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 Cities and Development

For the first time in human history more people now live in towns and
cities than in rural areas. In the wealthier countries of the world, the
transition from predominantly rural to urban habitation is more or less
complete. But in many parts of Africa, Asia and Latin America, urban
populations are expanding rapidly. Current UN projections indicate
that virtually all population growth in the world over the next 30
years will be absorbed by towns and cities in developing countries.
These simple demographic facts have profound implications for all
those concerned with understanding and addressing the pressing
global development challenges of reducing poverty, promoting
economic growth, improving human security and confronting
environmental change.
This revised and expanded second edition of Cities and Development
explores the dynamic relationship between urbanism and
development from a global perspective. The book surveys a wide
range of topics, including: the historical origins of world urbanisation;
the role cities play in the process of economic development; the
nature of urban poverty and the challenge of promoting sustainable
livelihoods; the complexities of planning and managing urban land,
housing, infrastructure and urban services; and the spectres of
endemic crime, conflict and violence in urban areas. The second
edition also benefits from two new chapters: one that examines the
links between urbanisation and environmental change, and a second
that focuses on urban governance and politics.
Adopting a multidisciplinary perspective, Cities and Development
critically engages with debates in urban studies, geography and
international development studies. Each chapter includes supplements
in the form of case studies, chapter summaries, questions for
discussion and suggested further readings. Written for upper-level
undergraduate and graduate students interested in geography, urban
studies and international development studies, the book will also
serve as a useful reference guide for policymakers, urban planners
and development practitioners.
Sean Fox is Lecturer in Urban Geography and Global Development
at the University of Bristol. His research has been published in
journals such as Environment and Planning C: Government and
Policy, Population and Development Review and World Development.
He has also served as an advisor on urban development issues for a
variety of international organisations, including DfID, CARE
International and UN-Habitat.
Tom Goodfellow is Lecturer in Urban Studies and International
Development at the University of Sheffield. His work has been
published in a range of journals including Urban Studies,
Comparative Politics and Development and Change. He has acted as
an advisor to Oxfam on urban development issues and provided
policy analysis for the UK Parliamentary Select Committee on
International Development, as well as several government authorities
in sub-Saharan Africa.
Routledge Perspectives on Development
Series Editor: Professor Tony Binns, University of Otago

Since it was established in 2000, the same year as the Millennium Development
Goals were set by the United Nations, the Routledge Perspectives on
Development series has become the pre-eminent international textbook series on
key development issues. Written by leading authors in their fields, the books have
been popular with academics and students working in disciplines such as
anthropology, economics, geography, international relations, politics and
sociology. The series has also proved to be of particular interest to those working
in interdisciplinary fields, such as area studies (African, Asian and Latin
American studies), development studies, environmental studies, peace and
conflict studies, rural and urban studies, travel and tourism.
If you would like to submit a book proposal for the series, please contact the
Series Editor, Tony Binns, on: [email protected]

Published: Economics and Development Studies

Michael Tribe, Frederick Nixson and
Third World Cities, 2nd edn
Andrew Sumner
David W. Drakakis-Smith
Water Resources and Development
Rural–Urban Interactions in the
Clive Agnew and Philip Woodhouse
Developing World
Kenneth Lynch Theories and Practices of
Development, 2nd edn
Environmental Management &
Katie Willis
Development
Chris Barrow Food and Development
E. M. Young
Southeast Asian Development
Andrew McGregor An Introduction to Sustainable
Development, 4th edn
Postcolonialism and Development
Jennifer Elliott
Cheryl McEwan
Latin American Development
Disaster and Development
Julie Cupples
Andrew Collins
Religion and Development
Non-Governmental Organisations
Emma Tomalin
and Development
David Lewis and Nazneen Kanji Development Organizations
Rebecca Shaaf
Gender and Development, 2nd edn
Janet Momsen
Climate Change and Development Cities and Development, 2nd edn
Thomas Tanner and Leo Sean Fox and Tom Goodfellow
Horn-Phathanothai
Forthcoming:
Global Finance and Development
Children, Youth and Development,
David Hudson
2nd edn
Population and Development, Nicola Ansell
2nd edn
South Asian Development
W.T.S. Gould
Trevor Birkenholtz
Conservation and Development
Gender and Development, 3rd edn
Andrew Newsham and Shonil Bhagwat
Janet Momsen
Tourism and Development in the
Natural Resource Extraction and
Developing World, 2nd edn
Development
David J. Telfer and Richard Sharpley
Roy Maconachie and Gavin M. Hilson
Conflict and Development, 2nd edn
Andrew Williams and Roger MacGinty
Cities and Development
Second Edition

Sean Fox and

Tom Goodfellow
 Second edition published 2016
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2016 Sean Fox and Tom Goodfellow
The right of Sean Fox and Tom Goodfellow to be identified as authors of this work has
been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or
by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission
in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are
used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
First edition published by Routledge 2009
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Names: Fox, Sean, 1979– | Goodfellow, Tom. | Beall, Jo, 1952– Cities and development.Title: Cities
and development / Sean Fox and Tom Goodfellow.Description: Second Edition. | New York :
Routledge, 2016. | Series: Routledge perspectives on development series | Revised edition of Cities
and development, 2009. | Includes bibliographical references and index.Identifiers: LCCN
2015032847| ISBN 9780415740715 (hardback) | ISBN 9780415740722 (pbk.) | ISBN
9781315815527 (ebook)Subjects: LCSH: Urbanization--Economic aspects. | Urbanization--History-
-21st century. | Cities and towns--Growth--History--21st century. | Urban economics--History--21st
century. | Poverty--History--21st century.Classification: LCC HT371 .F69 2015 | DDC 307.7609/05-
-dc23LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015032847
ISBN: 978-0-415-74071-5 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-0-415-74072-2 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-81552-7 (ebk)
Typeset in Times New Roman
by Saxon Graphics Ltd, Derby
To Su Lin, Juna, Sally, Hal and Tess
This page intentionally left blank
 Contents

List of plates xi
List of figures xii
List of tables xiii
List of boxes xiv
Foreword xvi
Acknowledgements xviii
1 Development in the first urban century 1
2 The global urban transition in historical perspective 32
3 Urbanism and economic development 65
4 Urban poverty, livelihoods and informality 99
5 Land, housing and urban services 132
6 Cities and environmental change 171
7 Violence, crime and insecurity 205
8 Urban governance and politics 238
9 Shaping city futures 276
References 281
Index 325
This page intentionally left blank
 Plates

2.1 Plan of Mexico City in 1794 by Manuel Ignacio de Jesus del

Aguila 51
3.1 Efforts to promote foreign investment in Kigali, Rwanda 91
4.1 A riverside slum in Mumbai 111
4.2 Young waste-pickers in Bangalore, India 119
5.1 Public housing under construction in Addis Ababa 147
5.2 Exposed water pipes in a slum area of Kampala, Uganda 151
5.3 Paratransit traffic jam in a narrow street in Jodhpur, India 164
6.1 Visible air pollution in Shanghai, China 174
6.2 Water pollution in Kampala, Uganda 190
7.1a An informal settlement in Zimbabwe before Operation
Murambatsvina 230
7.1b An informal settlement in Zimbabwe after Operation
Murambatsvina 230
8.1 Police confront members of an urban social movement in São
Paulo 270
 Figures

1.1 Global trends in rural and urban population, 1950–2050 28

2.1 The origins of urbanism in the Middle East 35
2.2 Other early urban centres 38
2.3 Global population change, 1000 CE to 2025 CE 43
2.4 Industrialisation, urbanisation and the demographic transition 46
2.5a Urbanisation and democratisation, Europe and Asia 48
2.5b Urbanisation and democratisation, Latin America and Africa 48
2.6 Regional trends in population growth rates, 1750–2050 59
2.7 Levels of urbanisation in major world regions, 1850–2050 59
2.8 Urban population growth by major world region, 1950–2050 60
2.9 Distribution of the global urban population by city-size class,
1950–2025 61
3.1 Correlation between national GDP per capita and level of
urbanisation 73
3.2 GDP per capita by country in 2012 76
3.3 The distribution of income in India by state and km2 in 2012 77
4.1 Slum population trends, 1990–2014 112
5.1 Traffic deaths per 100,000 people in 2010 166
6.1 Composition of CO2 emissions sources (selected cities, 2005) 180
6.2 Urbanisation, carbon emissions and GDP per capita 182
6.3 Urban population density, CO2 emissions and GDP per capita in
selected cities 184
7.1 Homicides per 100,000 people in 2012 219
7.2 The vicious cycle of public security failure 225
8.1 Types of urban political organisation/activity 264
 Tables

1.1 Defining ‘urban’: settlement classification criteria for selected

countries 4
1.2 Comparison of income and HDI rankings for selected countries 10
1.3 Key trends in development theory, discourse and practice 14
1.4 Number of countries with policies to reduce rural–urban
migration, 1976–2013 26
1.5 Trends in World Bank shelter lending in sub-Saharan Africa,
1972–2005 27
3.1 Sectoral distribution of employment in major world regions, 2002
and 2012 67
3.2 Population and GDP output for a selection of cities in 2007–2008 78
4.1 Costs of starting a business in selected countries 124
4.2 Informal employment by region, 2004–2010 125
5.1 The cost of accessing water in selected Asian cities 158
7.1 Regional comparison of the burden of collective vs. interpersonal
violence 210
7.2 Homicide rates and city size in 2009 220
 Boxes

1.1 Urban vocabulary 6

2.1 Eric Dutton’s vision for colonial Lusaka 53
3.1 Beyond growth: rediscovering structural change 70
3.2 Key definitions in urban economics 79
3.3 The birth of an IT cluster in Bangalore 84
3.4 Shanghai: a resurgent world city 93
3.5 The economy of the El Paso-Juárez city-region 94
4.1 The Multidimensional Poverty Index 104
4.2 Millennium Development Goals progress report 107
4.3 Key characteristics of urban poverty and vulnerability 113
4.4 Urban food riots in 2007–2008 116
4.5 Livelihood assets or ‘capitals’ 121
4.6 Gendered dimensions of informality in the Philippines 126
5.1 The growth and transformation of urban villages in China 137
5.2 Slum notification in India and the difference between legal and
de facto tenure security 144
5.3 The condominium housing scheme in Ethiopia 147
5.4 The challenge of community-driven urban sanitation
improvement 154
5.5 Types of contracts for water and sewerage projects 156
6.1 The water crisis in Mexico City 176
6.2 The trials and tribulations of ‘eco-cities’ 177
6.3 The gender dimensions of climate vulnerability in Dhaka 189
6.4 The Tokyo Emission Trading Scheme 201
7.1 Typology of urban violence 213
Other documents randomly have
different content
 BOOK III

THE WANDERINGS
OF AENEAS

“After the gods’ decision to overthrow

The Asian world, the innocent house of Priam,
And the proud city, built by Neptune, smoked
From the ruined ground, we were driven, different ways,
By heaven’s auguries, seeking lands forsaken.
Below Antandros, under Phrygian Ida,
We built a fleet, and gathered men, uncertain
Of either direction or settlement. The summer
Had scarce begun, when at my father’s orders,
We spread our sails. I wept as I left the harbor,
The fields where Troy had been. I was borne, an exile
Over the deep, with son, companions, household,
And household gods.

Far off there lies a land,

Sacred to Mars; the Thracians used to till it,
Whose king was fierce Lycurgus; they were friendly,
Of old, to Troy, when we were prosperous. Hither
I sailed, and on its curving shore established
A city site; Aeneadae, I called it.
This I began, not knowing fate was adverse.

I was offering my mother proper homage,

And other gods, to bless the new beginnings,
I had a white bull ready as a victim
To the king of the gods. There was a mound nearby,
Bristling with myrtle and with cornel-bushes.
I needed greenery to veil the altar,
But as I struggled with the leafy branches,
A fearful portent met my gaze. Black drops
Dripped from the ends of the roots, black blood was falling
On the torn ground, and a cold chill went through me.
I tried again; the shoot resisted; blood
Followed again. Troubled, I prayed to the Nymphs,
To the father of the fields, to bless the vision,
Remove the curse; and down on my knees I wrestled
Once more against the stubborn ground, and heard
A groan from under the hillock, and a voice crying:
‘Why mangle a poor wretch, Aeneas? Spare me,
Here in the tomb, and save your hands pollution.
You know me, I am Trojan-born, no stranger,
This is familiar blood. Alas! Take flight,
Leave this remorseless land; the curse of greed
Lies heavy on it. I am Polydorus,
Pierced by an iron harvest; out of my body
Rise javelins and lances.’ I was speechless,
Stunned, in my terror.

Priam, forever unfortunate, had sent

This Polydorus on a secret mission,
Once, to the king of Thrace, with gold for hiding
When the king despaired of the siege and the city’s fortune.
And when Troy fell, and Fortune failed, the Thracian
Took Agamemnon’s side, broke off his duty,
Slew Polydorus, took the gold. There is nothing
To which men are not driven by that hunger.
Once over my fear, I summoned all the leaders,
My father, too; I told them of the portent,
Asked for their counsel. All agreed, a land
So stained with violence and violation
Was not for us to dwell in. Southward ho!
For Polydorus we made restoration
With funeral rites anew; earth rose again
Above his outraged mound; dark fillets made
The altar sorrowful, and cypress boughs,
And the Trojan women loosed their hair in mourning.
We offered milk in foaming bowls, and blood
Warm from the victims, so to rest the spirit,
And cry aloud the voice of valediction.

Then, when we trust the sea again, and the wind

Calls with a gentle whisper, we crowd the shores,
Launch ship again, leave port, the lands and cities
Fade out of sight once more.

There is an island
In the middle of the sea; the Nereids’ mother
And Neptune hold it sacred. It used to wander
By various coasts and shores, until Apollo,
In grateful memory, bound it fast, unmoving,
Unfearful of winds, between two other islands
Called Myconos and Gyaros. I sailed there;
Our band was weary, and the calmest harbor
Gave us safe haven. This was Apollo’s city;
We worshipped it on landing. And their king,
Priest of Apollo also, came to meet us,
His temples bound with holy fillets, and laurel.
His name was Anius; he knew Anchises
As an old friend, and gave us joyful welcome.

Apollo’s temple was built of ancient rock,

And there I prayed: ‘Grant us a home, Apollo,
Give walls to weary men, a race, a city
That will abide; preserve Troy’s other fortress,
The remnant left by the Greeks and hard Achilles.
Whom do we follow? where are we bidden to go
To find our settlement? An omen, father!’

I had scarcely spoken, when suddenly all things trembled,

The doors, and the laurel, and the whole mountain moved,
And the shrine was opened, and a rumbling sound
Was heard. We knelt, most humbly; and a voice
Came to our ears: ‘The land which brought you forth,
Men of endurance, will receive you home.
Seek out your ancient mother. There your house
Will rule above all lands, your children’s children,
For countless generations.’ Apollo spoke,
And we were joyful and confused, together:
What walls were those, calling the wanderers home?
My father, pondering history, made answer:
‘Hear, leaders; learn your hopes. There is a land
Called Crete, an island in the midst of the sea,
The cradle of our race; it has a mountain,
Ida, like ours, a hundred mighty cities,
Abounding wealth; if I recall correctly,
Teucer, our greatest father, came from there
To the Rhoetean shores to found his kingdom.
Ilium was nothing then, the towers of Troy
Undreamed of; men lived in the lowly valleys.
And Cybele, the Great Mother, came from Crete
With her clashing cymbals, and her grove of Ida
Was named from that original; the silence
Of her mysterious rites, the harnessed lions
Before her chariot wheels, all testify
To Cretan legend. Come, then, let us follow
Where the gods lead, and seek the Cretan kingdom.
It is not far; with Jupiter to favor,
Three days will see us there.’ With prayer, he made
Most solemn sacrifice, a bull to Neptune,
One to Apollo, to Winter a black heifer,
A white one for fair winds.

The story ran

That no one lived in Crete, Idomeneus
Having left his father’s kingdom, that the houses
Were empty now, dwellings vacated for us.
We sailed from Delos, flying over the water
Past Naxos, on whose heights the Bacchae revel,
Past green Donysa, snowy Paros, skimming
The passages between the sea-sown islands.
No crew would yield to another; there is shouting,
And the cheer goes up, ‘To Crete, and the land of our fathers!’
A stern wind follows, and we reach the land.
I am glad to be there; I lay out the walls
For the chosen city, name it Pergamea,
And the people are happy. Love your hearths, I told them,
Build high the citadel. The ships were steadied
On the dry beach, the young were busy ploughing,
Or planning marriage, and I was giving laws,
Assigning homes. But the weather turned, the sky
Grew sick, and from the tainted heaven came
Pestilence and pollution, a deadly year
For people and harvest. Those who were not dying
Dragged weary bodies around; the Dog-Star scorched
The fields to barrenness; grass withered, corn
Refused to ripen. ‘Over the sea again!’
My father said, ‘let us return to Delos,
Consult the oracle, implore Apollo
To show us kindliness; what end awaits
Our weary destiny, where does he bid us turn
For help in trouble?’

Sleep held all creatures over the earth at rest;

In my own darkness visions came, the sacred
Images of the household gods I had carried
With me from Troy, out of the burning city.
I saw them plain, in the flood of light, where the moon
Streamed through the dormers. And they eased me, saying:
‘Apollo would tell you this, if you went over
The sea again to Delos; from him we come
To you, with willing spirit. We came with you
From the burnt city, we have followed still
The swollen sea in the ships; in time to come
We shall raise your sons to heaven, and dominion
Shall crown their city. Prepare to build them walls,
Great homes for greatness; do not flee the labor,
The long, long toil of flight. Crete, says Apollo,
Is not the place. There is a land in the West,
Called by the Greeks, Hesperia: anciency
And might in arms and wealth enrich its soil.
The Oenotrians lived there once; now, rumor has it,
A younger race has called it Italy
After the name of a leader, Italus.
Dardanus came from there, our ancestor,
As Iasius was. There is our dwelling-place.
Be happy, then, waken, and tell Anchises
Our certain message: seek the land in the West.
Crete is forbidden country.’

The vision shook me, and the voice of the gods;

(It was not a dream, exactly; I seemed to know them,
Their features, the veiled hair, the living presence.)
I woke in a sweat, held out my hands to heaven,
And poured the pure libation for the altar,
Then, gladly, to Anchises. He acknowledged
His own mistake, a natural confusion,
Our stock was double, of course; no need of saying
We had more ancestors than one. ‘Cassandra,’
Anchises said, ‘alone, now I remember,
Foretold this fate; it seemed she was always talking
Of a land in the West, and Italian kingdoms, always.
But who would ever have thought that any Trojans
Would reach the shores in the West? Or, for that matter,
Who ever believed Cassandra? Let us yield
To the warning of Apollo, and at his bidding
Seek better fortunes.’ So we obeyed him,
Leaving this place, where a few stayed, and sailing
The hollow keels over the mighty ocean.

We were in deep water, and the land no longer

Was visible, sky and ocean everywhere.
A cloud, black-blue, loomed overhead, with night
And tempest in it, and the water roughened
In shadow; winds piled up the sea, the billows
Rose higher; we were scattered in the surges.
Clouds took away the daylight, and the night
Was dark and wet in the sky, with lightning flashing.
We wandered, off our course, in the dark of ocean,
And our pilot, Palinurus, swore he could not
Tell day from night, nor the way among the waters.
For three lost days, three starless nights, we rode it,
Saw land on the fourth, mountains and smoke arising.
The sails came down, we bent to the oars; the sailors
Made the foam fly, sweeping the dark blue water.
I was saved from the waves; the Strophades received me,
(The word means Turning-point in the Greek language),
Ionian islands where the dire Celaeno
And other Harpies live, since Phineus’ house
Was closed to them, and they feared their former tables.
No fiercer plague of the gods’ anger ever
Rose out of hell, girls with the look of birds,
Their bellies fouled, incontinent, their hands
Like talons, and their faces pale with hunger.
We sailed into the harbor, happy to see
Good herds of cattle grazing over the grass
And goats, unshepherded. We cut them down
And made our prayer and offering to Jove,
Set trestles on the curving shore for feasting.
Down from the mountains with a fearful rush
And a sound of wings like metal came the Harpies,
To seize our banquet, smearing dirtiness
Over it all, with a hideous kind of screaming
And a stinking smell. We found a secret hollow
Enclosed by trees, under a ledge of rock,
Where shade played over; there we moved the tables
And lit the fire again; the noisy Harpies
Came out of somewhere, sky, or rock, and harried
The feast again, the filthy talons grabbing,
The taint all through the air. Take arms, I ordered,
We have to fight them. And my comrades, hiding
Their shields in the grass, lay with their swords beside them,
And when the birds swooped screaming, and Misenus,
Sounded the trumpet-signal, they rose to charge them,
A curious kind of battle, men with sword-blades
Against the winged obscenities of ocean.
Their feathers felt no blow, their backs no wound,
They rose to the sky as rapidly as ever,
Leaving the souvenirs of their foul traces
Over the ruined feast. And one, Celaeno,
Perched on a lofty rock, squawked out a warning:—
‘Is it war you want, for slaughtered goats and bullocks,
Is it war you bring, you sons of liars, driving
The innocent Harpies from their father’s kingdom?
Take notice, then, and let my words forever
Stick in your hearts; what Jove has told Apollo,
Apollo told me, and I, the greatest fury,
Shove down your throats; it is Italy you are after,
And the winds will help you, Italy and her harbors
You will reach, all right; but you will not wall the city
Till, for the wrong you have done us, deadly hunger
Will make you gnaw and crunch your very tables!’
She flew back to the forest. My companions
Were chilled with sudden fear; their spirit wavered,
They call on me, to beg for peace, not now
With arms, but vows and praying, filthy birds
Or ill-foreboding goddesses, no matter.
Anchises prayed with outstretched hands, appeasing
The mighty gods with sacrifice:—‘Be gracious,
Great gods, ward off the threats, spare the devoted!’
He bade us tear the cable from the shore,
Shake loose the sails. And a wind sprang up behind us,
Driving us northward; we passed many islands,
Zacynthus, wooded, Dulichium, and Same,
The cliffs of Neritus, Laertes’ kingdom,
With a curse as we went by for Ithaca,
Land of Ulysses. Soon Leucate’s headland
Came into view, a dreadful place for sailors,
Where Apollo had a shrine. We were very weary
As we drew near the little town; the anchor
Was thrown from the prow, the sterns pulled up on the beaches.

This was unhoped-for land; we offered Jove

Our purifying rites, and had the altars
Burning with sacrifice. We thronged the shore
With games of Ilium. Naked, oiled for wrestling,
The young held bouts, glad that so many islands
Held by the Greeks, were safely passed. A year
Went by, and icy winter roughened the waves
With gales from the north. A shield of hollow bronze,
Borne once by Abas, I fastened to the door-posts,
And set a verse below it: Aeneas won
These arms from the Greek victors. I gave the order
To man the thwarts and leave this harbor; all
Obeyed, swept oars in rivalry. We left
Phaeacia’s airy heights, coasting Epirus,
Drawn to Buthrotum, a Chaonian harbor.

And here we met strange news, that Helenus,

The son of Priam, was ruling Grecian cities,
Having won the wife of Pyrrhus and his crown,
And that Andromache once more had married
A lord of her own race. Amazed, I burn
With a strange longing to seek out that hero,
To learn his great adventures. It so happened,
Just as I left the landing, that was the day
Andromache, in a grove before the city,
By the waters of a river that resembled
The Simois at home, was offering homage,
Her annual mourning-gift to Hector’s ashes,
Calling his ghost to the place which she had hallowed
With double altars, a green and empty tomb.
I found her weeping there, and she was startled
At the sight of me, and Trojan arms, a shock
Too great to bear: she was rigid for a moment,
And then lost consciousness, and a long time later
Managed to speak: ‘Is it real, then, goddess-born?
What are you, living messenger or phantom,
Mortal or ghost? If the dear light has left you,
Tell me where Hector is.’ I was moved, so deeply
I found it hard to answer to her tears
And through my own, but I did say a little:—
‘I am alive; I seem to keep on living
Through all extremes of trouble; do not doubt me,
I am no apparition. And what has happened
To you, dear wife of Hector? Could any gain
Atone for such a loss? Has fortune tried
To even matters at all? Does Pyrrhus still
Presume on you as husband?’ With lowered gaze
And quiet voice she answered:—‘Happy the maiden
Slain at the foeman’s tomb, at the foot of the walls;
Happy the daughter of Priam, who never knew
The drawing of the lots, nor came to the bed
Of a conqueror, his captive. After the fire
I travelled different seas, endured the pride
Achilles filled his son with, bore him children
In bondage, till he tired of me and left me
For Leda’s daughter and a Spartan marriage.
He passed me on to Helenus, fair enough,
Slave-woman to slave-man; but then Orestes,
Inflamed with passion for his stolen bride,
And maddened by the Furies of his vengeance,
Caught Pyrrhus off-guard, and slew him at the altar
In his ancestral home. And Pyrrhus dying,
Part of the kingdom came to Helenus,
Who named the fields Chaonian, the land
Chaonia, after a man from Troy,
And filled the heights, as best he could, with buildings
To look like those we knew. But what of yourself?
What winds, what fate, have brought you here, or was it
Some god? did you know you were on our coast? How is
The boy Ascanius, living still, whom Troy
Might have—does he ever think about his mother?
Does he want to be a hero, a manly spirit,
Such as his father was, and his uncle Hector?’
She was in tears again, when the son of Priam,
Helenus, with an escort, came from the city,
Happy to recognize us, bringing us in
With tears and greeting mingled. I went on,
Seeing a little Troy, low walls that copied
The old majestic ramparts, a tiny river
In a dry bed, trying to be the Xanthus,
I found the Scaean gates, to hold and cling to.
My Trojans, too, were fond of the friendly town,
Whose king received them in wide halls; libations
Were poured to the gods, and feasts set on gold dishes.

Day after day went by, and the winds were calling
And the sails filling with a good south-wester.
I put my questions to the king and prophet:
‘O son of Troy, the god’s interpreter,
Familiar with the tripod and the laurel
Of great Apollo, versed in stars and omens,
Bird-song and flying wing, be gracious to me,
Tell me,—for Heaven has prophesied a journey
Without mischance, and all the gods have sent me
The counsel of their oracles, to follow
Italy and a far-off country; one,
But one, Celaeno, prophesied misfortune,
Wrath and revolting hunger,—tell me, prophet,
What dangers first to avoid, what presence follow
To overcome disaster?’

Bullocks slain
With proper covenant, and the chaplets loosened,
He led me to the temple of Apollo,
The very gates, where the god’s presence awed me,
And where he spoke, with eloquent inspiration:—
‘O goddess-born, the journey over the sea
Holds a clear sanction for you, under Jove,
Who draws the lots and turns the wheel of Fate.
I will tell you some few things, not all, that safely
You may go through friendly waters, and in time
Come to Ausonian harborage; the rest
Helenus does not know, or, if he did,
Juno would stop his speaking. First of all,
Italy, which you think is near, too fondly
Ready to enter her nearest port, is distant,
Divided from you by a pathless journey
And longer lands between. The oar must bend
In the Sicilian ocean, and the ships
Sail on a farther coast, beyond the lakes
Of an infernal world, beyond the isles
Where dwells Aeaean Circe, not till then
Can the built city rise on friendly ground.
Keep in the mind the sign I give you now:
One day, when you are anxious and alone
At the wave of a hidden river, you will find
Under the oaks on the shore, a sow, a white one,
Immense, with a new-born litter, thirty young
At the old one’s udders; that will be the place,
The site of the city, the certain rest from labor.
And do not fear the eating of the tables,
The fates will find a way, Apollo answer.
Avoid this coast of Italy, the lands
Just westward of our own; behind those walls
Dwell evil Greeks, Narycian Locri, soldiers
Of the Cretan king, Idomeneus; the plains
Are full of them; a Meliboean captain
Governs Petelia, a tiny town
Relying on her fortress! Philoctetes
Commands her walls. And furthermore, remember,
Even when the ships have crossed the sea and anchored,
When the altars stand on the shore, and the vows are paid,
Keep the hair veiled, and the robe of crimson drawn
Across the eyes, so that no hostile visage
May interfere, to gaze on the holy fire
Or spoil the sacred omens. This rite observe
Through all the generations; keep it holy.
From that first landing, when the wind brings you down
To Sicily’s coast, and narrow Pelorus widens
The waters of her strait, keep to the left,
Land on the left, and water on the left,
The long way round; the right is dangerous.
Avoid it. There’s a story that this land
Once broke apart—(time brings so many changes)—
By some immense convulsion, though the lands
Had been one country once. But now between them
The sea comes in, and now the waters bound
Italian coast, Sicilian coast; the tide
Washes on severed shores, their fields, their cities.
Scylla keeps guard on the right; on the left Charybdis,
The unappeasable; from the deep gulf she sucks
The great waves down, three times; three times she belches
Them high up into the air, and sprays the stars.
Scylla is held in a cave, a den of darkness,
From where she thrusts her huge jaws out, and draws
Ships to her jagged rocks. She looks like a girl
Fair-breasted to the waist, from there, all monster,
Shapeless, with dolphins’ tails, and a wolf’s belly.
Better to go the long way round, make turning
Beyond Pachynus, than to catch one glimpse
Of Scylla the misshapen, in her cavern,
And the rocks resounding with the dark-blue sea-hounds.
And one thing more than any, goddess-born,
I tell you over and over: pray to Juno,
Give Juno vows and gifts and overcome her
With everlasting worship. So you will come
Past Sicily and reach Italian beaches.
You will come to a town called Cumae, haunted lakes,
And a forest called Avernus, where the leaves
Rustle and stir in the great woods, and there
You will find a priestess, in her wildness singing
Prophetic verses under the stones, and keeping
Symbols and signs on leaves. She files and stores them
In the depth of the cave; there they remain unmoving,
Keeping their order, but if a light wind stirs
At the turn of a hinge, and the door’s draft disturbs them,
The priestess never cares to catch them fluttering
Around the halls of rock, put them in order,
Or give them rearrangement. Men who have come there
For guidance leave uncounselled, and they hate
The Sibyl’s dwelling. Let no loss of time,
However comrades chide and chafe, however
The wind’s voice calls the sail, postpone the visit
To this great priestess; plead with her to tell you
With her own lips the song of the oracles.
She will predict the wars to come, the nations
Of Italy, the toils to face, or flee from;
Meet her with reverence, and she, propitious,
Will grant a happy course. My voice can tell you
No more than this. Farewell; raise Troy to heaven.’

After the friendly counsel, other gifts

Were sent to our ships, carved ivory, and gold,
And heavy silver, cauldrons from Dodona,
A triple breastplate linked with gold, a helmet
Shining with crested plume, the arms of Pyrrhus.
My father, too, has gifts; horses and guides
Are added, and sailing-men, and arms for my comrades.
Anchises bade the fleet prepare; the wind
Was rising, why delay? But Helenus
Spoke to Anchises, in compliment and honor:—
‘Anchises, worthy of Venus’ couch, and the blessing
Of other gods, twice saved from Trojan ruins,
Yonder behold Ausonia! Near, and far,
It lies, Apollo’s offering; sail westward.
Farewell, made blest by a son’s goodness. I
Am a nuisance with my talking.’

And his queen,

Sad at the final parting, was bringing gifts,
Robes woven with a golden thread, a Trojan
Scarf for Ascanius, all courteous honor
Given with these:—‘Take them, my child; these are
The work of my own hands, memorials
Of Hector’s wife Andromache, and her love.
Receive these farewell gifts; they are for one
Who brings my own son back to me; your hands,
Your face, your eyes, remind me of him so,—
He would be just your age.’

I, also, wept,
As I spoke my words of parting: ‘Now farewell;
Your lot is finished, and your rest is won,
No ocean fields to plough, no fleeing fields
To follow, you have your Xanthus and your Troy,
Built by your hands, and blest by happier omens,
Far from the path of the Greeks. But we are called
From fate to fate; if ever I enter Tiber
And Tiber’s neighboring lands, if ever I see
The walls vouchsafed my people, I pray these shores,
Italy and Epirus, shall be one,
The life of Troy restored, with friendly towns
And allied people. A common origin,
A common fall, was ours. Let us remember,
And our children keep the faith.’

Over the sea we rode, the shortest run

To Italy, past the Ceraunian rocks.
The sun went down; the hills were dark with shadow.
The oars assigned, we drew in to the land
For a little welcome rest; sleep overcame us,
But it was not yet midnight when our pilot
Sprang from his blanket, studying the winds,
Alert and listening, noting the stars
Wheeling the silent heaven, the twin Oxen,
Arcturus and the rainy Kids. All calm,
He saw, and roused us; camp was broken; the sail
Spread to the rushing breeze, and as day reddened
And the stars faded, we saw a coast, low-lying,
And made out hills. ‘Italy!’, cried Achates,
‘Italy!’ all the happy sailors shouted.
Anchises wreathed a royal wine-bowl, stood
On the high stern, calling:—‘Gods of earth and ocean
And wind and storm, help us along, propitious
With favoring breath!’ And the breeze sprang up, and freshened;
We saw a harbor open, and a temple
Shone on Minerva’s headland. The sails came down,
We headed toward the land. Like the curve of a bow
The port turned in from the Eastern waves; its cliffs
Foamed with the salty spray, and towering rocks
Came down to the sea, on both sides, double walls,
And the temple fled the shore. Here, our first omen,
I saw four horses grazing, white as snow,
And father Anchises cried:—‘It is war you bring us,
Welcoming land, horses are armed for war,
It is war these herds portend. But there is hope
Of peace as well. Horses will bend to the yoke
And bear the bridle tamely.’ Then we worshipped
The holy power of Pallas, first to hear us,
Kept our heads veiled before the solemn altar,
And following Helenus’ injunction, offered
Our deepest prayer to Juno.

And sailed on,

With some misgiving, past the homes of Greeks;
Saw, next, a bay, Tarentum, and a town
That rumor said was Hercules’; against it,
The towers of Caulon rose, and Scylaceum,
Most dangerous to ships, and a temple of Juno.
Far off, Sicilian Etna rose from the waves,
And we heard the loud sea roar, and the rocks resounding,
And voices broken on the coast; the shoals
Leaped at us, and the tide boiled sand. My father
Cried in alarm:—‘This must be that Charybdis
Helenus warned us of. Rise to the oars,
O comrades, pull from the danger!’ They responded
As they did, always, Palinurus swinging
The prow to the waves on the left, and all our effort
Strained to the left, with oars and sail. One moment
We were in the clouds, the next in the gulf of Hell;
Three times the hollow rocks and reefs roared at us,
Three times we saw spray shower the very stars,
And the wind went down at sunset; we were weary,
Drifting, in ignorance, to the Cyclops shores.

There is a harbor, safe enough from wind,

But Etna thunders near it, crashing and roaring,
Throwing black clouds up to the sky, and smoking
With swirling pitchy color, and white-hot ashes,
With balls of flame puffed to the stars, and boulders,
The mountain’s guts, belched out, or molten rock
Boiling below the ground, roaring above it.
The story goes that Enceladus, a giant,
Struck by a bolt of lightning, lies here buried
Beneath all Etna’s weight, with the flames pouring
Through the broken furnace-flues; he shifts his body,
Every so often, to rest his weariness,
And then all Sicily seems to moan and tremble
And fill the sky with smoke. We spent the night here,
Hiding in woods, enduring monstrous portents,
Unable to learn the cause. There were no stars,
No light or fire in the sky; the dead of the night,
The thick of the cloud, obscured the moon.

And day
Arrived, at last, and the shadows left the heaven,
And a man came out of the woods, a sorry figure,
In hunger’s final stages, reaching toward us
His outstretched hands. We looked again. His beard
Unshorn, his rags pinned up with thorns, and dirty,
He was, beyond all doubt of it, a Greek,
And one of those who had been at Troy in the fighting.
He saw, far off, the Trojan dress and armor,
Stopped short, for a moment, almost started back
In panic, then, with a wild rush, came on,
Pleading and crying:—‘By the stars I beg you,
By the gods above, the air we breathe, ah Trojans,
Take me away from here, carry me off
To any land whatever; that will be plenty.
I know I am one of the Greeks, I know I sailed
With them, I warred against the gods of Ilium,
I admit all that; drown me for evil-doing,
Cut me to pieces, scatter me over the waves.
Kill me. If I must die, it will be a pleasure
To perish at the hands of men.’ He held
Our knees and clung there, grovelling before us.
We urged him tell his story, his race, his fortune.
My father gave him his hand, a pledge of safety,
And his fear died down a little.

‘I come,’ he said,
‘From Ithaca, a companion of Ulysses;
My name is Achaemenides; my father,
His name was Adamastus, was a poor man,
And that was why I came to Troy. My comrades
Left me behind here, in their terrible hurry,
To leave these cruel thresholds. The Cyclops live here
In a dark cave, a house of gore, and banquets
Soaking with blood. It is dark inside there, monstrous.
He hits the stars with his head—Dear gods, abolish
This creature from the world!—he is not easy
To look at; he is terrible to talk to.
His food is the flesh of men, his drink their blood.
I saw him once myself, with two of our men
In that huge fist of his; he lay on his back
In the midst of the cave, and smashed them on a rock,
And the whole place swam with blood; I watched him chew them
The limbs with black clots dripping, the muscles, warm,
Quivering as he bit them. But we got him!
Ulysses did not stand for this; he kept
His wits about him, never mind the danger.
The giant was gorged with food, and drunk, and lolling
With sagging neck, sprawling all over the cavern
Belching and drooling blood-clots, bits of flesh,
And wine all mixed together. And we stood
Around him, praying, and drew lots,—we had found a stake
And sharpened it at the end,—and so we bored
His big eye out; it glowered under his forehead
The size of a shield, or a sun. So we got vengeance
For the souls of our companions. But flee, I tell you,
Get out of here, poor wretches, cut the cables,
Forsake this shore. There are a hundred others
As big as he is, and just like him, keeping
Sheep in the caves of the rocks, a hundred others
Wander around this coast and these high mountains.
I have managed for three months, hiding in forests,
In the caves of beasts, on a rocky look-out, watching
The Cyclops, horribly frightened at their cries
And the tramp of their feet. I have lived on plants and berries,
Gnawed roots and bark. I saw this fleet come in,
And I did not care; whatever it was, I gladly
Gave myself up. At least, I have escaped them.
Whatever death you give is more than welcome.’
And as he finished, we saw that very giant,
The shepherd Polyphemus, looming huge
Over his tiny flock; he was trying to find
His way to the shore he knew, a shapeless monster,
Lumbering, clumping, blind in the dark, with a stumble,
And the step held up with trunk of a pine. No comfort
For him, except in the sheep. He reached the sand,
Wading into the sea, and scooped up water
To wash the ooze of blood from the socket’s hollow,
Grinding his teeth against the pain, and roaring,
And striding into the water, but even so
The waves were hardly up to his sides. We fled
Taking on board our Greek; we cut the cable,
Strained every nerve at the oars. He heard, and struggled
Toward the splash of the wave, but of course he could not catch us,
And then he howled in a rage, and the sea was frightened,
Italy deeply shaken, and all Etna
Rumbled in echoing terror in her caverns.
Out of the woods and the thicket of the mountains
The Cyclops came, the others, toward the harbor,
Along the coast-line. We could see them standing
In impotent anger, the wild eye-ball glaring,
A grim assortment, brothers, tall as mountains
Where oak and cypress tower, in the groves
Of Jove or great Diana. In our speed
And terror, we sailed anywhere, forgetting
What Helenus had said: Scylla, Charybdis,
Were nothing to us then. But we remembered
In time, and a north wind came from strait Pelorus,
We passed Pantagia, and the harbor-mouth
Set in the living-rock, Thapsus, low-lying,
The bay called Megara: all these were places
That Achaemenides knew well, recalling
The scenes of former wanderings with Ulysses.

An island faces the Sicanian bay

Against Plemyrium, washed by waves; this island
Has an old name, Ortygia. The story
Tells of a river, Alpheus, come from Elis,
By a secret channel undersea, to join
The Arethusan fountains, mingling here
With the Sicilian waters. Here we worshipped
The land’s great gods; went on, to pass Helorus,
A rich and marshy land; and then Pachynus
Where the cliffs rose sharp and high; and Camerina,
With firm foundation; the Geloan plains,
And Gela, named for a river; then Acragas,
A towering town, high-walled, and sometime famous
For its breed of horses; the city of palms, Selinus;
The shoals of Lilybaeum, where the rocks
Are a hidden danger; so at last we came
To Drepanum, a harbor and a shoreline
That I could not rejoice in, a survivor
Of all those storms of the sea. For here I lost
My comforter in all my care and trouble,
My father Anchises. All the storms and perils,
All of the weariness endured, seemed nothing
Compared with this disaster; and I had
No warning of it; neither Helenus,
Though he foretold much trouble, nor Celaeno,
That evil harpy, prophesied this sorrow.
There was nothing more to bear; the long roads ended
At that unhappy goal; and when I left there,
Some god or other brought me to your shores.’

And so he told the story, a lonely man

To eager listeners, destiny and voyage,
And made an end of it here, ceased, and was quiet.
 BOOK IV

AENEAS
AND DIDO
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