Aeneid Book 2, lines 506-558
by Virgil
As the palace falls, Aeneas looks on as King Priam sees his world crashing down around him and the arrival of his killer, Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles.
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“Forsitan et Priami fuerint quae fata requiras.
urbis uti captae casum convolsaque vidit
limina tectorum et medium in penetralibus hostem,
arma diu senior desueta trementibus aevo
circumdat nequiquam umeris, et inutile ferrum
cingitur, ac densos fertur moriturus in hostis.
aedibus in mediis nudoque sub aetheris axe
ingens ara fuit iuxtaque veterrima laurus,
incumbens arae atque umbra complexa Penatis.
hic Hecuba et natae nequiquam altaria circum,
praecipites atra ceu tempestate columbae,
condensae et divom amplexae simulacra sedebant.
ipsum autem sumptis Priamum iuvenalibus armis
ut vidit, ‘Quae mens tam dira, miserrime coniunx,
impulit his cingi telis? aut quo ruis?’ inquit;
“non tali auxilio nec defensoribus istis
tempus eget, non, si ipse meus nunc adforet Hector.
huc tandem concede; haec ara tuebitur omnis,
aut moriere simul.’ Sic ore effata recepit
ad sese et sacra longaevum in sede locavit.
ecce autem elapsus Pyrrhi de caede Polites,
unus natorum Priami, per tela, per hostis
porticibus longis fugit, et vacua atria lustrat
saucius: illum ardens infesto volnere Pyrrhus
insequitur, iam iamque manu tenet et premit hasta.
ut tandem ante oculos evasit et ora parentum,
concidit, ac multo vitam cum sanguine fudit.
hic Priamus, quamquam in media iam morte tenetur,
non tamen abstinuit, nec voci iraeque pepercit:
‘At tibi pro scelere,’ exclamat, ‘pro talibus ausis,
di, si qua est caelo pietas, quae talia curet,
persolvant grates dignas et praemia reddant
debita, qui nati coram me cernere letum
fecisti et patrios foedasti funere voltus.
at non ille, satum quo te mentiris, Achilles
talis in hoste fuit Priamo; sed iura fidemque
supplicis erubuit, corpusque exsangue sepulchro
reddidit Hectoreum, meque in mea regna remisit.’
sic fatus senior, telumque imbelle sine ictu
coniecit, rauco quod protinus aere repulsum
e summo clipei nequiquam umbone pependit.
cui Pyrrhus: ‘Referes ergo haec et nuntius ibis
Pelidae genitori; illi mea tristia facta
degeneremque Neoptolemum narrare memento.
nunc morere.’ Hoc dicens altaria ad ipsa trementem
traxit et in multo lapsantem sanguine nati,
implicuitque comam laeva, dextraque coruscum
extulit, ac lateri capulo tenus abdidit ensem.
haec finis Priami fatorum; hic exitus illum
sorte tulit, Troiam incensam et prolapsa videntem
Pergama, tot quondam populis terrisque superbum
regnatorem Asiae. Iacet ingens litore truncus,
avolsumque umeris caput, et sine nomine corpus.”
“Perhaps you may ask what was the fate of Priam. Now he has seen the fall of the captured city, the gates of his house torn down and the enemy right in its inmost places, though an old man, he puts his long disused armour futilely on his shoulders, that tremble with age, girds on his useless sword and, ready to die, makes for the enemy.
There was a mighty altar in the centre of the building, open to the pole of the heavens, and next to it a bay tree of great antiquity, leaning over the altar and enfolding the household Gods in its shade. Here Hecuba and her daughters had vainly clustered like doves driven by a black tempest, and sat embracing the images of the Gods. When she saw that Priam had put on the arms of his youth, she cried: ‘What unlucky thought, poor husband, made you put on these weapons? And where are you rushing to? Such help, and defenders like those, are not what the time calls for, not even if my Hector had been here. Come here: either this altar will protect us all, or you will die with me.’ With that, she drew the old man to her, and set him in the sacred seat.
But now, escaped from Pyrrhus’s slaughter through foes and spears, here comes Polites, son of Priam, running, injured, along the galleries and through the empty halls. After, burning for the death-stroke, comes Pyrrhus, seems even now to have him, and closes in with his spear. Finally, as Polites came before his parents’ very eyes, he fell and poured out his life in a gush of blood. Here Priam, though in the jaws of death, did not hold back or spare his voice or his ire: ‘May the Gods, if any decency in heaven cares for such things, give you fit thanks and the reward you deserve for your iniquity, daring such crimes, making me watch before my eyes a son killed and befouling parents’ faces with butchery. Achilles, who you lie was your father, did not behave so, though my enemy, but blushed for the rights and faith of a supplicant, gave back for burial Hector’s bloodless body and returned me to my realm.’ With that, he feebly cast his harmless spear, which, instantly parried by the ringing bronze, hung uselessly from the end of the shield boss. Pyrrhus replied: ‘Take the message yourself to Achilles my father. Remember to tell him all about my wicked deeds and his son’s degeneracy. Now die!’ He drags Priam trembling to the very altars, slipping in the blood of his son which was everywhere; winding his left hand in his hair, with his right he drew his flashing sword and plunged it to the hilt in Priam’s side.
That was the close of Priam’s fortunes; the end that, by fate, bore him off, looking on Troy ablaze and its power fallen, once the proud ruler of so many lands and peoples of Asia. His great trunk lies on the shore, head hewn from his shoulders, a corpse without a name.”