Complete Works of Silius Italicus Page 29

  While the soldiers looked with wonder at such weakness, and waited eagerly for the command to raze the walls, a sudden awe, felt but not expressed, came over them, and some divine power tamed their ferocity, making them loath to hurl their fire-brands and reduce all the temples of Capua to ashes in a single conflagration. A merciful god made his way by slow degrees into their inmost hearts. Unseen by any eye, he taught them all that Capys had laid the foundations of that proud city in ancient times, and showed that it was expedient to leave human habitations for that vast extent of plain. By degrees their angry passions died down, and their violence was softened and weakened.

  It was Pan whom Jupiter had sent, in his desire to save the city founded by the Trojan — Pan, who seems ever to stand on tiptoe, and whose horny hoof leaves scarce any print upon the ground. His right hand plays with a lash of Tegean goat-skin and deals sportive blows among the holiday crowd at the cross-ways. Pine-needles wreathe his locks and shade his temples, and a pair of little horns sprout from his ruddy brow. He has pointed ears, and a rough beard hangs down from his chin. He carries a shepherd’s crook, and the soft skin of a roe-deer gives a welcome covering to his left side. There is no cliff so steep and dangerous, but he can keep his balance on it like a winged thing, and move his horny hoofs down the untrodden precipice. Sometimes he turns round and laughs at the antics of the shaggy tail that grows behind him; or he puts up a hand to keep the sun from scorching his brow and surveys the pasture-lands with shaded eyes. Now, when he had duly done the bidding of Jupiter, calming the angry passions of the soldiers and softening their hearts, he went swiftly back to the glades of Arcadia and to Maenalus, the mountain that he loves; on that sacred height he makes sweet music far and wide with his melodious pipe, and all the flocks from far away follow it.

  Then, when the Roman general ordered that the gates should not be fired and the walls should be left standing — such moderation did him honour — the soldiers put away swords and fire-brands. From the temples of the gods and from houses glittering with gold, booty was brought forth in abundance, and all the appliances of luxurious living, and the delights that had brought ruin to their possessors — womanish garments stripped from the backs of men, tables imported from foreign lands, and cups whose orient pearls whetted the taste for extravagance. Of silver plate there was no end, and there was heavy gold plate also, embossed with carving and intended only for feasts. There were long processions of slaves everywhere; and money enough to carry on a protracted war was taken from private houses; and the hordes of menials who had waited at the banquets of the rich were past counting.

  When Fulvius sounded the recall and stopped the plundering of the houses, he spoke from his lofty seat, a zealous rewarder of brave deeds: “Milo, son of Lanuvium, whom Juno the Preserver gave to us, receive now the decoration which Mars confers on the conqueror, and bind your brows with the turrets of the mural crown.” Then he summoned those of the nobles whose guilt marked them out as the first victims, and punished their crime as it deserved by the headsman’s axe.

  But here Taurea, brave in defiance — I cannot think it right to conceal a noble deed, even if done by an enemy — shouted out in anger: “Will you take with the steel the life of one greater than yourself, and take it with impunity? Shall the lictor do your bidding and lay the severed head of a hero before the feet of cowards? Never shall Heaven give this power to the Romans.” Then, fronting his judge with a fierce stare and a frenzied laugh, he drove his trusty sword instantly through his own breast. Fulvius answered him thus: “Die with your country and share her fall! Mars will judge each of us, for courage and for bravery in battle. You, if you thought it beneath you to submit to just punishment, might have met death in battle.”

  While Capua thus atoned with blood for her fatal error, meanwhile cruel Fortune, who deals out sorrow and joy together, had slain the two Scipios on Spanish territory — once the boast of their country and now her grief. It chanced that young Scipio was then resting in the city of Dieaearchus. Fighting was over, and he was revisiting his home, when rumour brought him bitter tears to shed for the untimely death of his kinsmen. Though it was not his wont to yield to misfortune, he beat his breast now and rent his garments in the violence of his grief. No efforts of his friends, no regard for his high station and military command, could restrain him: his love raged against the cruelty of Heaven and refused all consolation. Day followed day, and was spent by him in lamenting. The faces of his lost kinsmen were ever present before his eyes. Therefore he determined to call up the dead, the spirits of his dear ones, and to soothe his great grief by speech with them. He was encouraged by the nearness of that swamp, where the stagnant water of Acheron marks the unsightly descent to Avernus. He was eager to learn at once the secrets of the future.

  Thus young Scipio bent his steps to Cumae, where Autonoe then ruled, as Apollo’s priestess, the sacred tripods and grotto; and to her he revealed the purpose of his sad heart, and asked to see his kinsmen face to face. The priestess did not tarry long: “It is customary,” she said, “to slay black-fleeced sheep before the dawn, as offerings to the dead in their graves, and then to bury in an open trench the blood that flows from the throats of the still living victims. Then the pale kingdoms will render up their inhabitants to your view. As to your further demands, a greater priestess than I shall answer you. For I will summon up a response all the way from the Elysian Fields, and will permit you to see at your sacrifice the shade of that ancient Sibyl who declares the mind of Apollo. Up, then! and when dewy night has moved past her middle point, then purify yourself and go to the neighbouring gorge of Avernus and take with you the animals I have named, as a sacrifice to soften the stony heart of Pluto. Take honey also with you and an offering of unmixed wine.”

  Encouraged by this advice and by the name of the priestess whose aid was promised him, Scipio made ready in secret the prescribed victims. Then, when night in her course had reached the hour appointed and the darkness past was equal to the darkness yet to come, he rose from his bed and went to the stormy entrance of the gate to Tartarus, where the priestess, faithful to her word, was sitting in the deep recess of the Stygian grotto. Then, where the earth begins to part and the hollow hateful to heaven opens up, while its wide mouth pants and belches forth acrid air from the marsh of Cocytus, she led him on and bade him hasten to dig a trench in the earth with his sword and slay the victims in due order; and with quick-drawn breath she muttered mystic words. First of all, a black bull was offered to the Invisible King, and next an unmated heifer to the goddess of Henna. Lastly, chosen sheep with woolly fleeces were slain in honour of Alecto and of Megaera, the Fury who never smiles. And over them honey was poured, with an offering of wine and milk. “Stand firm, young man,” she cried, “and endure the sight of those who are rising from all Erebus. I see all Tartarus approaching, and the Third Kingdom of the world presents itself to our sight. Lo, shapes of all kinds come flocking, and all mankind who have been born and have died since the primal chaos; soon you shall see everything — Cyclopes and Scylla, and the Thracian horses that fed on human flesh. Fix your gaze firmly upon them all, and grasp your drawn sword undaunted. If any spirits press forward to drink of the blood before the form of the chaste Sibyl advances, hew them in pieces. But meantime look at yonder unburied ghost which comes quickly hither and desires to have speech with you. Until the funeral fire has consumed his body, he is permitted to speak as he was wont, without tasting of the blood.” Scipio looked at him, and was appalled by the sudden sight: “Great leader,” he said, “what mishap has robbed your suffering country of your aid, at a time when cruel war calls for such men as you? For Appius need yield to no man either in valour or in craft. Ten times has the dawn returned since I came back from Capua and saw you under cure for your wounds; and you regretted nothing, except that your wounds prevented you from approaching the walls of the city and sharing the glory of victory.” The general answered: “It was only one day later that the pleasant sight of the sun’s coursers
was taken from me on my sickbed, and I sank for ever in the dark stream of death. But the piety of my friends is slow to act, and seeks to observe the meaningless rites and customs of the people; hence they delay to burn my body, meaning to carry it far away to the tomb of my fathers. Therefore I entreat you by our rivalry in feats of arms, keep away from me those drugs which preserve the body from corruption, and suffer my wandering spirit to enter Acheron without delay.”

  And Scipio replied: “Noblest scion of ancient Clausus, no business of my own (and I have heavy tasks to perform) shall take precedence of your request. All over the world the practice is different in this matter, and unlikeness of opinion produces various ways of burying the dead and disposing of their ashes. In the land of Spain, we are told (it is an ancient custom) the bodies of the dead are devoured by loathly vultures. When a king dies in Hyrcania, it is the rule to let dogs have access to the corpse. The Egyptians enclose their dead, standing in an upright position, in a coffin of stone, and worship it; and they admit a bloodless spectre to their banquets. With the peoples of the Black Sea it is the custom to empty the skull by extracting the brain and to preserve the embalmed body for centuries. The Garamantes, again, dig a hole in the sand and bury the corpse naked, while the Nasamones in Libya commit their dead to the cruel sea for burial. Then the Celts have a horrid practice: they frame the bones of the empty skull in gold, and keep it for a drinking-cup. The Athenians passed a law, that the bodies of all who had fallen in battle in defence of their country should be burnt together on a single pyre. Again, among the Scythians the dead are fastened to tree-trunks and left to rot, and time at last is the burier of their bodies.”

  While thus they spoke, the ghost of the Sibyl approached, and Autonoe bade them stop their discourse: “Here,” she said, “here is the priestess, the fountain of truth; to her so much is revealed that Apollo himself would not claim to know more. The time has come for me to depart in company with your band of followers, and place the victims upon the fire.”

  But when the ancient dame of Cyme, that depository of hidden things, had tasted with her lips the blood of the victims, she gazed on the goodly face of the young hero: “While yet I enjoyed the light of heaven,” she said, “my voice was not silent but rang out to the nations from the cave of Cyme. And then I prophesied of you and your part in the future fortunes of the Roman people. But your nation did not give due heed to my sayings. For your ancestors lacked the wit to collect or preserve my oracles. But mark me now, my son, and you shall learn, since you would fain know it, your own destiny and the destiny of Rome that depends on yours. For I see that you are eager to learn from me a forecast of your life, and to have sight of your kinsmen’s ghosts. Trusted with command before the proper age,° you shall be victorious in battle on the Ebro, and shall avenge your sire; with the sword you shall put an end to the rejoicing of the Carthaginians; and, when you have conquered the Carthage in Spain, you will welcome the conquest as an omen for the war. Then you will be chosen for a higher office; and Jupiter will continue to watch over you until he has driven all the invaders back to Africa and himself brought Hannibal to be conquered by you. Shame on the unjust citizens, who will deprive of home and country a hero who has done such things!” Thus spoke the prophetess and was turning her steps to the dark pools of Hades.

  Then Scipio said: “However hard the lot in life assigned me, I shall struggle to overcome it; the consciousness of innocence is all I ask. But, famous Maiden, since the purpose of your life was ever to help mankind in their troubles, I entreat you to stay your steps a while, that you may name the spirits of the speechless dead and reveal to me the dreadful abode of Hades.”

  She consented, but said: “The realm you seek to see is not one to be desired. The countless generations of past ages dwell here in darkness and flit through the shadows. For all alike there is but one habitation. In the midst there is a vast extent of empty space; and down hither, driven by one common doom, come all things — whatever has been born of earth or sea or the fiery air since the beginning of the world and the barren plain has room for all the dead and for those who have yet to be born. Round this realm there are ten gates. One of these admits warriors, men born to endure war’s hardships; the second opens to those who made laws and famous statutes for their nations, and were the first to found walled cities; the third admits honest countryfolk dear to Ceres, who come down to Hades untouched by the poison of unfair dealings. The next gate is reserved for those who discovered fine arts and a civilized way of life, and uttered poems which their father, Phoebus, need not despise. The next, called the gate of shipwreck, lets in those whom winds and fierce storms destroyed. The sixth gate opens wide for the multitude who are oppressed by sin and confess their guilt; close by the entrance sits Rhadamanthus and demands penalties and punishes unsubstantial death. The seventh gate is unbarred for the companies of women, and here chaste Proserpina tends her dewy groves. The next gate is known for the crying of infants; and hither come a multitude of babes who died on the threshold of life, and maidens whose wedding-torches lighted their funerals instead. Next, in a place apart and radiant with gloom dispersed, stands a shining portal which leads to the Elysian Fields by a secret shady path; and here dwell the righteous, not in the realm of Hades nor under the cope of heaven, but, beyond the Ocean stream and hard by a sacred spring, they drink the water of Lethe and forget their past. Last is the tenth gate; glittering with gold, it enjoys the privilege of light and shines as if the moon’s disk were close beside it. By this gate souls rise again to heaven and, after the lapse of five thousand years, enter new bodies and forget Pluto. Here pale Death, with her hideous jaws agape, paces to and fro continually and wanders from gate to gate.

  “Then there lies stretching far and wide a lifeless morass, with no creature to be seen, and muddy pools. Here fierce Phlegethon burns its banks with overflowing stream and rolls along fiery rocks, resounding with a roaring blast of flame. Elsewhere Cocytus rushes down, raving with eddies of black blood and foaming as it flows. Next is the Styx, by which the high gods and even the king of the gods deign to swear; dreadful with its stream of pitch, it carries down sulphur and steaming mud together. Acheron, more terrible than these, seethes with venom and clotted poison, and spouts up icy sand with a rumbling noise, as its black current goes slowly down through the stagnant pools. From this foul stream Cerberus drinks with more than one mouth; this is the drink of Tisiphone also, and black Megaera thirsts for it, though no draught can slake her fury. Last of all, a river of tears takes its rise before the entrance to the ruler’s palace and the threshold that no prayers can soften.

  “How great a company of terrible shapes keep watch and have their abode in the courtyard, terrifying the dead with the noise of their mingled voices! Consuming Grief is there, and Leanness which waits upon sore disease; and Sorrow that feeds on tears, and bloodless Pallor; Remorse and Treachery are there; here is querulous Old Age, and there Jealousy ‘which strangles herself with both hands; and Poverty, an unsightly plague that leads men to crime; Error, with staggering gait, and Discord that delights to confound sea with sky. There sits Briareus, ever accustomed to open the gates of Pluto with his hundred hands; and the Sphinx whose maiden mouth is stained with human blood; and Scylla and the fierce Centaurs, and the ghosts of the Giants. Cerberus is here; when he bursts his bonds and moves through Tartarus, not even Alecto or Megaera, the mother of madness, dares to face the savage hound, when, after snapping a thousand chains, he bays and twines round his loins his snakelike tail.

  “On the right hand, a great yew-tree spreads its foliage and leafy arms; and the running water of Cocytus refreshes its growth. Here birds of ill omen dwell — vultures who feed on carrion, troops of owls, and screech-owls with blood-spotted plumage; and Harpies have their nests here and cling in clusters to every leaf: the tree resounds with their harsh cries.

  “Surrounded by these shapes and sitting on a lofty throne, the husband of Avernian Juno tries guilty kings. They stand before him in cha
ins and repent of their crimes too late before their judge: Furies and Penalties in every shape hover round. How great now their regret that they ever held the glittering sceptre of tyranny! Those who in life suffered undeserved and unjust punishment from them now mock their harsh rulers; and the complaints they could not utter in life they have leave at last to express. Then one of them is bound upon a rock with fetters of iron, and another pushes a stone up a steep mountain, and a third is for ever lashed by Megaera with her scourge of snakes. Such are the penalties in store for death-dealing tyrants. But it is time for you to look on your mother’s face; her ghost is the first to come, and comes with speed.”

  Pomponia now stood near. The secret love of Jupiter had made her Scipio’s mother. For, when Venus learnt that the arms of Carthage were rising against Rome, she strove to anticipate the wiles of Juno, and entrapped her father’s heart with a slow-spreading flame. But for this foresight, a Carthaginian virgin would now be kindling the altars of Ilium.” So, when the ghost had tasted of the blood and the Sibyl had informed her and suffered the pair to recognize one another, Scipio thus began: “Dear mother, as sacred to me as a mighty god, how gladly would I even have died and so entered the Stygian darkness, for a sight of you! What a lot was mine! The first day of my life was a day of disaster that snatched you from me and laid you in the grave.” His mother replied: “My son, no suffering attended my death : when I was delivered of the divine burden I carried, the god born on Cyllene conducted me with gentle hand by the command of Jupiter and gave me a place of equal honour in Elysium, where Leda and the great mother of Alcides are permitted by the god to dwell. But mark me, my son, and at last you shall learn what I am permitted to disclose — the secret of your birth; then no wars will affright you, and you may be confident of rising to heaven by your achievements. It chanced that I was alone at midday, enjoying the sleep that my weariness required, when suddenly I was clasped in an embrace — no common and familiar union, as when my husband came to me; and then in radiant light, though my halfclosed eyes were full of sleep, I saw — doubt me not — I saw Jupiter! Nor was I deceived by the god’s disguise; for he had changed himself into a serpent covered with scales and drew his coils after him in huge curves. But I was not permitted to live on after my delivery. What grief was mine, that my spirit departed before I could tell you these things!” Hearing this, Scipio strove eagerly to embrace his mother; but thrice the unsubstantial ghost eluded his grasp.