ACA 101 Final

She came to him there, and beside her went an attendant carrying the boy in the fold of her bosom, a little child, only a baby, Hektor’s son, the admired, beautiful as a star shining, who Hektor called Skamandrios, but all of the others Astyanax--lord of the city; since Hektor alone saved Ilion.

'Dearest, your own great strength will be your death, and you have no pity on your little son, nor on me, ill-starred, who soon must be your widow; for presently the Achaians, gathering together, will set upon you and kill you; and for me it would be far better to sink into the earth when I have lost you, for there is no other consolation for me after you have gone to your destiny, only grief; since I have no father, no honoured mother.

It was brilliant Achilleus who slew my father, Eetion, when he stormed the strong-founded citadel of the Kilikians, Thebe of the towering gates. He killed Eetion but did not strip his armour, for his heart respected the dead man, but burned the body in all its elaborate war-gear and piled a grave mound over it, and the nymphs of the mountains, daughters of Zeus of the aegis, planted elm trees about it. And they who were my seven brothers in the great house all went upon a single day down into the house of the death god, for swift-footed brilliant Achilleus slaughtered all of them as they were tending their white sheep and their lumbering oxen; and when he had led my mother, who was queen under wooded Plakos, here, along with all his other possessions, Achilleus released her again, accepting ransom beyond count, but Artemis of the showering arrows struck her down in the halls of her father.

Hektor, thus you are father to me, and my honoured mother, you are my brother, and you it is who are my young husband. Please take pity upon me then, stay here on the rampart, that you may not leave your child an orphan, your wife a widow, but draw your people up by the fig tree, there where the city’

'All these things are in my mind also, lady; yet I would feel deep shame before the Trojans, and the Trojan women with trailing garments, if like a coward I were to shrink aside from the fighting; and the spirit will not let me, since I have learned to be valiant and to fight always among the foremost ranks of the Trojans, winning for my own self great glory, and for my father.

For I know this thing well in my heart, and my mind knows it: there will come a day when sacred Ilion shall perish, and Priam, and the people of Priam of the strong ash spear. But it is not so much the pain to come of the Trojans that troubles me, not even of Priam the king nor Hekabe, not the thought of my brothers who in their numbers and valour shall drop in the dust under the hands of men who hate them, as troubles me the thought of you, when some bronze-armoured Achaian leads you off, taking away your day of liberty, in tears; and in Argos you must work at the loom of another, and carry water from the spring Messeis or Hypereia, all unwilling, but strong will be the necessity upon you; and some day seeing you shedding tears a man will say of you:

"This is the wife of Hektor, who was ever the bravest fighter of the Trojans, breakers of horses, in the days when they fought about Ilion." So will one speak of you; and for you it will be yet a fresh grief, to be widowed of such a man who could fight off the day of your slavery. But may I be dead and the piled earth hide me under before I hear you crying and know by this that they drag you captive.'

So speaking glorious Hektor held out his arms to his baby, who shrank back to his fair-girdled nurse's bosom screaming, and frightened at the aspect of his own father, terrified as he saw the bronze and the crest with its horse-hair, nodding dreadfully, as he thought, from the peak of the helmet.

Then his beloved father laughed out, and his honoured mother, and at once glorious Hektor lifted from his head the helmet and laid it in all its shining upon the ground. Then taking up his dear son he tossed him about in his arms, and kissed him, and lifted his voice in prayer to Zeus and the other immortals:

'Zeus, and you other immortals, grant that this boy, who is my son, may be as I am, pre-eminent among the Trojans, great in strength, as am I, and rule strongly over Ilion; and some day let them say of him: "He is better by far than his father", as he comes in from the fighting; and let him kill his enemy and bring home the blooded spoils, and delight the heart of his mother.'

Evil Paris, beautiful, woman-crazy, cajoling, better had you never been born, or killed unwedded. Truly I could have wished it so; it would be far better than to have you with us to our shame, for others to sneer at. Surely now the flowing-haired Achaians laugh at us, thinking you are our bravest champion, only because your looks are handsome, but there is no strength in your heart, no courage. Were you like this that time when in sea-wandering vessels assembling oarsmen to help you you sailed over the water, and mixed with the outlanders, and carried away a fair woman from a remote land, whose lord's kin were spearmen and fighters, to your father a big sorrow, and your city, and all your people, to yourself a thing shameful but bringing joy to the enemy?

And now you would not stand up against warlike Menelaos? Thus you would learn of the man whose blossoming wife you have taken. The lyre would not help you then, nor the favours of Aphrodite, nor your locks, when you rolled in the dust, nor all your beauty. No, but the Trojans are cowards in truth, else long before this you had worn a mantle of flying stones for the wrong you did us.'

Always to me, beloved father, you are feared and respected; and I wish bitter death had been what I wanted, when I came hither following your son, forsaking my chamber, my kinsmen, my grown child, and the loveliness of girls my own age. It did not happen that way: and now I am worn with weeping. This now I will tell you in answer to the question you asked me. That man is Atreus' son Agamemnon, widely powerful, at the same time a good king and a strong spearfighter, once my kinsman, slut that I am. Did this ever happen?

He spoke, and flashing forward laid hold of the horse-haired helmet and spun him about, and dragged him away toward the strong-greaved Achaians, for the broidered strap under the softness of his throat strangled Paris, fastened under his chin to hold on the horned helmet.

Now he would have dragged him away and won glory forever had not Aphrodite daughter of Zeus watched sharply.

She broke the chinstrap, made from the hide of a slaughtered bullock, and the helmet came away empty in the heavy hand of Atreides. The hero whirled the helmet about and sent it flying among the strong-greaved Achaians, and his staunch companions retrieved it. He turned and made again for his man, determined to kill him with the bronze spear.

But Aphrodite caught up Paris easily, since she was divine, and wrapped him in a thick mist and set him down again in his own perfumed bedchamber.

We have gods on our side also. Come, then, rather let us go to bed and turn to love-making. Never before as now has passion enmeshed my senses, not when I took you the first time from Lakedaimon the lovely and caught you up and carried you away in seafaring vessels, and lay with you in the bed of love on the island Kranae, not even then, as now, did I love you and sweet desire seize me.'

So he spoke, and Patroklos obeyed his beloved companion. He led forth from the hut Briseis of the fair cheeks and gave her to be taken away; and they walked back beside the ships of the Achaians, and the woman all unwilling went with them still. But Achilleus weeping went and sat in sorrow apart from his companions beside the beach of the grey sea looking out on the infmite water. Many times stretching forth his hands he called on his mother:

'Since, my mother, you bore me to be a man with a short life, therefore Zeus of the loud thunder on Olympos should grant me honour at least. But now he has given me not even a little. Now the son of Atreus, powerful Agamemnon, has dishonoured me, since he has taken away my prize and keeps it.' So he spoke in tears and the lady his mother heard him as she sat in the depths of the sea at the side of her aged father, and lightly she emerged like a mist from the grey water.

She came and sat beside him as he wept, and stroked him with her hand and called him by name and spoke to him: 'Why then, child, do you lament? What sorrow has come to your heart now? Tell me, do not hide it in your mind, and thus we shall both know.'

Brother by marriage to me, who am a~nasty bitch evil-intriguing, how I wish that on that day when my mother first bore me the foul whirlwind of the storm had caught me away and swept me to the mountain, or into the wash of the sea deep-thundering where the waves would have swept me away before all these things had happened.

Yet since the gods had brought it about that these vile things must be, I wish I had been the wife of a better man than this is, one who knew modesty and all things of shame that men say. But this man's heart is no steadfast thing, nor yet will it be so ever hereafter; for that I think he shall take the consequence.

But come now, come in and rest on this chair, my brother, since it is on your heart beyond all that the hard work has fallen for the sake of dishonoured me and the blind act of Alexandros, us two, on whom Zeus set a vile destiny, so that hereafter we shall be made into things of song for the men of the future.'

Then tall Hektor of the shining helm answered her: 'Do not, Helen, make me sit with you, though you love me. You will not persuade me. Already my heart within is hastening me to defend the Trojans, who when I am away long greatly to have me. Rather rouse this man, and let himself also be swift to action so he may overtake me while I am still in the city. For I am going first to my own house, so I can visit my own people, my beloved wife and my son, who is little, since I do not know if ever again I shall come back this way, or whether the gods will strike me down at the hands of the Achaians.

And the son of Atreus, stricken at the heart with the great sorrow went among his heralds clear-spoken and told them to summon calling by name each man into the assembly but with no outcry, and he himself was at work with the foremost. They took their seats in assembly, dispirited, and Agamemnon stood up before them, shedding tears, like a spring dark-running that down the face of a rock impassable drips ints dim water. So, groaning heavily, Agamemnon spoke to the Argives:

“Friends, who are leaders of the Argives and keep their counsel: Zeus son of Kronos has caught me badly in bitter futility. He is hard: who before this time promised me and consented that I might sack strong-walled Ilion and sail homeward. Now he has devised a vile deception and bids me go back to Argos in dishonour having lost many of my people. Such is the way it will be pleasing to Zeus, who is too strong, who before now has broken the crests of many cities and will break them again, since his power is beyond all others. Come then, do as I say, let us all be won over; let us run away with our ships to the beloved land of our fathers since no longer now shall we capture Troy of the wide ways.”

Son of Atreus: I will be first to fight with your folly, as is my right, lord, in this assembly; then do not be angered. I was the first of the Danaans whose valour you slighted and said I was unwarlike and without courage. The young men of the Argives know all these things, and the elders know it. The son of devious-devising Kronos has given you gifts in two ways: with the sceptre he gave you honour beyond all, but he did not give you a heart, and of all power this is the greatest. Sir, sir, can you really believe the sons of the Achaians are so unwarlike and so weak of their hearts as you call them? But if in truth your own heart is so set upon going, go. The way is there, and next to the water are standing your ships that came-so many of them-with you from Mykenai, and yet the rest of the flowing-haired Achaians will stay here until we have sacked the city of Troy; let even these also run away with their ships to the beloved land of their fathers, still we two, Sthenelos and I, will fight till we witness the end of Ilion; for it was with God that we made our way hither.'

I will join with him in no counsel, and in no action. He cheated me and he did me hurt. Let him not beguile me with words again. This is enough for him. Let him of his own will be damned, since Zeus of the counsels has taken his wits away from him. I hate his gifts. I hold him light as the strip of a splinter. Not if he gave me ten times as much, and twenty times over as he possesses now, not if more should come to him from elsewhere, or gave all that is brought in to Orchomenos, all that is brought in to Thebes of Egypt, where the greatest possessions lie up in the houses, Thebes of the hundred gates, where through each of the gates two hundred fighting men come forth to war with horses and chariots; not if he gave me gifts as many as the sand or the dust is, not even so would Agamemnon have his way with my spirit until he had made good to me all this heartrending insolence.

For my mother Thetis the goddess of the silver feet tells me I carry two sorts of destiny toward the day of my death. Either, ifI stay here and fight beside the city of the Trojans, my return home is gone, but my glory shall be everlasting; but if l return home to the beloved land of my fathers, the excellence of my glory is gone, but there will be a long life left for me, and my end in death will not come to me quickly. And this would be my counsel to others also, to sail back home again, since no longer shall you find any term set on the sheer city of Ilion, since Zeus of the wide brows has strongly held his own hand over it, and its people are made bold.

So these two walked along the strand of the sea deep-thundering with many prayers to the holder and shaker of the earth, that they might readily persuade the great heart of Aiakides. Now they came beside the shelters and ships of the Myrmidons and they found Achilleus delighting his heart in a lyre, clear-sounding, splendid and carefully wrought, with a bridge of silver upon it, which he won out of the spoils when he ruined Eetion's city.

With this he was pleasuring his heart, and singing of men's fame, as Patroklos was sitting over against him, alone, in silence, watching Aiakides and the time he would leave off singing. Now these two came forward, as brilliant Odysseus led them, and stood in his presence. Achilleus rose to his feet in amazement holding the lyre as it was, leaving the place where he was sitting. In the same way Patroklos, when he saw the men come, stood up. And in greeting Achilleus the swift of foot spoke to them: 'Welcome. You are my friends who have come, and greatly I need you, who even to this my anger are dearest of all the Achai~ns.' So brilliant Achilleus spoke, and guided them forward, and caused them to sit down on couches with purple coverlets and at once called over to Patroklos who was not far from him: 'Son of Menoitios, set up a mixing-bowl that is bigger, and mix us stronger drink, and make ready a cup for each man, since these who have come beneath my roof are the men that I love best.'

Then in turn the strong son of Menoitios spoke to him:

“But how shall this be, my lord Eurypylos, how shall we do it? I am on my way carrying a message to wise Achilleus given me by Gerenian Nestor, the Achaian’s watcher. But even so, I will not leave you in you affliction.”

He spoke, and holding the shepherd of the host under the arms led him to his shelter, and a henchman seeing them spread out some ox-hides, and Patroklos laid him there and with a knife cut the sharp tearing arrow out of his thigh, and washed the black blood running from it with warm water, and, pounding it up in his hands, laid on a bitter root to make pain disappear, one which stayed all kinds of pain. And the wound dried, and the flow of blood stopped.

He made the earth upon it, and the sky, and the sea's water, and the tireless sun, and the moon waxing into her fullness, and on it all the constellations that festoon the heavens, the Pleiades and the Hyades and the strength of Orion and the Bear, whom men give also the name of the Wagon, who turns about in a fixed place and looks at Orion and she alone is never plunged in the wash of the Ocean. On it he wrought in all their beauty two cities of mortal men. And there were marriages in one, and festivals.

He made upon it a soft field, the pride of the tilled land, wide and triple-ploughed, with many ploughmen upon it who wheeled their teams at the tum and drove them in either direction.

He made on it the precinct of a king, where the labourers were reaping, with the sharp reaping hooks in their hands.

He made on it a great vineyard heavy with clusters, lovely and in gold, but the grapes upon it were darkened and the vines themselves stood out through poles of silver.

He made upon it a herd of horn-straight oxen. The cattle were wrought of gold and of tin, and thronged in speed and with lowing out of the dung of the farmyard to a pasturing place by a sounding river, and beside the moving field of a reed bed.

And the renowned smith of the strong arms made on it a meadow large and in a lovely valley for the glimmering sheepflocks, with dwelling places upon it, and covered shelters, and sheepfolds.

And the renowned smith of the strong arms made elaborate on it a dancing floor, like that which once in the wide spaces ofKnosos Daidalos built for Ariadne of the lovely tresses. And there were young men on it and young girls, sought for their beauty with gifts of oxen, dancing, and holding hands at the wrist.

He made on it the great strength of the Ocean River

Now as he was pondering this in his heart and his spirit, meanwhile the son of stately Nestor was drawing near him and wept warm tears, and gave Achilleus his sorrowful message: 'Ah me, son of valiant Peleus; you must hear from me the ghastly message of a thing I wish never had happened. Patroklos has fallen, and now they are fighting over his body which is naked. Hektor of the shining helm has taken his armour.'

He spoke, and the black cloud of sorrow closed on Achilleus.

In both hands he caught up the grimy dust, and poured it over his head and face, and fouled his handsome countenance, and the black ashes were scattered over his immortal tunic. And he himself, mightily in his might, in the dust lay at length, and took and tore at his hair with his hands, and defiled it.

But what pleasure is this to me, since my dear companion has perished, Patroklos, whom I loved beyond all other companions, as well as my own life. I have lost him, and Hektor, who killed him, has stripped away that gigantic armour, a wonder to look on and splendid, which the gods gave Peleus, a glorious present, on that day they drove you to the marriage bed of a mortal. I wish you had gone on living then with the other goddesses of the sea, and that Peleus had married some mortal woman. As it is, there must be on your heart a numberless sorrow for your son's death, since you can never again receive him won home again to his country; since the spirit within does not drive me to go on living and be among men, except on condition that Hektor first be beaten down under my spear, lose his life and pay the price for stripping Patroklos, the son of Menoitios.'

There is no way any more from a tree or a rock to talk to him gently whispering like a young man and a young girl, in the way a young man and a young maiden whisper together. Better to bring on the fight with him as soon as it may be. We shall see to which one the Olympian grants the glory.'

So he pondered, waiting, but Achilleus was closing upon him in the likeness of the lord of battles, the helm-shining warrior, and shaking from above his shoulder the dangerous Pelian ash spear, while the bronze that closed about him was shining like the flare of blazing fire or the Still in its rising. And the shivers took hold of Hektor when he saw him, and he could no longer stand his ground there, but left the gates behind, and fled, frightened, and Peleus' son went after him in the confidence of his quick feet. As when a hawk in the mountains who moves lightest of things flying makes his effortless swoop for a trembling dove, but she slips away from beneath and flies and he shrill screaming close after her piunges for her again and again, heart furious to take her; so Achilleus went straight for him in fury, but Hektor fled away under the Trojan wall and moved his knees rapidly.

Then, dying, Hektor of the shining helmet spoke to him:

'I know you well as I look upon you, I know that I could not persuade you, since indeed in your breast is a heart of iron. Be careful now; for I might be made into the gods' curse upon you, on that day when Paris and Phoibos Apollo destroy you in the Skaian gates, for all your valour.'

He spoke, and as he spoke the end of death closed in upon him, and the soul fluttering free of the limbs went down into Death's house mourning her destiny, leaving youth and manhood behind her. Now though he was a dead man brilliant Achilleus spoke to him: '

Die: and I will take my own death at whatever time Zeus and the rest of the immortals choose to accomplish it.'

Achilleus like the gods, remember your father, one who is of years like mine, and on the door-sill of sorrowful old age. And they who dwell nearby encompass him and afflict him, nor is there any to defend him against the wrath, the destruction. Yet surely he, when he hears of you and that you are still living, is gladdened within his heart and all his days he is hopeful that he will see his beloved son come home from the Troad. But for me, my destiny was evil. I have had the noblest of sons in Troy, but I say not one of them is left to me. Fifty were my sons, when the sons of the Achaians came here. Nineteen were born to me from the womb of a single mother, and other women bore the rest in my palace; and of these violent Ares broke the strength in the knees of most of them, but one was left me who guarded my city and people, that one you killed a few days since as he fought in defence of his country, Hektor; for whose sake I come now to the ships of the Achaians to win him back from you, and I bring you gifts beyond number. Honour then the gods, Achilleus, and take pity upon me remembering your father, yet I am still more pitiful; I have gone through what no other mortal on earth has gone through; I put my lips to the hands of the man who has killed my children.'

My song is of war and a man: a refugee by fate, the first from Troy to Italy’s Lavinian shores, battered much on land and sea by blows from gods obliging brutal Juno’s unforgetting rage; he suffered much in war as well, all to plant his town and gods in Latium. From here would rise the Latin race, the Alban lords, and Rome’s high walls. Remember for me, Muse. Tell me the reasons. What pain, what insult to her power, moved the queen of gods to drive a man famous for piety* through misery on misery? Can such anger grip gods’ minds?

All signs warned the men that death had come. At once Aeneas’ knees buckled with chill. He groaned and held up both hands to the stars: “Three and four times fortunate, all you who died by Troy’s high walls under your fathers’ gaze! O Diomedes, bravest of the Greeks! I wish I’d fallen on Troy’s fields, my blood spilled by your strong right hand, where fierce Hector perished on Achilles’ spear, and huge Sarpedon too; where Simoïs rolls in its stream so many shields and helmets, so many bodies of the brave.”

He ran to die among the mass of Greeks. In the palace center, beneath the open sky, there was a giant altar. An ancient laurel tree leaned over it and cast shade on the house-gods. Hecuba was huddled here with her daughters, like doves driven earthward by dark storms.

They sat clinging to the gods’ statues in worthless hope. When she noticed Priam taking up the armor of his youth, she cried, ‘What deadly thoughts, poor husband, make you arm yourself? Where are you rushing? This is no time for such help, even if my Hector were here himself. Come: this altar will save us all, or we’ll die together.’ She drew the old man close and sat him in that sacred place.

In his parents’ sight at last, their son goes down. His life and blood gush out together. At this, Priam, himself at death’s door, cannot hold back. He shouts in fury: ‘Pyrrhus! For this murder, for all your outrages I hope the gods pay you as you deserve, if there’s any piety in heaven that cares about such things—forcing me to see the slaughter of my son, fouling a father’s eyes! Achilles, whom you claim as father in your lies, was no such enemy to Priam. He had respect for the rights of supplicants, for their trust in him! He gave me Hector’s pallid corpse for burial, and let me go back to my throne.’

Pyrrhus replied: ‘Then be my messenger—go tell my father of the evil deeds of his degenerate son. 550 Now die.’ The old man was dragged trembling to the altar, slipping in his dead son’s blood. Pyrrhus grabbed his hair, and with his other hand unsheathed his flashing sword. He sank it in the king’s side to the hilt.

This was Priam’s end, the death that fate had given him: to watch Troy fall in flames. Once proud ruler over Asia’s countless lands and people, he lies now on the shore, a giant trunk without a head, a nameless corpse.

What of the boy Ascanius? Does he live and breathe the air? The son that your Trojan wife—* Does he love the mother that he lost? Do his father and his uncle Hector rouse the bravery and manhood he inherited?’ She poured this out in sobs

Priam’s son, the hero Helenus, arrived from the city walls with many men. He knew his fellow Trojans, and he gladly led us to his home, shedding floods of tears as he spoke. I saw a little Troy, a tower like the great one, and a parched stream they called Xanthus. I embraced a ‘Scaean Gate,’ and my Trojans shared my pleasure in this kindred city. The king received us in his spacious hall. In the central court we poured libations. The food was served on gold, bowls were raised for toasts.

But love’s pain had already pierced the queen. She fed it with her life-blood; the hidden flame consumed her. Aeneas’ courage and his noble birth haunted her thoughts. His face and words lodged in her heart. Love let her find no rest in sleep.

The man who first married me still has my love. Let him guard it in his grave.” As she spoke, she soaked her chest with tears.

Anna answered: “Sister, dearer than life itself, will you waste away in grief and loneliness and never know sweet children, Venus’s rewards? Do you suppose his ghost cares, or his ashes? It’s true no suitors moved you in your grief, not in Libya, nor in Tyre. You scorned Iärbas and the other chieftains whom rich Africa has fed on triumphs. Will you even fight a love that pleases? Do you forget where you live? To one side, invincible Gaetulians have their towns, wild Numidians and cruel reefs hem us in; opposite are arid lands where Barcans rampage far and wide. Should I mention wars brewing with Tyre, or your brother’s threats?

I think the Trojan ships followed this heading with divine support and Juno’s favor. What a city you’ll see rise, what a kingdom, with this husband and his Trojan soldiers. How Punic glory will soar with such wealth! 50 Beg for the gods’ favor, and if you get good omens, be lavish with your guest. Find reasons to delay him while Orion’s wintry storms rage on the sea, while the boats are damaged and the weather harsh.

Mad with love, she wandered through the city—like a careless doe pierced by a shepherd’s arrow from afar as he roams the Cretan forest with his bow. Unknowing, he leaves the shaft behind; she bolts through Dicte’s groves, the fatal arrow in her flank.

Now Dido led Aeneas through the fortress and showed him Sidon’s riches and her rising city, faltering mid-sentence as she spoke to him; now she hosted the same banquet when night fell, and madly begged to hear his hardships once again; once again she hung on every word he said.

When all were gone, as the moon’s dim light died out and the setting stars urged her to sleep, she grieved alone inside her empty home, and threw herself onto his couch. She saw and heard him in his absence, or pulled his son onto her lap, captured by the likeness, hoping she could cheat her shameful love. The towers stayed half-built, the soldiers did no drills, no workers fortified the port and ramparts for a war. Projects were put off: the walls’ menacing mass, the cranes that reached the sky.

The vision stunned Aeneas and struck him senseless. His hair stood up, his voice stuck in his throat. Aghast at such a warning and the gods’ command, he burned to get away, to leave that land of pleasure.

But what should he do? With what words approach the queen, who would be furious? How begin? He thought quickly, weighing all his options, trying different angles, turning it all over. As he reflected, this decision seemed the best. He called Mnestheus and Sergestus and sturdy Serestus, and told them to prepare the fleet without a word—to fetch the men to shore, rig the ships, and hide the change of plans.

But Dido sensed the trick (who can deceive a lover?) and the launch they planned. Now everything seemed suspect, even if it wasn’t. That same impious Rumor told the desperate queen the fleet prepared to sail. On fire, she raved in frenzy through the city like a Maenad roused by shaken rattles and the shouts of “Bacchus!” every other year, when revels spur her on and Cithaeron’s clamor calls by night.

At last Dido confronted him: “Traitor! Were you hoping you could hide this outrage, and sail away without a word? Our love doesn’t hold you back, nor the pledge you made me, nor the painful death I’ll die? Why so quick to rig the fleet, when the skies are wintry? Why cross the deep when north winds blow? How cruel! If you didn’t make for foreign fields and unknown homes, and ancient Troy still stood, would you head for Troy across these waves? Is it me you run from?

By my tears and by your promise (nothing else is left me in my grief), by our wedding, by the marriage we’ve begun, if I deserve anything from you, if you found me at all pleasing, pity my poor home, put off your plan, I beg, if there’s still time to beg

Because of you, the Libyan tribes and Nomad kings detest me, and my Tyrians are hostile. Because you’re leaving me, my honor’s ruined, and my one path to the stars—my reputation. My guest (this word’s the sad remnant of ‘husband’), to whom do you abandon me—to what sort of death? Should I await Pygmalion, my brother, who’ll raze my city? Iärbas, who’ll enslave me? If at least I’d made a child with you, if a small Aeneas played inside my home, who looked like you despite it all, I wouldn’t feel so lonely and betrayed.

She begged. But warned by Jupiter, he kept his face unmoved and, with effort, curbed his feelings. At last he answered briefly:

“Queen, I’ll never fault your kindness, nor any act you care to list. I’ll never regret the memory of you, while I draw breath, or remember my own self. A few points in response. I didn’t try to sneak away from here—don’t pretend I did. I never held a husband’s torch, or made that pact. If the fates would let me live the life I wanted and resolve my worries as I’d like, I’d first take care of Troy and my people’s sweet remains; Priam’s high walls would stand, I’d build a second Pergamum for the defeated.

But as it is, Apollo and the oracles of Lycia have made great Italy my goal, my love, my land. If the citadels of Carthage and the vision of your Libyan city hold you, a Phoenician, why begrudge Trojans their land in Italy? We too may seek a foreign kingdom. Whenever nighttime covers Earth with its damp shadows and shining constellations rise, my father’s troubled ghost alarms me in my dreams. He says I’ve harmed my dear son Ascanius by robbing him of western rule and fated fields. And now, the gods’ own go-between, from Jupiter himself (I swear on both our lives), has brought an order through the rapid breezes. I saw him in full daylight, in the city, I heard him with these ears. Stop enflaming both of us with your complaints. I make for Italy, but not of my free will.

The priestess, with loose hair, shrieks the titles of three hundred gods, Erebus and Chaos and triform Hecate, Diana’s triple faces. She scatters drops to symbolize Avernus’ water, and herbs cut down at moonlight with bronze sickles, bursting with the milk of inky poison, and the warty love charm from the forehead of a foal, torn off before its mother took it.* Dido, holding holy grain in pious hands, stands by the altar in one sandal, her robes loosened.

She calls upon the gods and stars that know her fate. Then she prays to any divine power who’s just and mindful, and cares for unrequited love.

She unsheathed the Dardan’s sword, a gift not meant for such a use. When she saw the Trojan clothes and well-known bed, she lingered for a bit with thoughts and tears, then lay down and spoke her final words:

“Sweet remnants of love—sweet while god and fate allowed—take this soul, free me from this grief. I’m done with life; I’ve run the course Fate gave me. Now my noble ghost goes to the Underworld. I built a shining city, gazed upon its walls, avenged my husband on my evil brother: happy, all too happy, if only Trojan keels had never touched my shores.” She buried her face in the bed and cried, “I’ll die, though unavenged: I choose to join the shades like this. Let the cruel Trojan’s eyes drink in this fire from the sea, and take with him the evil omen of my death.” As she spoke, her servants saw her falling on the sword. The blade bubbled with blood and stained her hands. A cry went up in the high hall. Rumors reeled around the shaken city. Houses groaned with grief and women’s wails, and the sky echoed the clamor, as if Carthage or ancient Tyre were falling, and the enemy were in the city—raging fires rolling through the homes of men and temples of the gods.*

Her sister heard the noise and ran, half dead with fear. She cut through the crowd, raking her face with nails, pummeling her breast, and cried to dying Dido: “This was your plan, my sister? You wanted to trick me? The pyre, the flames and altar, were for this? You left me with so much to grieve for! Did you scorn my company? I’d have shared your fate: one pain, one sword, one instant should have taken us. Did I build the pyre and call upon our gods just to be absent, heartlessly, as you lay here? You’ve destroyed us both, sister, and our people and the elders and your city. Let me wash your wounds with water, let me touch my lips to your last breath.” She climbed the steps and held her dying sister, stroking her and sobbing, staunching the dark blood with her own dress. Dido tried to lift her heavy eyes again— she couldn’t. The deep wound hissed inside her chest. Three times she tried to rise, leaning on her elbow; three times she fell back on the bed. With dimming eyes she sought the light of sky, found it, and groaned.

Then almighty Juno, pitying her long and painful death, sent Iris from Olympus to free the trapped soul from its mortal bonds. Because her death, poor thing, was not deserved or fated, but premature and in the heat of passion, Proserpina hadn’t plucked one of her golden hairs yet, nor condemned her soul to Stygian Orcus. So dewy Iris flew down on her saffron wings, trailing a thousand colors through the sunlight. She stopped over her head: “I take this offering down to Dis, as told, and free you from your body.” She cut a strand of hair. At once all warmth slipped away; Dido’s life ebbed to the winds.

There stood Aeneas, gleaming in the clear light, godlike in his face and shoulders: the goddess Venus had graced her son with flowing hair, the glowing skin of youth, and shining eyes: the way skill transforms ivory to art, the way a golden bezel sets off marble or plain silver. His appearance startled everyone

What lucky ages bore you? What parents had a child like you? While rivers flow to seas and shadows cross the mountain slopes, while sky pastures the stars, your honor and your name and praise will last for me, whatever country calls.”

But Venus was reflecting on new plans and plots: how Amor could change his looks and take the place of sweet Ascanius, sparking the queen to madness 660 with his gifts, folding flames into her marrow. She feared a dual house and fork-tongued Tyrians, and Juno’s cruelty chafed at her. With night, her cares returned.

So she addressed her son, winged Amor: “My son, my strength, my refuge, the one source of my power, who scorns the giant-slaying bolts of Jupiter, I beg you as a supplicant. You’re aware of how Aeneas, your half-brother, is harassed on land and sea by jealous Juno’s rage, and you’ve often grieved over my grief. Now Phoenician Dido has him; she delays him with her flattery. I fear how Juno’s welcome will turn out—she won’t be slow to seize her chance. My plan is to outwit her. I’ll circle Dido with a blaze beyond the reach of any god. She’ll be mine, bound by deep love for Aeneas. Hear my thoughts on how to do this.

The prince, my greatest care, now leaves for Sidon’s colony at his loving father’s call, with gifts the sea and Trojan flames did not destroy. I’ll put the boy to sleep and hide him high on Cythera, or in my holy shrine in Cyprus, so he won’t know the scheme or stumble on it. Take his shape for just one night. Boy for boy, craftily put on his well-known face, so that when delighted Dido takes you on her lap while wine flows at the royal feast, while she holds you, planting her sweet kisses on you, you’ll breathe hidden flames and secret poison into her.”

Fifty female house-slaves were in back, to keep the larder stocked and orderly, and tend the fires. Two hundred other men and women, matched in age, brought out the food and goblets. Tyrians came too, crowding through the festive threshold, invited to recline on ornate couches.

They admired Aeneas’ gifts and they admired “Iülus,” the god’s bright face and lying words.* Poor Dido above all, marked for future ruin, couldn’t sate her soul; the sight set her on fire. The boy, the presents, charmed her equally.

Iülus hugged Aeneas and clung to him, filling his false father’s heart with love. Then he sought out the queen. Her eyes, her heart were fixed on him, she stroked him on her lap—unhappy Dido, not knowing the trap the great god laid. Mindful of his mother, Amor bit by bit erased Sychaeus, trying to revive new love in a heart so long asleep, so long unused.

Creusa, was sadly ripped from me by fate. Did she stop? Get lost? Sink down in exhaustion? 102 740 I don’t know. I never saw my wife again. I hadn’t turned to find her gone or thought of her until I reached the knoll with Ceres’ shrine.

In this great wood, Phoenician Dido, her wound still fresh, wandered with them. When the Trojan hero neared and saw her misty shape among the ghosts —as when one sees, or thinks one sees, a new moon climbing through the clouds when the month is young —he spoke to her in tears with tender love:

“Unhappy Dido, so the news I heard was true? You’re dead, a suicide by the sword? But— did I cause your death? I call the stars and gods to witness: if the Underworld allows the truth, I left your shores against my will, O Queen. The orders of the gods, which force me now to walk through shades and squalor in deep night, forced me those days too. How could I think I’d cause you so much pain by my departure? Stop, don’t rush from my sight. Who is it you run from? Fate gives us a final chance to speak.” With these words he tried to soothe the raging soul that looked at him so fiercely. His tears fell. But Dido turned away, her eyes fixed on the ground, her face just as unaltered by his speech as hard flint or a rocky crag of marble. At last she broke away hate-filled, and hurried to the shaded forest where Sychaeus, her first husband, shared her pain and matched her love. Aeneas was shaken by her unjust death. His eyes followed her with tears and pity as she left.*

Camilla, dying, tugged the spear, but its iron tip was wedged too deeply in her ribs. Her blood draining, she collapsed; her eyes fell, chill with death. Her bright complexion faded. As she died she called to her friend Acca. She’d been loyal beyond others to Camilla, the only one to share her cares.

“I’ve fought this far, sister Acca. Now a bitter wound has finished me. The world grows dark with shadow. Run and take these last commands to Turnus: he must take up the fight and keep the Trojans from the town. And now, goodbye.” She released her horse’s reins and weakly slipped to earth, cold, departing from her body bit by bit. Her head and neck drooped down in death; her weapons fell. Her soul fled with a groan of protest to the shades below. Now a huge cry rose and struck the golden stars. With Camilla down, the fight was crueler still.

” He looked around and saw a giant rock, an ancient giant rock set in the plain, a boundary mark for conflicts over land. Hardly twelve men could lift it on their shoulders, such men as Earth produces now. But the hero grabbed it in his hands and rose, then ran toward his enemy and heaved the rock at him. But even as he ran, even as he raised and threw the giant boulder, he didn’t feel like Turnus to himself: his knees couldn’t hold him, fear chilled his blood. His rock, tumbling through the empty air, didn’t bridge the gap, didn’t reach its goal. It was like a dream, when drowsy sleep lies on our eyes: we feel we’re trying to run, but somehow it’s no use; we collapse weakly as we try. The strength we know is gone, we cannot speak, no words or sounds come out.

Just so the awful goddess kept Turnus from success despite his bravery. Then mixed emotions churned inside his heart. He hung back in dread and gazed at the Rutulians and the city, trembling at his coming death. There was no place to run, no strength to fight, no chariot to see, no charioteer, no sister.*

As Turnus faltered, Aeneas saw his chance. Raising his fatal spear, he put all his body in the throw. No stone hurled from a siege engine ever roared so loudly, no clap of thunder ever crashed like this. The spear flew, a black tornado bringing dreadful death. Hissing, it tore through the breastplate’s border and the outer circle of the seven-layered shield, and ran right through his thigh

His legs folded, and huge Turnus crumpled to the ground. The Rutulians leapt up groaning. The hills and forests echoed their cry far and wide. Humbly, Turnus raised his eyes, his hands, and begged: “I deserve this. I don’t ask for mercy: use your chance. But if a parent’s grief can touch you, have pity for old Daunus (you had such a father in Anchises) and return me to my people, as a corpse if you prefer. You’ve won, the Ausonians have seen me stretch my hands out in defeat. Lavinia’s yours. Don’t press your hatred further.”

Fierce Aeneas stood there, armed, his eyes roaming restlessly, holding back the death-blow. And now more and more, Turnus’ words began to move him and he hesitated—when high on Turnus’ shoulder, he saw the fatal sword-belt of young Pallas,* the strap flashing with its well-known studs—Pallas, whom Turnus killed when down, and took that emblem of the enemy to wear upon his shoulder. Aeneas drank in this reminder of his savage grief. Ablaze with rage, awful in anger, he cried,

“Should I let you slip away, wearing what you tore from one I loved? Pallas sacrifices you, Pallas punishes your profane blood”—and, seething, planted his sword in that hostile heart. Turnus’ knees buckled with chill. His soul fled with a groan of protest to the shades below.*

He who saw the Deep, the country's foundation, [who] knew ... , was wise in all matters!

[Gilgamesh, who] saw the Deep, the country's foundation, [who] knew ... , was wise in all matters!

Climb Uruk's wall and walk back and forth! Survey its foundations, examine the brickwork!

Were its bricks not fired in an oven? Did the Seven Sages not lay its foundations?

[A square mile is] city, [a square mile] date-grove, a square mile is clay-pit, half a square mile the temple of Ishtar:

[three square miles] and a half is Uruk's expanse.

[See] the tablet-box of cedar, [release] its clasp of bronze!

[Lift] the lid of its secret, \n [pick] up the tablet of lapis lazuli and read out

the travails of Gilgamesh, all that he went through.

All his body is matted with hair, he bears long tresses like those of a woman:

the hair of his head grows thickly as barley, he knows not a people, nor even a country.

For the goddess of weddings the bed was laid out, Gilgamesh met with the maiden by night.

Forward came (Enkidu), he stood in the street, blocking the path of Gilgamesh.

Why do you desire to do this thing? ... anything ... do you want so much?

Let me ......... , a feat that never was done in the land.'

They kissed each other and formed a friendship.

'The axe at my side, in which my arm trusted, the dirk at my belt, the shield at my face,

my festive garment, my girdle of delight: a wicked wind rose up and robbed me.

'Now what is this sleep that has seized [you?] You've become unconscious, you do not [hear me!]'

But he, he lifted not [his head.] He felt his heart, but it beat no longer.

He covered, like a bride, the face of his friend, like an eagle he circled around him.

Like a lioness deprived of her cubs, he paced to and fro, this way and that.

His curly [hair] he tore out in clumps, he ripped off his finery, [like] something taboo he cast it away.

At the very first glimmer of brightening dawn, Gilgamesh sent forth a call to the land:

For his friend Enkidu Gilgamesh \n did bitterly weep as he wandered the wild:

'1 shall die, and shall 1 not then be as Enkidu? Sorrow has entered my heart!

'1 am afraid of death, so 1wander the wild, to find Uta-napishti, son of Ubar-Tutu.

On the road, travelling swiftly, \n 1 came one night to a mountain pass.

'1 saw some lions and grew afraid, \n 1 lifted my head to the moon in prayer,

to [Sîn, the] lamp of the gods, went my supplications: "[O Sîn and ... ,] keep me safe!'"

'See the fellow who so desired life!

Sleep like a fog already breathes over him.'

'Man is deceitful, he will deceive you.

Go, bake for him his daily bread-loaf, and line them up by his head,

and mark on the wall the days that he sleeps!'

So she baked for him his daily bread-loaf, she lined them up by his head,

noting on the wall the days that he slept. His first bread-loaf was all dried up,

the second was leathery, soggy the third, the fourth flour-cake had turned to white, the fifth had cast a mould of grey,

fresh-baked was the sixth, \n the seventh still on the coals: then he touched him and the man awoke.

'what have you given for his homeward journey?' And Gilgamesh, he picked up a punting-pole,

he brought the boat back near to the shore. [Said] Uta-napishti to him, to Gilgamesh:

'You came here, O Gilgamesh, by toil and by travail, what do 1 give for your homeward journey?

Let me disclose, O Gilgamesh, a matter most secret, to you [I will] tell a mystery of [gods.]

Gilgamesh found a pool whose water was cool, down he went into it, to bathe in the water.

Of the plant's fragrance a snake caught scent, came up [in silence], and bore the plant off.

As it turned away it sloughed its skin. Then Gilgamesh sat down and wept,

down his cheeks the tears were coursing. . . . [he spoke] to Ur-shanabi the boatman:

'[For whom,] Ur-shanabi, toiled my arms so hard, for whom ran dry the blood of my heart?

Not for myself did I find a bounty, \n [for] the "Lion of the Earth" I have done a favour!

A square mile is city, a square mile date-grove, a square mile is clay-pit, half a square mile the temple of Ishtar:

three square miles and a half is Uruk's expanse.

'My friend, turn back ...... , \n do not [pursue] this journey ...... '

'The priestesses took in the foundling, \n and the Divine Daughters brought up the foster-child.

Enkidu, whom [I love,] 1 take for my son, \n Enkidu in [brotherhood,] Gilgamesh shall favour him!'

'Why did you afflict my son Gilgamesh with so restless a spirit?

'For now you have touched him and he will tread the distant path to the home of Humbaba.

He will face a battle he knows not, he will ride a road he knows not.

Taking each other hand in hand, \n Gilgamesh and Enkidu went to the Palace Sublime.

Into the presence of the great Queen Ninsun, Gilgamesh rose and entered before [her.]

While the two of them together were making love, he forgot the wild where he was born.

For seven days and seven nights \n Enkidu was erect and coupled with Shamhat.

Enkidu had defiled his body so pure, his legs stood still, though his herd was in motion.

Enkidu was weakened, could not run as before, but now he had reason, and wide understanding.

'Spread your clothing so he may lie on you, do for the man the work of a woman!

Let his passion caress and embrace you, \n his herd will spurn him, though he grew up amongst it.'

'His companions are kept on their feet by his contests, [the young men of Uruk] he harries without warrant.

Gilgamesh lets no son go free to his father, \n by day and by [night his tyranny grows] harsher.

'Yet he is the shepherd of Uruk-the-Sheepfold, Gilgamesh, [the guide ofthe] teeming [people.]

Though he is their shepherd and their [protector,] powerful, pre-eminent, expert [and mighty,]

Then he said to me, “Why did you come here?” Has anything happened in the Residence?” Then I said to him, “It’s that the Dual King Sehotepibre has gone to the horizon, and how this all happened is unknown.” But I spoke in half-truths. “I have come from the expedition to the Libyan land: it was reported to me, and my heart failed and carried me off on the ways the flight. I had not been talked of, and my face had not been spat uponl I had heard no reproaches; my name had not been heard in the herald’s mouth. I do not know what brought me to this country--it is like a plan of God.”

For now God has acted so as to be gracious to one with whom He was offended, whom He led astray to another country. Today, He is satisfied. A fugitive takes flight because of his surroundings; but my reputation is in the Residence. A creeping man creeps off because of hunger; but I give bread to my neighbour. A man runs off because of the lack of someone to send but I am plentiful of serfs. Good is my house, spacious my dwelling place. and memory of me is in the palace. Whatever God fated this flight--be gracious, and bring me home! Surely You will let me see the place where my heart still stays! What matters more than my being buried in the land where I was born? This is my prayer for help

So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them

Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

And God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.

And God said, “Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place. and let the dry land appear. And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God say that it was good. Then God said, “Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it.” And it was so. The earth brought forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kins, and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.

And God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky in separate the day from the night; and let them be fro signs and for seasons and for days and years, and ket them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth.” And it was so. God made the two great lights--the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night--and the stars. God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth, to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the fourth day.

And God said, “Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky.” So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm, and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them saying, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth.” And there was evening, and there was morning, the fifth day.

And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: catle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind.” And it was so. God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind and the cattle of every kind, and everything that creeps upon the grouns of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”

So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. God blessed them,, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and pultiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.”

God said, “See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. And to every bbeast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food. And it was so. God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their multitude. And on the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he reseted on the seventh day from all the work that he had done.

These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created. In the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, when no plant of the field was yet in the earth and nor herb of the field had yet sprung up--for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was no one to till the ground; but a stream would rise from the earth and water the whole face of the ground-- then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and he breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east and there he pit the man whom he had formed. Out of the ground the Lord God made to grown every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

A river flows out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it divides and becomes four branches. The name of the first is Pishon It is the one that flows around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; and the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. The name of the second river is Gihon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Cush. The name of the thirsd river is Tigris which flows east of Asyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.

The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. And the Lord God commanded the man, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat it you shall die.”

Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.” So our of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name. The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field;

but for the man, there was not found a helper as his partner, so the Lord God caused a ceep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; then he took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought to the man.

The the man said, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; this one shall be called Woman, for out of man this one was taken.”

Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh. And the mean and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed.

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, and angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins. All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

“Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke from asleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but he no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

"In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message ther also; for that is what I came out to do.” And he went through Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

A leper came to him begging him; and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him and he was made clean. After sternly warning him he sent him away at once, saying to him, “see that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.” But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.

Then the soldiers led him into the courtyard of the palace (that is, the governor’s headquarters); and they called together the whole cohort. And they clothed him in a purple cloack; and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on him. And they began saluting him, “Hail, king of the Jews!” They struck his head with a reed, spat upon him, and knelt down in homage to him. After mocking him, they stripped him of the purple cloak and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.

They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from the country, to carry his cross; it was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus. Then they brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). And they offered him wine mixed with myrrh; but he did not take it. And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take. It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read, “The King of the Jews.” And with him they crucified two bandits, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” In the same way, the chief priests, along with the scribes, were also mocking him amongst themselves and saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe.” Those who were crucified with him taunted him.

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachtani?” which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “Listen, he is calling for Elijah.” And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.” Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!”

“Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, 'I too decided, after investigating to everything carefully from the very first, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.”

Goes on to tell the story of how John the Baptist was born to Zechariah (a priest) and his wife Elizabeth (a descendant of Aaron) even though they were very very old and Elizabeth was barren.

“In those days, a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to register with Mary to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn

**An angel then appears to some shepherds and tells them that they’ll find Jesus, the son of God, in a manger in an inn and they do and so they’re happy and praising God**

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours”

Then he handed him over to them to be crucified. So they took Jesus; and carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha/ There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them. Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross. It read, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Many Jews read this inscription, because the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and it was written in Hebrew, Latin, and in Greek. Then the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, “Do not write, “The King of the Jews, but “This man said, I am King of the Jews.’” Pilate answered, “What I have written, I have written.”

When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four parts, one for each soldier. They also took his tunic; now the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top. So they said to one another, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see who will get it.” This was to fulfill what the scripture says, “They divided my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots.” And that is what the soldiers did.

Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour, the disciple took her into his own home.

After this, when Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said (in order to fulfill scripture), “I am thirsty.” A jar full of sour wine was standing there. So they put a sponge full of the wine on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth. When Jesus had received the wine, he said, “It is finished.” Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.