised terrible cries to heaven. He sounded like a wounded bull bellowing as it shakes a glancing axe blow from its neck and runs from the altar. But the two snakes glided away to the high sanctuary. They sought the citadel of the fierce Tritonian and sheltered at the goddess's feet, beneath her round shield. Then a strange terror swept through all of us as we stood in amazement. People said Laocoön had received the punishment he deserved. He had pierced the sacred wood and hurled his guilty spear into its body. All cried out that the image must be taken to its home and prayers offered to the goddess. . . . We broke through the walls and opened a way into the city. All set to work. They fitted wheels beneath its feet and tied hemp ropes around its neck. The doomed machine climbed over our walls, full of armed men. Around it, boys and unmarried girls sang hymns and joyfully put their hands on the rope. It moved onward and glided menacingly into the middle of the town. O native land! O Ilium, home of gods, and Dardanian city famous in war! Four times it stopped in the gateway itself, and four times armor rang inside it. Yet, blind and crazed, we pushed it onward and placed the ill-omened thing in our sacred citadel. Even then Cassandra spoke of the coming disaster. But a god had decreed that the Trojans would never believe her. We, the wretched people, hung festive branches on the gods' shrines throughout the city. That day was our last. Meanwhile, the heavens turned and night rose from the sea. Its vast shadow covered earth and sky and hid the schemes of the Myrmidons. All around the town, the Teucrians lay in silence, sleep enveloping their weary limbs.

'And now the Argive squadron was sailing in order from Tenedos, and in the favouring stillness of the quiet moon sought the shores it knew; when the royal galley ran out a flame, and, protected by the gods' malign decrees, Sinon stealthily lets loose the imprisoned Grecians from their barriers of pine; the horse opens and restores them to the air; and joyfully issuing from the hollow wood, Thessander and Sthenelus the captains, and terrible Ulysses, slide down the dangling rope, with Acamas and Thoas and Neoptolemus son of Peleus, and Machaon first of all, and Menelaus, and Epeüs himself the artificer of the treachery. They sweep down the city buried in drunken sleep; the watchmen are cut down, and at the open gates they welcome all their comrades, and unite their confederate bands.

'Now the Argive squadron was sailing in formation from Tenedos toward the shores it knew. The moon shone on a calm, quiet sea. Then a flame appeared on the royal galley. Protected by the gods' cruel decrees, Sinon secretly freed the Grecians trapped behind the pine walls. The horse opened, bringing them back into the open air. They came joyfully out of the hollow wooden horse and slid down a hanging rope. Among them were the captains Thessander and Sthenelus, and the fearsome Ulysses. With them came Acamas, Thoas, Neoptolemus son of Peleus, Machaon first of all, Menelaus, and Epeüs himself, who had devised the trick. They swept through the city, whose people lay buried in drunken sleep. They cut down the watchmen, welcomed all their comrades through the open gates, and joined forces with them.'

'It was the time when by the gift of God rest comes stealing first and sweetest on unhappy men. In slumber, lo! before mine eyes Hector seemed to stand by, deep in grief and shedding abundant tears; torn by the chariot, as once of old, and black with gory dust, his swoln feet pierced with the thongs. Ah me! in what guise was he! how changed from the Hector who returns from putting on Achilles' spoils, or launching the fires of Phrygia on the Grecian ships! with ragged beard and tresses clotted with blood, and all the many wounds upon him that he received around his ancestral walls. Myself too weeping I seemed to accost him ere he spoke, and utter forth mournful accents: "O light of Dardania, O surest hope of the Trojans, what long delay is this hath held thee? from what borders comest thou, Hector our desire? with what weary eyes we see thee, after many deaths of thy kin, after divers woes of people and city! What indignity hath marred thy serene visage? or why discern I these wounds?" He replies naught, nor regards my idle questioning; but heavily drawing a heart-deep groan, "Ah, fly, goddess-born," he says, "and rescue thyself from these flames. The foe holds our walls; from her high ridges Troy is toppling down. Thy country and Priam ask no more. If Troy towers might be defended by strength of hand, this hand too had been their defence. Troy commends to thee her holy things and household gods; take them to accompany thy fate; seek for them a city, which, after all the seas have known thy wanderings, thou shalt at last establish in might." So speaks he, and carries forth in his hands from their inner shrine the chaplets and strength of Vesta, and the everlasting fire.

'It was the hour when, by God's gift, sleep first comes to unhappy people, bringing its sweetest rest. As I slept, Hector seemed to appear before me, grieving deeply and shedding many tears. As once before, his body was torn from being dragged by the chariot and black with bloody dust. His swollen feet were pierced by the straps. Alas, what a sight he was! How different from the Hector who returned wearing Achilles' armor, or set the Grecian ships ablaze with Phrygian fire! His beard was ragged, his hair matted with blood. He bore all the many wounds he had received around his ancestral walls. Weeping, I seemed to address him before he spoke, and I cried out in sorrow: "O light of Dardania, O surest hope of the Trojans, what has kept you so long? From what lands do you come, Hector, whom we have longed to see? How weary our eyes are as we look upon you, after so many deaths among your kin! Our people and city have suffered so much! What outrage has marred your serene face? Why do I see these wounds?" He said nothing and paid no attention to my useless questions. Instead, he gave a heavy groan from deep within his heart. "Ah, flee, son of a goddess," he said, "and save yourself from these flames. The enemy holds our walls. Troy is falling from her lofty heights. Your country and Priam ask no more of you. If human strength could defend Troy's towers, this hand of mine would have defended them. Troy entrusts her sacred things and household gods to you. Take them with you on your journey to fulfill your fate. Find a city for them. After you have wandered over all the seas, you will at last establish that city in strength." So he spoke, and from the inner shrine he brought out in his hands Vesta's garlands, her sacred power, and the everlasting fire.

'Meanwhile the city is stirred with mingled agony; and more and more, though my father Anchises' house lay deep withdrawn and screened by trees, the noises grow clearer and the clash of armour swells. I shake myself from sleep and mount over the sloping roof, and stand there with ears attent: even as when flame catches a corn-field while south winds are furious, or the racing torrent of a mountain stream sweeps the fields, sweeps the smiling crops and labours of the oxen, and hurls the forest with it headlong; the shepherd in witless amaze hears the roar from the cliff-top. Then indeed proof is clear, and the treachery of the Grecians opens out. Already the house of Deïphobus hath crashed down in wide ruin amid the overpowering flames; already our neighbour Ucalegon is ablaze: the broad Sigean bay is lit with the fire. Cries of men and blare of trumpets rise up. Madly I seize my arms, nor is there so much purpose in arms; but my spirit is on fire to gather a band for fighting and charge for the citadel with my comrades. Fury and wrath drive me headlong, and I think how noble is death in arms.

'Meanwhile, the city is in turmoil and agony. My father Anchises' house stood far back, hidden by trees. Yet the noises grow clearer, and the clash of armor grows louder. I shake off sleep, climb onto the sloping roof, and stand listening. It is like a fire catching a field of grain while the south winds rage. Or like a rushing mountain stream sweeping over fields, destroying flourishing crops and the work of the oxen. It carries the forest headlong with it. From a cliff top, a shepherd hears the roar and stands stunned and bewildered. Now the truth is clear, and the treachery of the Grecians is revealed. Already Deïphobus' house has collapsed in ruins amid the raging flames. Already our neighbor Ucalegon's house is burning. The fire lights up the broad Sigean bay. Men's cries and the blare of trumpets rise into the air. I seize my weapons in a frenzy, though there is little reason to take them up. But my heart burns to gather a fighting band and charge toward the citadel with my comrades. Fury and anger drive me headlong, and I think how noble it is to die fighting.'

'And lo! Panthus, eluding the Achaean weapons, Panthus son of Othrys, priest of Phoebus in the citadel, comes hurrying with the sacred vessels and conquered gods and his little grandchild in his hand, and runs distractedly towards my gates. "How stands the state, O Panthus? what stronghold are we to occupy?" Scarcely had I said so, when groaning he thus returns: "The crowning day is come, the irreversible time of the Dardanian land. No more are we a Trojan people; Ilium and the great glory of the Teucrians is no more. Angry Jupiter hath cast all into the scale of Argos. The Grecians are lords of the burning town. The horse, standing high amid the city, pours forth armed men, and Sinon scatters fire, insolent in victory. Some are at the wide-flung gates, all the thousands that ever came from populous Mycenae. Others have beset the narrow streets with lowered weapons; edge and glittering point of steel stand drawn, ready for the slaughter; scarcely at the entry do the guards of the gates essay battle, and hold out in the blind fight."

And there was Panthus, escaping the Achaean weapons. Panthus, son of Othrys, was priest of Phoebus in the citadel. He came hurrying toward my gates in distress, carrying the sacred vessels and conquered gods and leading his little grandchild by the hand. "How do things stand, Panthus? What stronghold should we occupy?" I had barely spoken when he groaned and answered: "The final day has come, the hour from which the Dardanian land cannot turn back. We are no longer a Trojan people. Ilium and the great glory of the Teucrians are no more. Angry Jupiter has tipped the scales entirely in favor of Argos. The Grecians are masters of the burning city. The horse stands high in the middle of the city, pouring out armed men. Sinon, arrogant in victory, spreads fire. Some Grecians stand at the gates thrown wide open, all the thousands who came from populous Mycenae. Others have occupied the narrow streets with weapons lowered. Their blades and shining steel points are drawn, ready for slaughter. At the entrance, the gate guards barely attempt to fight and hold out in the blind struggle."

'Heaven's will thus declared by the son of Othrys drives me amid flames and arms, where the baleful Fury calls, and tumult of shouting rises up. Rhipeus and Epytus, most mighty in arms, join company with me; Hypanis and Dymas meet us in the moonlight and attach themselves to our side, and young Coroebus son of Mygdon. In those days it was he had come to Troy, fired with mad passion for Cassandra, and bore a son's aid to Priam and the Phrygians: hapless, that he listened not to his raving bride's counsels. . . . Seeing them close-ranked and daring for battle, I therewith began thus: "Men, hearts of supreme and useless bravery, if your desire be fixed to follow one who dares the utmost; you see what is the fortune of our state: all the gods by whom this empire was upheld have gone forth, abandoning shrine and altar; your aid comes to a burning city. Let us die, and rush on their encircling weapons. The conquered have one safety, to hope for none."

'Heaven's will, declared by the son of Othrys, drives me into the flames and fighting. There the deadly Fury calls, and the noise of shouting rises. Rhipeus and Epytus, both mighty warriors, join me. Hypanis and Dymas meet us in the moonlight and join our side, as does young Coroebus, son of Mygdon. Coroebus had recently come to Troy, driven by a mad passion for Cassandra. He gave Priam and the Phrygians the help a son would give. Unhappy man, he did not listen to the warnings of his frenzied bride. . . . Seeing them gathered close and eager for battle, I began: "Men, your courage is unmatched, but it is in vain. If you are determined to follow a man who dares everything, you can see our city's fate. All the gods who upheld this empire have left, abandoning their shrines and altars. You have come to help a city in flames. Let us die and rush against the weapons surrounding us. The conquered have only one hope of safety: to hope for none."'

'So their spirit is heightened to fury. Then, like wolves ravening in a black fog, whom mad malice of hunger hath driven blindly forth, and their cubs left behind await with throats unslaked; through the weapons of the enemy we march to certain death, and hold our way straight into the town. Night's sheltering shadow flutters dark around us. Who may unfold in speech that night's horror and death-agony, or measure its woes in weeping? The ancient city falls with her long years of sovereignty; corpses lie stretched stiff all about the streets and houses and awful courts of the gods. Nor do Teucrians alone pay forfeit of their blood; once and again valour returns even in conquered hearts, and the victorious Grecians fall. Everywhere is cruel agony, everywhere terror, and the sight of death at every turn.

'So their spirit rises to fury. Then we march through the enemy's weapons to certain death, heading straight into the town. We are like wolves driven blindly into a black fog by the fierce cruelty of hunger. Their cubs wait behind them, their thirst unsatisfied. The sheltering shadow of night flutters darkly around us. Who can describe the horror and death agony of that night, or measure its suffering in tears? The ancient city falls after its long years of rule. Corpses lie stiff throughout the streets, houses, and awe-inspiring courts of the gods. Nor are the Teucrians alone in paying with their blood. Again and again, courage returns even to conquered hearts, and the victorious Grecians fall. Everywhere there is cruel agony, everywhere terror, and the sight of death at every turn.

'First, with a great troop of Grecians attending him, Androgeus meets us, taking us in ignorance for an allied band, and opens on us with friendly words: "Hasten, my men; why idly linger so late? others plunder and harry the burning citadel; are you but now on your march from the tall ships?" He spoke, and immediately (for no answer of any assurance was offered) knew he was fallen among the foe. In amazement, he checked foot and voice; even as one who struggling through rough briers hath trodden a snake on the ground unwarned, and suddenly shrinks fluttering back as it rises in anger and puffs its green throat out; even thus Androgeus drew away, startled at the sight. We rush in and encircle them with serried arms, and cut them down dispersedly in their ignorance of the ground and seizure of panic. Fortune speeds our first labour. And here Coroebus, flushed with success and spirit, cries: "O comrades, follow me where fortune points before us the path of safety, and shews her favour. Let us exchange shields, and accoutre ourselves in Grecian suits; whether craft or courage, who will ask of an enemy? the foe shall arm our hands." Thus speaking, he next dons the plumed helmet and beautifully blazoned shield of Androgeus, and fits the Argive sword to his side. So does Rhipeus, so Dymas in like wise, and all our men in delight arm themselves one by one in the fresh spoils. We advance, mingling with the Grecians, under a protection not our own, and join many a battle with those we meet amid the blind night; many a Greek we send down to hell. Some scatter to the ships and run for the safety of the shore; some in craven fear again climb the huge horse, and hide in the belly they knew. Alas that none may trust at all to estranged gods!

First, Androgeus comes upon us with a large troop of Grecians. Mistaking us for allies, he greets us warmly: "Hurry, men. Why are you lingering here so late? Others are plundering and ravaging the burning citadel. Are you only now coming from the tall ships?" When no one gives him a reassuring answer, he realizes he has fallen among enemies. Amazed, he stops in his tracks and falls silent. He is like someone struggling through rough briars who unknowingly steps on a snake. The snake rises in anger and swells its green throat, and the man suddenly recoils in alarm. Just so, Androgeus draws back, startled at the sight. We rush in and surround them with tightly packed ranks of armed men. They do not know the ground and are seized by panic, so we cut them down as they scatter. Fortune favors our first effort. Then Coroebus, excited by success and full of spirit, cries: "Comrades, follow me where fortune shows us the path to safety and offers us her favor. Let us exchange shields and dress in Grecian armor. Who will ask whether we used cunning or courage against an enemy? The enemy will arm us." With these words, he puts on Androgeus's plumed helmet and beautifully decorated shield. He also straps the Argive sword to his side. Rhipeus and Dymas do the same, and all our men eagerly arm themselves with the fresh spoils. Protected by armor that is not our own, we advance among the Grecians. In the darkness of night, we fight many battles with those we meet and send many a Greek down to hell. Some scatter and run to the ships, seeking safety on the shore. Others, terrified, climb back into the huge horse and hide in the belly they know. Alas, no one can trust the gods when they have turned away!

'Lo! Cassandra, maiden daughter of Priam, was being dragged with disordered tresses from the temple and sanctuary of Minerva, straining to heaven her blazing eyes in vain; her eyes, for fetters locked her delicate hands. At this sight Coroebus burst forth infuriate, and flung himself on death amid their columns. We all follow him up, and charge with massed arms. Here first from the high temple roof we are overwhelmed with our own people's weapons, and a most pitiful slaughter begins through the fashion of our armour and the mistaken Greek crests; then the Grecians, with angry cries at the maiden's rescue, gather from every side and fall on us; Ajax in all his valour, and the two sons of Atreus, and the whole Dolopian army: as oft when bursting in whirlwind West and South clash with adverse blasts, and the East wind exultant on the coursers of the Dawn; the forests cry, and fierce in foam Nereus with his trident stirs the seas from their lowest depth. Those too appear, whom our stratagem routed through the darkness of dim night and drove all about the town; at once they know the shields and lying weapons, and mark the alien tone on our lips. We go down, overwhelmed by numbers. First Coroebus is stretched by Peneleus' hand at the altar of the goddess armipotent; and Rhipeus falls, the one man who was most righteous and steadfast in justice among the Teucrians: the gods' ways are not as ours: Hypanis and Dymas perish, pierced by friendly hands; nor did all thy goodness, O Panthus, nor Apollo's fillet protect thy fall. O ashes of Ilium and death flames of my people! you I call to witness that in your ruin I shunned no Grecian weapon or encounter, and my hand earned my fall, had destiny been thus. We tear ourselves away, I and Iphitus and Pelias, Iphitus now stricken in age, Pelias halting too under the wound of Ulysses, called forward by the clamour to Priam's house.

'Cassandra, Priam's unmarried daughter, was being dragged from the temple and sanctuary of Minerva, her hair in disarray. She strained to raise her blazing eyes to heaven, but in vain. Her eyes alone could rise, for fetters bound her delicate hands. At this sight, Coroebus burst out in fury and threw himself to his death among their ranks. We all followed him and charged together with our weapons. First, we were overwhelmed by weapons hurled from the high temple roof by our own people. A pitiful slaughter began because of our armor and the Greek crests they mistook for real ones. Then the Grecians gathered from every side and attacked us, crying out in anger at the maiden's rescue. Among them were Ajax in all his valor, the two sons of Atreus, and the whole Dolopian army. They came like winds bursting into a whirlwind, as often happens. West and South clash in opposing blasts, and the East wind exults on the horses of the Dawn. The forests cry out, and Nereus rages in the foam, stirring the seas from their deepest depths with his trident. Those whom our trick had routed through the dim darkness and driven all over the town appeared too. They immediately recognized the shields and weapons we had used to deceive them. They also noticed the foreign sound of our speech. Overwhelmed by numbers, we fell. First, Coroebus fell by Peneleus' hand at the altar of the goddess mighty in war. Rhipeus fell too. Of all the Teucrians, he was the most righteous and the most steadfast in justice. The gods' ways are not ours. Hypanis and Dymas died, pierced by friendly hands. Nor could all your goodness, Panthus, or Apollo's fillet protect you from death. O ashes of Ilium and funeral flames of my people! I call you to witness that, as you were destroyed, I shunned no Grecian weapon or fight. My hand had earned me death, had fate so willed it. I tore myself away with Iphitus and Pelias, drawn toward Priam's house by the clamor. Iphitus was now weakened by age, and Pelias was limping from a wound Ulysses had given him.

'Here indeed the battle is fiercest, as if all the rest of the fighting were nowhere, and no slaughter but here throughout the city, so do we descry the war in full fury, the Grecians rushing on the building, and their shielded column driving up against the beleaguered threshold. Ladders cling to the walls; and hard by the doors and planted on the rungs they hold up their shields in the left hand to ward off our weapons, and with their right clutch the battlements. The Dardanians tear down turrets and the covering of the house roof against them; with these for weapons, since they see the end is come, they prepare to defend themselves even in death's extremity: and hurl down gilded beams, the stately decorations of their fathers of old. Others with drawn swords have beset the doorway below and keep it in crowded column. We renew our courage, to aid the royal dwelling, to support them with our succour, and swell the force of the conquered.

'Here the battle is fiercest. It is as if there were no fighting anywhere else, no slaughter elsewhere in the city. We see the battle in full fury. The Grecians rush at the building, their shielded column advancing against the besieged entrance. Ladders lean against the walls. Near the doors, men stand on the rungs, holding up shields in their left hands to block our weapons. With their right hands, they clutch the battlements. The Dardanians tear down towers and parts of the roof to use against them. They see that the end has come, so they prepare to defend themselves with these weapons, even as they face death. They hurl down gilded beams, the grand decorations left by their ancestors. Others stand guard below at the doorway, packed together with swords drawn. Our courage returns, and we set out to aid the royal dwelling, support its defenders, and strengthen the defeated. '

'There was a blind doorway giving passage through the range of Priam's halls by a solitary postern, whereby, while our realm endured, hapless Andromache would often and often glide unattended to her father-in-law's house, and carry the boy Astyanax to his grandsire. I issue out on the sloping height of the ridge, whence wretched Teucrian hands were hurling their ineffectual weapons. A tower stood on the sheer brink, its roof ascending high into heaven, whence was wont to be seen all Troy and the Grecian ships and Achaean camp: attacking it with iron round about, where the joints of the lofty flooring yielded, we wrench it from its deep foundations and shake it free; it gives way, and suddenly falls thundering in ruin, crashing wide over the Grecian ranks. But others swarm up; nor meanwhile do stones nor any sort of missile slacken. . . . Right before the vestibule and in the front doorway Pyrrhus moves rejoicingly in the sparkle of arms and gleaming brass: like as when a snake fed on poisonous herbs, whom chill winter kept hid and swollen underground, now fresh from his weeds outworn and shining in youth, wreathes his slippery body into the daylight, his upreared breast meets the sun, and his triple-cloven tongue flickers in his mouth. With him huge Periphas, and Automedon the armour-bearer, driver of Achilles' horses, with him all his Scyrian men climb the roof and hurl flames on the housetop. Himself among the foremost he grasps a poleaxe, bursts through the hard doorway, and wrenches the brazen-plated doors from the hinge; and now he hath cut out a plank from the solid oak and pierced a vast gaping hole. The house within is open to sight, and the long halls lie plain; open to sight are the secret chambers of Priam and the kings of old, and they see armed men standing in front of the doorway.

'There was a hidden doorway through Priam's halls, leading to a secluded back entrance. While our kingdom still stood, unfortunate Andromache often slipped through it alone to visit her father-in-law. She would take the boy Astyanax to his grandfather. I came out on the sloping ridge, where desperate Teucrians were hurling their useless weapons. A tower stood on the sheer edge, its roof rising high into the sky. From there, all Troy, the Grecian ships, and the Achaean camp could be seen. We attacked it on all sides with iron tools, where the joints of its high flooring gave way. We tore it from its deep foundations and shook it loose. It gave way and suddenly fell with a thunderous crash, spreading destruction through the Grecian ranks. But others swarmed up, and the stones and every kind of missile kept flying. . . . Just before the entrance hall, in the front doorway, Pyrrhus strode joyfully in sparkling armor and gleaming brass. He was like a snake that had fed on poisonous plants. The cold winter had kept it hidden and swollen underground. Now, having shed its old skin and shining with renewed youth, it coils its slippery body in the daylight. Its raised breast faces the sun, and its three-forked tongue flickers in its mouth. With Pyrrhus were huge Periphas and Automedon, Achilles' armor-bearer and charioteer. All his Scyrian men climbed onto the roof with him and hurled flames onto the house. Pyrrhus himself was among the first. He seized a poleaxe, smashed through the strong doorway, and tore the brass-plated doors from their hinges. Then he cut a plank from the solid oak, opening a huge, gaping hole. The inside of the house lay exposed, and the long halls were in plain view. The hidden chambers of Priam and the kings of old were also exposed. They saw armed men standing before the doorway.

'But the inner house is stirred with shrieks and misery and confusion, and the court echoes deep with women's wailing; the golden stars are smitten with the din. Affrighted mothers stray about the vast house, and cling fast to the doors and print them with kisses. With his father's might Pyrrhus presses on; nor guards nor barriers can hold out. The gate totters under the hard driven ram, and the doors fall flat, rent from the hinge. Force makes way; the Greeks burst through the entrance and pour in, slaughtering the foremost, and filling the space with a wide stream of soldiers. Not so furiously when a foaming river bursts his banks and overflows, beating down the opposing dykes with whirling water, is he borne mounded over the fields, and sweeps herds and pens all about the plains. Myself I saw in the gateway Neoptolemus mad in slaughter, and the two sons of Atreus, saw Hecuba and the hundred daughters of her house, and Priam polluting with his blood the altar fires of his own consecration. The fifty bridal chambers—so great was the hope of his children's children—their doors magnificent with spoils of barbaric gold, have sunk in ruin; where the fire fails the Greeks are in possession.

'But inside the palace, there are screams, grief, and confusion. The courtyard echoes with women's cries, and the noise strikes the golden stars. Terrified mothers wander through the vast palace, clinging to the doors and kissing them. Pyrrhus presses forward with his father's strength. Neither guards nor barriers can hold him back. The gate shakes under the pounding ram, and the doors are torn from their hinges and fall flat. Force clears the way. The Greeks burst through the entrance, killing those in front and filling the space with a flood of soldiers. Even a foaming river does not rage so fiercely when it bursts its banks. Its swirling waters break through the dikes in its path. Then it surges across the fields, sweeping herds and pens over the plains. I saw Neoptolemus in the gateway, wild with slaughter, and the two sons of Atreus. I saw Hecuba and the hundred daughters of her house. I saw Priam staining with his blood the altar fires he had himself made sacred. The fifty bridal chambers have fallen in ruins. They had held such great hope for his children's children, and their doors were splendid with barbaric gold taken as spoils. Wherever the fire has not reached, the Greeks have taken possession.'

'Perchance too thou mayest inquire what was Priam's fate. When he saw the ruin of his captured city, the gates of his house burst open, and the enemy amid his innermost chambers, the old man idly fastens round his aged trembling shoulders his long disused armour, girds on the unavailing sword, and advances on his death among the thronging foe.

'Perhaps you may also ask what happened to Priam. He saw his captured city in ruins, his palace gates broken open, and the enemy in his innermost rooms. The old man fastened his long unused armor around his trembling shoulders, though it was useless. He strapped on his sword, which could not save him, and went to his death among the massed enemy.

'Within the palace and under the bare cope of sky was a massive altar, and hard on the altar an ancient bay tree leaned clasping the household gods in its shadow. Here Hecuba and her daughters crowded vainly about the altar-stones, like doves driven headlong by a black tempest, and crouched clasping the gods' images. And when she saw Priam her lord with the armour of youth on him, "What spirit of madness, my poor husband," she cries, "hath stirred thee to gird on these weapons? or whither dost thou run? Not such the succour nor these the defenders the time requires: no, were mine own Hector now beside us. Retire, I beseech thee, hither; this altar will protect us all, or thou wilt share our death." With these words on her lips she drew the aged man to her, and set him on the holy seat.

'Inside the palace, beneath the open sky, stood a massive altar. An ancient bay tree leaned over it, casting its shadow around the household gods. Here Hecuba and her daughters crowded helplessly around the altar stones. Like doves driven headlong by a dark storm, they crouched there, clutching the images of the gods. Then Hecuba saw her husband Priam wearing the armor of his youth. "What madness, my poor husband," she cried, "has made you put on these weapons? Where are you rushing? These are not the help or the defenders we need now, not even if my own Hector were here beside us. Come back here, I beg you. This altar will protect us all, or you will die with us." As she spoke, she drew the old man to her and seated him on the sacred seat.

'And lo, escaped from slaughtering Pyrrhus through the weapons of the enemy, Polites, one of Priam's children, flies wounded down the long colonnades and circles the empty halls. Pyrrhus pursues him fiercely with aimed wound, just catching at him, and follows hard on him with his spear. As at last he issued before his parents' eyes and faces, he fell, and shed his life in a pool of blood. At this Priam, although even now fast in the toils of death, yet withheld not nor spared a wrathful cry: "Ah, for thy crime, for this thy hardihood, may the gods, if there is goodness in heaven to care for aught such, pay thee in full thy worthy meed, and return thee the reward that is due! who hast made me look face to face on my child's murder, and polluted a father's countenance with death. Ah, not such to a foe was the Achilles whose parentage thou beliest; but he revered a suppliant's right and trust, restored to the tomb Hector's pallid corpse, and sent me back to my realm." Thus the old man spoke, and launched his weak and unwounding spear, which, recoiling straight from the jarring brass, hung idly from his shield above the boss. Thereat Pyrrhus: "Thou then shalt tell this, and go with the message to my sire the son of Peleus: remember to tell him of my baleful deeds, and the degeneracy of Neoptolemus. Now die." So saying, he drew him quivering to the very altar, slipping in the pool of his child's blood, and wound his left hand in his hair, while in his right the sword flashed out and plunged to the hilt in his side. This was the end of Priam's fortunes; thus did allotted fate find him, with burning Troy and her sunken towers before his eyes, once magnificent lord over so many peoples and lands of Asia. The great corpse lies along the shore, a head severed from the shoulders and a body without a name.

Then Polites, one of Priam's children, fled wounded through the enemy's weapons, escaping slaughter at Pyrrhus's hands. He ran down the long colonnades and around the empty halls. Pyrrhus pursued him fiercely, aiming his spear at him and nearly catching him. At last, Polites came into his parents' sight. He fell before them and died in a pool of blood. Priam was already caught in the grip of death. Even so, he did not hold back an angry cry: "For your crime and your boldness, may the gods repay you in full as you deserve! If there is goodness in heaven that cares about such things, may they give you the reward you are due! You have forced me to witness my child's murder and stained a father's face with death. Achilles, whose parentage you dishonor, did not treat an enemy this way. He respected a suppliant's rights and the trust placed in him. He returned Hector's pale corpse for burial and sent me back to my kingdom." The old man spoke and threw his spear, but it was too weak to wound. It bounced off the clanging bronze and hung uselessly from the raised center of Pyrrhus's shield. Then Pyrrhus said: "Go and tell this to my father, the son of Peleus. Remember to tell him of my terrible deeds and how far Neoptolemus has fallen. Now die." As he spoke, Pyrrhus dragged the trembling Priam to the altar itself. Priam slipped in the pool of his child's blood. Pyrrhus gripped his hair with his left hand, and his sword flashed in his right. He plunged it into Priam's side up to the hilt. This was the end of Priam's fortunes. Fate found him with burning Troy and its fallen towers before his eyes. He had once been the magnificent lord of so many peoples and lands of Asia. His great corpse lies stretched along the shore, its head severed from its shoulders, a body without a name.

'But then an awful terror began to encircle me; I stood in amaze; there rose before me the likeness of my loved father, as I saw the king, old as he, sobbing out his life under the ghastly wound; there rose Creüsa forlorn, my plundered house, and little Iülus' peril. I look back and survey what force is around me. All, outwearied, have given up and leapt headlong to the ground, or flung themselves wretchedly into the fire:

'But then a terrible fear began to close in on me. I stood stunned. As I saw the king, who was as old as my father, sobbing out his life from the terrible wound, I pictured my beloved father. I also saw Creüsa abandoned, my house plundered, and little Iülus in danger. I look back to see what forces remain around me. All are exhausted. They have leapt headfirst to the ground or thrown themselves in despair into the fire:

['Yes, and now I only was left; when I espy the daughter of Tyndarus close in the courts of Vesta, crouching silently in the fane's recesses; the bright glow of the fires lights my wandering, as my eyes stray all about. Fearing the Teucrians' anger for the overthrown towers of Troy, and the Grecians' vengeance and the wrath of the husband she had abandoned, she, the common Fury of Troy and her native country, had hidden herself and cowered unseen by the altars. My spirit kindles to fire, and rises in wrath to avenge my dying land and take repayment for her crimes. Shall she verily see Sparta and her native Mycenae unscathed, and depart a queen and triumphant? Shall she see her spousal and her home, her parents and children, attended by a crowd of Trojan women and Phrygians to serve her? and Priam have fallen under the sword? Troy blazed in fire? the shore of Dardania so often soaked with blood? Not so. For though there is no name or fame in a woman's punishment, nor honour in the victory, yet shall I have praise in quenching a guilty life and exacting a just recompense; and it will be good to fill my soul with the flame of vengeance, and satisfy the ashes of my people. Thus broke I forth, and advanced infuriate;]

Yes, now I alone was left. Then I spotted the daughter of Tyndarus in the courts of Vesta, crouching silently deep inside the temple. The bright glow of the fires lit my way as I wandered, looking everywhere. She feared the anger of the Teucrians over Troy’s fallen towers. She also feared the Grecians’ vengeance and the anger of the husband she had abandoned. A Fury to both Troy and her native country, she had hidden herself, cowering unseen by the altars. My spirit caught fire. I burned with anger to avenge my dying land and make her pay for her crimes. Would she really see Sparta and her native Mycenae unharmed, and leave as a triumphant queen? Would she see her husband and home, her parents and children, attended by Trojan women and Phrygians? And would Priam have fallen by the sword? Troy have burned? The shore of Dardania have been soaked so often with blood? No. Though punishing a woman brings no fame, and victory over her brings no honor, I would still be praised for ending a guilty life and exacting just punishment. It would be good to fill my soul with the flame of vengeance and satisfy the ashes of my people. So I cried out and rushed forward in fury.

'——When my mother came visibly before me, clear to sight as never till then, and shone forth in pure radiance through the night, gracious, evident in godhead, in shape and stature such as she is wont to appear to the heavenly people; she caught me by the hand and stayed me, and pursued thus with roseate lips:

'When my mother appeared before me, I saw her more clearly than ever before. She shone through the night with a pure radiance, gracious and unmistakably divine. She appeared in the form and stature she usually shows to the heavenly people. She took my hand and stopped me, then spoke again with rosy lips:

'"Son, what overmastering pain thus wakes thy wrath? Why ravest thou? or whither is thy care for us fled? Wilt thou not first look to it, where thou hast left Anchises, thine aged worn father; or if Creüsa thy wife and the child Ascanius survive? round about whom all the Greek battalions range; and without my preventing care, the flames ere this had made them their portion, and the hostile sword drunk their blood. Not the hated face of the Laconian woman, Tyndarus' daughter; not Paris is to blame; the gods, the gods in anger overturn this magnificence, and make Troy topple down. Look, for all the cloud that now veils thy gaze and dulls mortal vision with damp encircling mist, I will rend from before thee. Fear thou no commands of thy mother, nor refuse to obey her counsels. Here, where thou seest sundered piles of masonry and rocks violently torn from rocks, and smoke eddying mixed with dust, Neptune with his great trident shakes wall and foundation out of their places, and upturns all the city from her base. Here Juno in all her terror holds the Scaean gates at the entry, and, girt with steel, calls her allied army furiously from their ships. . . . Even now on the citadel's height, look back! Tritonian Pallas is planted in glittering halo and Gorgonian terror. Their lord himself pours courage and prosperous strength on the Grecians, himself stirs the gods against the arms of Dardania. Haste away, O son, and put an end to the struggle. I will never desert thee; I will set thee safe in the courts of thy father's house."

“Son, what overwhelming pain has stirred your anger? Why are you raging? Have you stopped caring for us? Won’t you first check where you left Anchises, your worn and aged father? Won’t you see whether your wife Creüsa and your child Ascanius are still alive? Greek battalions are all around them. Without my protection, the flames would already have consumed them, and the enemy’s sword would have drunk their blood. Neither the hated Laconian woman, Tyndarus’ daughter, nor Paris is to blame. The gods, the angry gods, are destroying this magnificent city and bringing Troy down. “Look. A cloud now veils your eyes, surrounding them with mist that dulls mortal sight. I will tear it away. Do not fear your mother’s commands or refuse to follow her advice. Here you see broken masonry, rocks torn violently from rocks, and smoke swirling with dust. Neptune is shaking the walls and foundations loose with his great trident. He is tearing the whole city from its base. Here, at the entrance, terrifying Juno holds the Scaean gates. Armed with steel, she furiously calls her allied army from their ships. . . . Look back now at the height of the citadel! Tritonian Pallas stands there, surrounded by a glittering halo and the terror of the Gorgon. Their lord himself gives the Grecians courage and strength for victory. He himself rouses the gods against the armed forces of Dardania. Hurry away, son, and stop fighting. I will never abandon you. I will bring you safely to the courts of your father’s house.”

'She ended, and plunged in the dense blackness of the night. Awful faces shine forth, and, set against Troy, divine majesties . . .

'She finished speaking and plunged into the deep darkness of the night. Terrifying faces appeared, and divine powers stood against Troy . . .

'Then indeed I saw all Ilium sinking in flame, and Neptunian Troy uprooted from her base: even as an ancient ash on the mountain heights, hacked all about with steel and fast-falling axes, when husbandmen emulously strain to cut it down: it hangs threateningly, with shaken top and quivering tresses asway; till gradually, overmastered with wounds, it utters one last groan, and rending itself away, falls in ruin along the ridge. I descend, and under a god's guidance clear my way between foe and flame; weapons give ground before me, and flames retire.

'Then I saw all Ilium sinking in flames and Neptunian Troy torn from its foundations. It was like an ancient ash tree high on a mountain. Farmers compete to cut it down, hacking all around it with steel and swiftly falling axes. The tree hangs threateningly, its crown shaking and its branches trembling and swaying. At last, overwhelmed by its wounds, it gives one final groan. It tears free and crashes along the ridge. I descend, and a god guides me safely between enemy and flame. Weapons give way before me, and flames draw back.

'And now, when I have reached the courts of my ancestral dwelling, our home of old, my father, whom it was my first desire to carry high into the hills, and whom first I sought, declines, now Troy is rooted out, to prolong his life through the pains of exile.

'Now I reached the courtyard of my ancestral home, where we had lived long ago. I had hoped first to carry my father high into the hills, and I looked for him first. But now that Troy had been destroyed, he refused to prolong his life through the hardships of exile.

'"Ah, you," he cries, "whose blood is at the prime, whose strength stands firm in native vigour, do you take your flight. . . . Had the lords of heaven willed to prolong life for me, they should have preserved this my home. Enough and more is the one desolation we have seen, survivors of a captured city. Thus, oh thus salute me and depart, as a body laid out for burial. Mine own hand shall find me death: the foe will be merciful and seek my spoils: light is the loss of a tomb. This long time hated of heaven, I uselessly delay the years, since the father of gods and king of men blasted me with wind of thunder and scathe of flame."

'"Ah, you," he cries, "whose blood is still in its prime and whose natural strength remains firm, flee. . . . If the lords of heaven had wanted me to live longer, they would have saved my home. We have survived the capture of our city and seen enough destruction and more. Say farewell to me as though I were a body laid out for burial, and leave. I will find death by my own hand. The enemy will be merciful and take my spoils. Losing a tomb is a small loss. Heaven has hated me for a long time. I have lingered uselessly for years, ever since the father of gods and king of men struck me with a thunderbolt and scorching fire."

'Thus held he on in utterance, and remained obstinate. We press him, dissolved in tears, my wife Creüsa, Ascanius, all our household, that our father involve us not all in his ruin, and add his weight to the sinking scale of doom. He refuses, and keeps seated steadfast in his purpose. Again I rush to battle, and choose death in my misery. For what had counsel or chance yet to give? Thoughtest thou my feet, O father, could retire and abandon thee? and fell so unnatural words from a parent's lips? "If heaven wills that naught be left of our mighty city, if this be thy planted purpose, thy pleasure to cast in thyself and thine to the doom of Troy; for this death indeed the gate is wide, and even now Pyrrhus will be here newly bathed in Priam's blood, Pyrrhus who slaughters the son before the father's face, the father upon his altars. For this was it, bountiful mother, thou dost rescue me amid fire and sword, to see the foe in my inmost chambers, and Ascanius and my father, Creüsa by their side, hewn down in one another's blood? My arms, men, bring my arms! the last day calls on the conquered. Return me to the Greeks; let me revisit and renew the fight. Never to-day shall we all perish unavenged."

He kept speaking this way and refused to change his mind. My wife Creüsa, Ascanius, and everyone in our household begged him through our tears. We begged him not to bring us all to ruin with him and add to the weight of our doom. He refused and sat firm in his decision. In my misery, I rushed to fight again, choosing death. What other plan or chance was left to me? Father, did you think I could leave you behind? How could such unnatural words come from a parent's lips? "If heaven wants nothing left of our mighty city, and if you are determined to share Troy's doom with your family, the way to death is wide open. Pyrrhus will be here any moment, fresh from shedding Priam's blood. He killed the son before his father's eyes, then killed the father at his altars. Was this why you rescued me from fire and sword, generous mother? Was it so I could see the enemy in my innermost rooms? So I could see Ascanius, my father, and Creüsa beside them, cut down in one another's blood? My arms, men, bring me my arms! The last day calls to the defeated. Take me back to the Greeks. Let me return and fight again. We will not all die today without taking revenge."

'Thereat I again gird on my sword, and fitting my left arm into the clasps of the shield, strode forth of the palace. And lo! my wife clung round my feet on the threshold, and held little Iülus up to his father's sight. "If thou goest to die, let us too hurry with thee to the end. But if thou knowest any hope to place in arms, be this household thy first defence. To what is little Iülus and thy father, to what am I left who once was called thy wife?"

Then I strapped on my sword again and slipped my left arm through the straps of my shield. I strode out of the palace. There, on the threshold, my wife clung to my feet and held little Iülus up for me to see. "If you are going to die, let us hurry with you to the end. But if you believe weapons offer any hope, defend this household first. What will become of little Iülus and your father? What will become of me, who was once called your wife?"

'So she shrieked, and filled all the house with her weeping; when a sign arises sudden and marvellous to tell. For, between the hands and before the faces of his sorrowing parents, lo! above Iülus' head there seemed to stream a light luminous cone, and a flame whose touch hurt not to flicker in his soft hair and play round his brows. We in a flutter of affright shook out the blazing hair and quenched the holy fires with spring water. But lord Anchises joyfully upraised his eyes; and stretching his hands to heaven: "Jupiter omnipotent," he cries, "if thou dost relent at any prayers, look on us this once alone; and if our goodness deserve it, give thine aid hereafter, O lord, and confirm this thine omen."

'So she screamed and filled the whole house with her weeping. Then a sudden sign appeared, marvelous to tell. There, between his sorrowing parents' hands and before their eyes, a glowing cone of light seemed to rise above Iülus' head. A harmless flame flickered in his soft hair and played around his brows. In a panic, we shook out his blazing hair and put out the sacred flames with spring water. But lord Anchises raised his eyes with joy. He stretched his hands toward heaven and cried, "All-powerful Jupiter, if any prayers can move you, look upon us this once. And if our goodness deserves it, lord, help us in the future and confirm this omen of yours."'

'Scarcely had the aged man spoken thus, when with sudden crash it thundered on the left, and a star gliding through the dusk shot from heaven drawing a bright trail of light. We watch it slide over the palace roof, leaving the mark of its pathway, and bury its brilliance in the wood of Ida; the long drawn track shines, and the region all about fumes with sulphur. Then conquered indeed my father rises to address the gods and worship the holy star. "Now, now delay is done with: I follow, and where you lead, I come. Gods of my fathers, save my house, save my grandchild. Yours is this omen, and in your deity Troy stands. I yield, O my son, and refuse not to go in thy company."

The old man had barely finished speaking when thunder suddenly crashed on the left. A star shot from the sky through the dusk, trailing bright light. We watched it glide over the palace roof, marking its path, and bury its brilliance in the woods of Ida. Its long trail shone, and the whole surrounding area smoked with sulfur. At last my father gave in. He rose to pray to the gods and worship the holy star. "Now, now there is no more delay. I will follow and go wherever you lead. Gods of my fathers, save my house, save my grandchild. This omen is yours, and Troy stands under your divine protection. I give in, my son, and will not refuse to go with you."

'He ended; and now more loudly the fire roars along the city, and the burning tides roll nearer. "Up then, beloved father, and lean on my neck; these shoulders of mine will sustain thee, nor will so dear a burden weigh me down. Howsoever fortune fall, one and undivided shall be our peril, one the escape of us twain. Little Iülus shall go along with me, and my wife follow our steps afar. You of my household, give heed to what I say. As you leave the city there is a mound and ancient temple of Ceres lonely on it, and hard by an aged cypress, guarded many years in ancestral awe: to this resting-place let us gather from diverse quarters. Thou, O father, take the sacred things and the household gods of our ancestors in thine hand. For me, just parted from the desperate battle, with slaughter fresh upon me, to handle them were guilt, until I wash away in a living stream the soilure. . . ." So spoke I, and spread over my neck and broad shoulders a tawny lion-skin for covering, and stoop to my burden. Little Iülus, with his hand fast in mine, keeps uneven pace after his father. Behind my wife follows. We pass on in the shadows. And I, lately moved by no weapons launched against me, nor by the thronging bands of my Grecian foes, am now terrified at every breath, startled by every noise, thrilling with fear alike for my companion and my burden.

He finished speaking, and the fire now roared louder through the city. Waves of flame rolled closer. "Come, dear father, lean on my neck. My shoulders will carry you, and so dear a burden will not weigh me down. Whatever happens, we will face the same danger and escape together. Little Iülus will come with me, and my wife will follow us at a distance. You of my household, listen to what I say. As you leave the city, there is a mound with an ancient temple of Ceres standing alone on it. Nearby is an old cypress, guarded for many years out of respect for our ancestors. Let us gather at this resting place, coming from different directions. Father, carry the sacred objects and the household gods of our ancestors in your hands. I have just come from desperate battle, with fresh blood on me. It would be wrong for me to touch them until I wash away the stain in a flowing stream. . . ." After I spoke, I spread a tawny lion-skin over my neck and broad shoulders and stooped to lift my father. Little Iülus held my hand tightly and followed me with uneven steps. My wife followed behind. We moved through the shadows. Only recently, neither weapons hurled at me nor the massed ranks of my Grecian enemies had shaken me. Now every breath terrified me, and every sound startled me. I trembled with fear for both my companion and the father I carried.

'And now I was nearing the gates, and thought I had outsped all the way; when suddenly the crowded trampling of feet came to our ears, and my father, looking forth into the darkness, cries: "My son, my son, fly; they draw near. I espy the gleaming shields and the flicker of brass." At this, in my flurry and confusion, some hostile god bereft me of my senses. For while I plunge down byways, and swerve from where the familiar streets ran, Creüsa, alas! whether, torn by fate from her unhappy husband, she stood still, or did she mistake the way, or sink down outwearied? I know not; and never again was she given back to our eyes; nor did I turn to look for my lost one, or cast back a thought, ere we were come to ancient Ceres' mound and hallowed seat; here at last, when all gathered, one was missing, vanished from her child's and her husband's company. What man or god did I spare in frantic reproaches? or what crueller sight met me in our city's overthrow? I charge my comrades with Ascanius and lord Anchises, and the gods of Teucria, hiding them in the winding vale. Myself I regain the city, girding on my shining armour; fixed to renew every danger, to retrace my way throughout Troy, and fling myself again on its perils. First of all I regain the walls and the dim gateway whence my steps had issued; I scan and follow back my footprints with searching gaze in the night. Everywhere my spirit shudders, dismayed at the very silence. Thence I pass on home, if haply her feet (if haply!) had led her thither. The Grecians had poured in, and filled the palace. The devouring fire goes rolling before the wind high as the roof; the flames tower over it, and the heat surges up into the air. I move on, and revisit the citadel and Priam's dwelling; where now in the spacious porticoes of Juno's sanctuary, Phoenix and accursed Ulysses, chosen sentries, were guarding the spoil. Hither from all quarters is flung in masses the treasure of Troy torn from burning shrines, tables of the gods, bowls of solid gold, and raiment of the captives. Boys and cowering mothers in long file stand round. . . . Yes, and I dared to cry abroad through the darkness; I filled the streets with calling, and again and yet again with vain reiterance cried piteously on Creüsa. As I stormed and sought her endlessly among the houses of the town, there rose before mine eyes a melancholy phantom, the ghost of very Creüsa, in likeness larger than her wont. I was motionless; my hair stood up, and the accents faltered on my tongue. Then she thus addressed me, and with this speech allayed my distresses: "What help is there in this mad passion of grief, sweet my husband? not without divine influence does this come to pass: nor may it be, nor does the high lord of Olympus allow, that thou shouldest carry Creüsa hence in thy company. Long shall be thine exile, and weary spaces of sea must thou furrow through; and thou shalt come to the land Hesperia, where Lydian Tiber flows with soft current through rich and populous fields. There prosperity awaits thee, and a kingdom, and a king's daughter for thy wife. Dispel these tears for thy beloved Creüsa. Never will I look on the proud homes of the Myrmidons or Dolopians, or go to be the slave of Greek matrons, I a daughter of Dardania, a daughter-in-law of Venus the goddess. . . . But the mighty mother of the gods keeps me in these her borders. And now farewell, and still love thy child and mine." This speech uttered, while I wept and would have said many a thing, she left me and retreated into thin air. Thrice there was I fain to lay mine arms round her neck; thrice the vision I vainly clasped fled out of my hands, even as the light breezes, or most like to fluttering sleep. So at last, when night is spent, I revisit my comrades.

And now I was nearing the gates. I thought I had escaped all the way there. Suddenly we heard the trampling of many feet. My father looked out into the darkness and cried, "My son, my son, run! They are coming. I can see their gleaming shields and flashing bronze." In my panic and confusion, some hostile god robbed me of my senses. I rushed down side streets and turned away from the familiar roads. But Creüsa, alas! Did fate tear her from her unhappy husband? Did she stop, lose her way, or collapse from exhaustion? I do not know. We never saw her again. I did not turn to look for my lost wife or even think of her until we reached ancient Ceres' mound and sacred shrine. There, when everyone gathered, one was missing. She had vanished from her child and her husband. What man or god did I spare in my frantic accusations? What crueler sight did I see during the fall of our city? I entrusted Ascanius, lord Anchises, and the gods of Teucria to my companions, hiding them in the winding valley. Then I put on my shining armor and returned to the city. I was determined to face every danger again, retrace my path through Troy, and throw myself once more into its perils. First I returned to the walls and the dark gate through which I had come. I searched for my footprints and followed them back through the night. I shuddered everywhere, frightened even by the silence. From there I went home, hoping, if only it were possible, that her feet had led her there. The Grecians had poured in and filled the palace. Driven by the wind, the devouring fire rolled up to the roof. Flames towered above it, and heat surged into the air. I went on to the citadel and Priam's dwelling. In the spacious porticoes of Juno's sanctuary, Phoenix and accursed Ulysses stood guard over the plunder. They had been chosen for the task. From every part of Troy, treasure torn from burning shrines had been piled there: the tables of the gods, bowls of solid gold, and the clothing of captives. Boys and cowering mothers stood around them in a long line. . . . I even dared to cry out through the darkness. I filled the streets with my calls, crying Creüsa's name again and again in vain. As I rushed through the city's houses, searching for her without end, a sorrowful phantom appeared before me. It was Creüsa's own ghost, larger than she had been in life. I stood motionless. My hair rose on end, and the words faltered on my tongue. Then she spoke and eased my distress: "What good is this wild grief, my dear husband? This has not happened without the will of the gods. You cannot take Creüsa away with you. The high lord of Olympus does not allow it. You will be an exile for a long time, and you must cross weary stretches of sea. You will come to the land of Hesperia, where the Lydian Tiber flows gently through rich, populous fields. There prosperity awaits you, and a kingdom, and a king's daughter as your wife. Stop shedding tears for your beloved Creüsa. I will never see the proud homes of the Myrmidons or Dolopians. Nor will I become the slave of Greek matrons, I who am a daughter of Dardania and daughter-in-law of the goddess Venus. . . . But the mighty mother of the gods keeps me here within her borders. Now farewell, and keep loving our child." After these words, she left me and faded into the air, while I wept and wanted to say so much. Three times I tried to put my arms around her neck. Three times the vision I tried in vain to embrace slipped from my hands, like a light breeze or a fleeting dream. At last, when the night was over, I returned to my companions.

'And here I find a marvellous great company, newly flocked in, mothers and men, a people gathered for exile, a pitiable crowd. From all quarters they are assembled, ready in heart and fortune, to whatsoever land I will conduct them overseas. And now the morning star rose over the high ridges of Ida, and led on the day; and the Grecians held the gateways in leaguer, nor was any hope of help given. I withdrew, and raising my father up, I sought the mountain.'

'Here I found a remarkably large crowd that had just gathered, mothers and men, a pitiable people ready for exile. They had come from all directions, ready to commit their hearts and fortunes to whatever land I would lead them to across the sea. Now the morning star rose over the high ridges of Ida, bringing in the day. The Grecians held the gates under siege, and there was no hope of help. I withdrew, lifted my father up, and headed for the mountain.'