#4 Escape from Troy

Episode #4:  Aeneas Tells the Story of his Family’s Escape from Troy

Vergil Aeneid Book 2 (lines 589-729)

[summarized in ‘Search for a Homeland’ pp. 12-14]

Then, my dear mother Venus came to my vision, never before so bright

to my eyes, shining with pure light in the night,

goddess for sure, such as she may be seen by the gods,

and taking me by the right hand, stopped me, and, then,

imparted these words to me from her rose-tinted lips:

‘My son, what pain stirs such uncontrollable anger?

Why this rage? Where has your care for what is ours vanished?

First will you not see whether Creusa, your wife, and your child

Ascanius still live, and where you have left your father Anchises

worn-out with age? The Greek ranks surround them on all sides,

and if my love did not protect them, the flames would have caught

them before now, and the enemy swords drunk of their blood.

You do not hate the face of the Spartan daughter of Tyndareus,

nor is Paris to blame: the ruthlessness of the gods, of the gods,

brought down this power, and toppled Troy from its heights.

See (for I’ll tear away all the mist that now, shrouding your sight,

dims your mortal vision, and darkens everything with moisture:

don’t be afraid of what your mother commands, or refuse to obey

her wisdom): here, where you see shattered heaps of stone

torn from stone, and smoke billowing mixed with dust,

Neptune is shaking the walls, and the foundations, stirred

by his mighty trident, and tearing the whole city up by it roots.

There, Juno, the fiercest, is first to take the Scaean Gate, and,

sword at her side, calls on her troops from the ships, in rage.

Now, see, Tritonian Pallas, standing on the highest towers,

sending lightning from the storm-cloud, and her grim Gorgon

breastplate. Father Jupiter himself supplies the Greeks with

courage, and fortunate strength, himself excites the gods against

the Trojan army. Hurry your departure, son, and put an end

to your efforts. I will not leave you, and I will place you

safe at your father’s door.’ She spoke, and hid herself

in the dense shadows of night. Dreadful shapes appeared,

and the vast powers of gods opposed to Troy.

Then in truth all Troy seemed to me to sink in flames,

and my beloved city was toppled from her base:

just as when foresters on the mountain heights

compete to uproot an ancient ash tree, struck

time and again by axe and blade, it threatens continually

to fall, with trembling foliage and shivering crown,

till gradually vanquished by the blows it groans at last,

and torn from the ridge, crashes down in ruin.

I descend, and, led by a goddess, am freed from flames

and enemies: the spears give way, and the flames recede.

And now, when I reached the door of my father Anchises’ house,

and my former home, my father, whom it was my first desire

to carry into the high mountains, and whom I first sought out,

refused to extend his life or endure exile, since Troy had fallen.

‘Oh, you,’ he cried, ‘whose blood has the vigour of youth,

and whose power is unimpaired in its force, it’s for you

to take flight. As for me, if the gods had wished to lengthen

the thread of my life, they’d have spared my house. It is

more than enough that I saw one destruction, and survived

one taking of the city. Depart, saying farewell to my body

lying here so, yes so. I shall find death with my own hand:

the enemy will pity me, and look for plunder. The loss

of my burial is nothing.  Clinging to old age for so long,

I am useless, and hated by the gods, ever since

the father of the gods and ruler of men breathed the winds

of his lightning-bolt onto me, and touched me with fire.”

So he persisted in saying, and remained adamant.

We, on our side, Creusa, my wife, and Ascanius, all our household,

weeping bitterly, determined that he should not destroy everything

along with himself, and crush us by urging our doom.

He refused and clung to his place and his purpose.

I hurried to my weapons again, and, miserably, longed for death,

since what tactic or opportunity was open to us now?

‘Did you think I could leave you, father, and depart?

Did such sinful words fall from your lips?

If it pleases the gods to leave nothing of our great city standing,

if this is set in your mind, if it delights you to add yourself

and all that’s yours to the ruins of Troy, the door is open

to that death: soon Pyrrhus comes, drenched in Priam’s blood,

he who butchers the son in front of the father, the father at the altar.

Kind mother, did you rescue me from fire and sword

for this, to see the enemy in the depths of my house,

and Ascanius, and my father, and Creusa, slaughtered,

thrown together in a heap, in one another’s blood?

Weapons men, bring weapons: the last day calls to the defeated.

Lead me to the Greeks again: let me revisit the battle anew.

This day we shall not all perish unavenged.’

So, again, I fasten on my sword, slip my left arm

into the shield’s strap, adjust it, and rush from the house.

But see, my wife clings to the threshold, clasps my foot,

and holds little Iulus up towards his father:

‘If you go to die, take us with you too, at all costs: but if

as you’ve proved you trust in the weapons you wear,

defend this house first. To whom do you abandon little Iulus,

and your father, and me, I who was once spoken of as your wife?’

Crying out like this she filled the whole house with her groans,

when suddenly a wonder, marvellous to speak of, occurred.

See, between the hands and faces of his grieving parents,

a gentle light seemed to shine from the crown

of Iulus’s head, and a soft flame, harmless in its touch,

licked at his hair, and grazed his forehead.

Trembling with fear, we hurry to flick away the blazing strands,

and extinguish the sacred fires with water.

But Anchises, my father, lifts his eyes to the heavens, in delight,

and raises his hands and voice to the sky:

‘All-powerful Jupiter, if you’re moved by any prayers,

see us, and, grant but this: if we are worthy through our virtue,

show us a sign of it, Father, and confirm your omen.’

The old man had barely spoken when, with a sudden crash,

it thundered on the left, and a star, through the darkness,

slid from the sky, and flew, trailing fire, in a burst of light.

We watched it glide over the highest rooftops,

and bury its brightness, and the sign of its passage,

in the forests of Mount Ida: then the furrow of its long track

gave out a glow, and, all around, the place smoked with sulphur.

At this my father, truly overcome, raised himself towards the sky,

and spoke to the gods, and proclaimed the sacred star.

‘Now no delay: I follow, and where you lead, there am I.

Gods of my fathers, save my line, save my grandson.

This omen is yours, and Troy is in your divine power.

I accept, my son, and I will not refuse to go with you.’

He speaks, and now the fire is more audible,

through the city, and the blaze rolls its tide nearer.

‘Come then, dear father, clasp my neck: I will

carry you on my shoulders: that task won’t weigh on me.

Whatever may happen, it will be for us both, the same shared risk,

and the same salvation. Let little Iulus come with me,

and let my wife follow our footsteps at a distance.

You servants, give your attention to what I’m saying.

At the entrance to the city there’s a mound, an ancient temple

of forsaken Ceres, and a venerable cypress nearby,

protected through the years by the reverence of our fathers:

let’s head to that one place by diverse paths.

You, father, take the sacred objects, and our country’s gods,

in your hands: until I’ve washed in running water,

it would be a sin for me, coming from such fighting

and recent slaughter, to touch them.’

                                                          So saying, bowing my neck,

I spread a cloak made of a tawny lion’s hide over my broad shoulders,

and bend to the task: little Iulus clasps his hand

in mine, and follows his father’s longer strides.

My wife walks behind. We walk on through the shadows

of places, and I whom till then no shower of spears,

nor crowd of Greeks in hostile array, could move,

now I’m terrified by every breeze, and startled by every noise,

anxious, and fearful equally for my companion and my burden.