Pursued By The Cyclops

By H. L. Havell


Laden with rich gifts, and pursued by their kind hosts with blessings
and tears, the children of destiny launch their ships, and at the fall
of evening anchor under the towering headland which juts out into the
Adriatic to meet the opposite cliffs of Italy. Here they intend to
pass the night and cross the narrow waters next day. But at midnight
Palinurus, the captain of Æneas’s vessel, wakes suddenly, and, seeing
that the night is calm and the wind fair, gives the signal to start. With
level sails they bound swiftly over the softly heaving, starlit waters,
and every heart beats high as they draw nearer and nearer to the land of
their adoption. And now the stars grew pale, and dawn flushed rosy red
on the Acroceraunian heights, while before them, in the west, appeared
a low line of misty hills. “Italy!” cried Achates, the trusty squire
of Æneas; and all the fleet took up the cry, till the air rang with the
magic name of Italy. Then Anchises filled a golden goblet with wine, and,
standing high on the after-deck of the vessel, poured a drink-offering to
the powers of land and sea, praying for a prosperous voyage and a safe
landing. The wind blew stronger, in answer to his prayer, and speedily
they saw before them an opening in the rock-bound coast, leading by a
narrow channel into a land-locked basin. On a lofty height, commanding
the haven, stood the columned temple of Minerva, and on a meadow near the
shore four snow-white steeds were grazing. “It is a message of war,” said
Anchises; for the horse is a warlike beast.

Here they may not linger, for all the coast bristles with foes. But
before they turn their prows southward they veil their faces, as is the
fashion of the Trojans, and with bowed knee and suppliant hands breathe
the dreaded names of Juno and Minerva.

The shores of Italy begin to fade, and far away, on the southern horizon,
rises the fiery crest of Ætna. To the right they hear an angry, moaning
sound, which warns them that they are on the threshold of the dreaded
Sicilian strait, the abode of Scylla and Charybdis. Even at this distance
the billows rise to a gigantic height, threatening to swamp their
vessels. Palinurus calls to his men to take to their oars; the rest of
the fleet follow his example, and, borne forward by oars and sails, they
are soon out of the reach of danger. With sunset the wind dropped, and
after hours of weary toil they landed in the darkness beneath the black
shadow of Ætna, where the giant Enceladus lies chained on his uneasy
couch. For after the defeat of the Titans, the enormous brood of Earth,
who had risen up in revolt against Jove, Enceladus, the most violent of
these fierce rebels, was confined in a subterranean dungeon, and the
huge mass of Ætna was flung upon his bruised limbs to keep him fast; and
whenever he stirs in that living grave the whole mountain quakes and
trembles, and fire and smoke and molten rocks are belched up through the
throat of the furnace.

Fevered was the sleep and troubled the dreams of the Trojans while their
fleet lay moored in that fearful neighborhood. The night was black and
starless, and the air was full of strange sounds, as if some vast,
primeval monster were groaning and gasping for breath. The day dawned
red and threatening, and Æneas had given the order to embark, when out
of the woods which clothe the lower slopes of Ætna a man came slowly
limping, whose appearance showed him to be in the last extremity of want
and misery. He was covered with mire, and clothed in rags, scarce held
together with thorns, and his face was almost hidden by a matted growth
of hair and beard. In such guise he came on with feeble steps, holding
out his hands like one imploring pity and protection. When he recognized
the Trojan arms and dress he halted suddenly, and seemed to hesitate;
then, summoning resolution, he came on again with quickened steps, and
flung himself at the knees of Æneas, who had advanced to meet him. “Save
me,” he cried, speaking in the Greek language, with sobs and tears;
“only take me from this horrible place, and then use me as ye will. I am
a Greek, as ye hear, and I fought with the other Greeks against Troy. If
that is a crime past forgiveness let me suffer for it; tear me limb from
limb, and fling the fragments on the waves—it will be something to be
slaughtered by human hands.”

Touched to the heart by that speaking image of wretchedness and
despair Æneas raised the poor outcast from the ground, comforted him
with gentle words, and encouraged him to tell his story. Reassured by
this kind reception he informed them that he was one of the comrades
of Ulysses, left behind in their hasty flight from the cave of the
Cyclops Polyphemus. For the hardy Ithacan had visited this island in his
wanderings, and had put out the single eye of Polyphemus, which flamed
like the sun in the center of his forehead, in revenge for the murder of
his comrades, whom the cannibal monster had slain and devoured. For three
months the unhappy castaway had skulked in the woods, supporting life on
berries and roots, and affrighted by the ponderous tread of Polyphemus
and his brethren, and their mighty voices, which rumbled like thunder
over his head. Then, catching sight of the Trojan vessels, he had crept
from his hiding-place, determined to trust himself to the mercy of the
new-comers, whoever they might be.

He had just finished his story when a sound of crashing boughs was heard,
as if some great beast were advancing through the jungle; and in a
moment the giant shepherd came into view, supporting his footsteps on
the trunk of a tall pine. Slowly he felt his way towards the sea, that
monster horrible, misshapen, huge, and sightless; and when he reached
the margin of the bay he knelt down, and washed the oozing gore from the
gaping pit in his brow, while groans, as of some wounded leviathan, made
the very waters tremble.

In wild panic the people of Æneas fled to their ships, and the hollow
cliffs resounded to the beat of a thousand oars as they made haste to
reach the open sea. Polyphemus heard, and waded out into deep water in
the direction of the sound, with arms outstretched, to seize one of
the flying vessels. But, finding himself outpaced, he lifted up his
voice, and sent forth a colossal shout, which was bellowed back from the
caverns of Ætna, and reached the far-off shores of Italy. Roused by that
tremendous signal his brethren came rushing from the woods, and gathered
in dread conclave, filling all the beach. Like towering oaks they stood,
or tall cypress-trees, glaring with orbs of fire at the Trojan fleet
and the dashing oars. But the wind blew fair, and soon that tall cohort
dwindled to pigmy size in the distance, and the rugged outlines of Ætna
grew fainter and fainter.

Along the eastern and southern shore of Sicily they fly, where the blue
waters lap softly round the feet of gently sloping hills, one day to be
the site of many a famous city—Syracuse and Agrigentum and Gela. Having
rounded the western cape of the island they come to anchor in the harbor
of Drepanum.

Here a great sorrow fell upon Æneas; his aged father, Anchises, who
had followed him through all his wanderings, and cheerfully endured
many perils and privations, passed gently away, worn out with years and
sorrows; and his bones were laid in foreign soil, far from the land of
his birth.

So far the Trojan emigrants have been suffered to proceed, slowly and by
winding ways, but without any direct hindrance, towards their destined
goal. But now a new power appears on the scene, and a hostile influence
begins to work against them, which will henceforth dog their footsteps
for many years. That power is Juno, who had ever been Troy’s bitterest
and most implacable enemy.

Many causes concurred to keep alive her hatred against that devoted
race—the judgment of Paris, who had given the prize of beauty to her
rival, Venus; the high favor shown to Ganymede, a lovely Trojan boy,
whom Jupiter had made immortal, and exalted to be his cup-bearer; and
the ten long years of hope deferred and anxious toil when the Greeks
were fighting against Troy. Besides all these bitter memories, a new and
pressing occasion had lately arisen to fan the smouldering embers of
her resentment into a blaze. On the northern coast of Africa, fronting
the shores of Sicily, a colony from Tyre had recently founded the city
of Carthage, and the capricious Queen of Heaven had centered all her
affections on the Tyrian settlement, forgetting the ancient ties which
bound her to the Grecian states. And now she had heard a prophecy,
foretelling that a great nation was fated to spring from the blood of
the Trojan exiles which should one day level the towers of Carthage with
the dust and found a new empire upon her ruins.

Seated on her heavenly car the goddess was speeding on her way from
Carthage, full of ambitious schemes for the rising city, when, turning
her eyes earthward, she saw the fleet of Æneas putting out from the shore
of Sicily and heading for the Italian coast. At this unwelcome sight she
checked the flight of her airy steeds, and communed thus with her heart:
“There goes the Prince of Troy, the child of fortune, and thinks to
thwart my purpose, and bring all my plans to naught. Powers less august
than I can work their will, and vindicate their insulted majesty; Ajax
blasphemed against Pallas, and in the midst of his boastings was blasted
by Jove’s fiery bolt—and I, the high Queen of Heaven, the consort of
heaven’s king, must war in vain for years against this broken remnant of
a ruined race.”