“O Queen of dread Olympus! ’tis thine to order what thou wilt, and mine
to obey thine august commands. It was thy gracious gift which bestowed
upon me this sovereignty, and by thy favor am I permitted a place at
the table of the gods.”
Whereupon he unbarred the doors of the prison of the winds, which
straightway rushed forth together in a mighty host, and rolled mountain
high the waves of the sea. And thunders muttered, and lightnings
flashed across the heavens. Then were Æneas and his companions in
great fear, and they called upon the gods in terror. Some of their
ships were sunk in the sea, others shattered by the winds. Then
was King Neptune roused by the wild commotions which waged in his
dominions, and being aware of the wiles of his sister-goddess, he
called to the winds with commanding voice:—
“What is this, ye winds, that ye dare to trouble my dominions without
my august summons? Begone, and tell your king that the sea is mine to
rule, and bid him confine his power to his allotted rocks and caves.”
Then did King Neptune cross the sea in his chariot; and the rebellious
waves sank back affrighted at the bidding of their mighty sovereign;
and behold, the sea was calm and placid as the summer’s smile. And the
gods of the sea drew the ships from the rocks, King Neptune lifting
them with his ponderous trident. So Æneas and his companions, being
sore wearied with the storm, made for the nearest land in haste, and
thus they found a haven in a land, even Africa. Hither came Æneas with
seven ships.
Glad indeed were the men of Troy to stand once more upon dry land.
Meanwhile, Æneas climbed a cliff to look upon the land whither they
had come, and see if haply he might behold his comrades’ ships, which,
though he saw not, his labor was not in vain, for on the shore he
noted three majestic stags, and, following, a goodly herd. Then did
he let his arrows fly till seven of the animals were killed, which
furnished ample food for the men upon his seven ships; which event
greatly cheered their hearts; and thereupon they made a feast upon the
shore, Æneas encouraging them with hopeful words of future peace and
happiness.
Meanwhile upon these things great Jupiter looked down. And as he gazed,
fair Venus, mother of Æneas, approached the mighty Jove with shining
eyes bedimmed with tears. And thus she spoke: “O great Father, Ruler
of all things! Didst thou not promise that my son Æneas and the men of
Troy should rule o’er land and sea? Why art thou, then, turned back
from thy purpose?” To whom Jove answered, whilst at the same moment he
bent his awful head and kissed her brow, and his stern features calmed
themselves like sunshine breaking through tempestuous clouds: “Fear
not, my daughter! the fate of thy children changeth not. Thou shalt see
this longed-for city which the Trojan race shall build, and thou shalt
receive thy great-hearted Æneas safe on Mount Olympus.
“Æneas shall subdue the people of Italy, and build a city there, and
shall reign three years; and after thirty years shall the boy Ascanius,
who shall hereafter be called Iülus, change his throne from Lavinium to
Alba, and for three hundred years shall Hector’s kindred rule therein.
Then shall twin sons be born, whom a she-wolf shall suckle. The one of
whom, even Romulus, shall build a mighty city in honor of Mars, and it
shall be called Rome. Juno shall then repent her of her wrath, and join
with me in favor of the men of Rome, and they shall bear rule even over
Argos and Mycenæ.”
Having thus spoken, the mighty Jupiter called to his presence swift
Mercury, who, donning winged sandals and golden helmet, flew shortly
to Carthage, and as Jove commanded, turned the heart of Dido and her
people to receive with favor these Trojan strangers thus cast upon
their shores.
On the next day, Æneas, taking only Achates with him, went forth to
view this new land whither they had come. And lo! Venus, his mother,
met him in the midst of a thick wood. But the goddess veiled her
heavenly features so that he knew her not, for she appeared habited as
a Spartan maiden, after the fashion of a huntress.
Then first she spoke: “Have ye seen one of my sisters hereabouts? She
is clothed in the skin of a spotted lynx, and girded with a quiver; or
perchance she hunts a wild boar with horn and hound.” To whom Æneas
answered, wondering at her imperial bearing which her disguise could
not entirely conceal: “O Virgin! for what shall I indeed call thee;
for surely neither thy mien nor voice betokens mortal woman. Methinks
thou art in truth some goddess,—perchance sister of Phœbus, or haply
some heavenly nymph. I have not seen thy sister; but I pray, forsooth,
that thou wouldst tell us whither we have been driven, and who are the
people amongst whom we find ourselves.”
And Venus replied: “It is indeed a Tyrian city that is near by, though
the land be Libya. Dido is queen of this great city, having come hither
from Tyre, flying from a wicked brother who had killed her husband in
avaricious greed.
“This Dido was married to one Sichæus, richest among all the men of
Phœnicia, and greatly beloved by his wife, whose brother Pygmalion held
the throne of Tyre and thirsted for possession of the vast treasures of
his brother-in-law, the priest of Hercules. And even at the altar he
slew him, but hid the matter from Dido, hoping to get the coveted gold.
But behold, the shade of Sichæus appeared to faithful Dido, showing
his wounds by which he had been deprived of mortal life, and told her
where he had hidden his treasures in the earth, bidding her secure them
straightway and prepare for instant flight from Tyre and Pygmalion’s
greed and cruelties.
“Then did Dido gather together many of the Tyrian nobles and men of
skill, and with them she fled across the sea, and landed on this coast,
where she has reared a mighty city, even brave Carthage; but from
whence art thou, and whither do ye go?” To whom Æneas answered: “The
long story of our wanderings would require many hours to relate. But
suffice it, we are men of Troy, driven by storms to this Libyan shore.
Men call me Prince Æneas, and my race is from Jupiter himself. We seek
the land of Italy, for thither the gods have bidden us repair. With
twenty ships did I set sail, but now scarce seven are left.”
Then Venus said with tender voice and mien of sympathy: “Surely thou
art beloved of the gods, whoever thou art, brave stranger! Go show
thyself to the queen, even fair Dido; and as for thy ships and thy
companions, fear not. Behold yon flock of twenty snow-white swans
flying through air. See, e’en though an eagle swoops down from the sky
and puts them to confusion for a time, again they move in order and
settle safely on the ground. If I have not learned augury in vain, thus
shall thy ships come safely in the harbor.”
Then Venus turning, Æneas beheld a rosy light illumine her neck, and
from her hair there came an odor sweet of heavenly ambrosia, and her
garments grew into goddess-like vestments around her feet, ere she had
vanished from the eyes of mortals. Then Æneas cried aloud: “O heavenly
mother! why dost thou mock me with vain glimpses of thy much-loved
form, nor suffer me to touch thy hand, nor grant me sight of thine
immortal face?”
Then went Æneas and Achates towards the walls of the city, and Venus
covered them with a thick mist, that thus no man should gaze on them,
even though they might themselves behold all men and objects. And
having mounted a hill o’erlooking the city, they marvelled much to
behold its size and greatness. Some built the walls, rolling therefor
great stones, while others reared the citadel, or marked the spot for
houses. Others digged harbors or raised the walls of spacious theatres.
Now in the midst of the city was a thickly wooded spot where Dido was
erecting a noble temple in honor of Juno. Of bronze were gates and
door-posts, and stately threshold with many steps thereunto.
And here Æneas wondered much to see painted upon the lofty walls the
famous story of the fall of Troy. In order were the battles portrayed,
and all the valiant Greeks and valorous Trojans were also there
depicted; and Æneas knew himself, fighting amongst the Grecian chiefs.
Much was he moved thereat, and said with tears to Achates, his
companion: “Is there any land which the story of our sorrows has
not reached? Surely this fame shall profit us!” And lo! while Æneas
marvelled at these things, Dido, most beautiful of women, fair as
Diana, appeared amidst a throng of lovely maidens and bands of comely
youths. Right nobly did she bear herself amongst her subjects, until
she sat herself down on gorgeous throne in the gate of the temple,
having armed heroes around her. There she dispensed justice, and
apportioned to each his task in the building of her grand and stately
city. Then suddenly Æneas beheld a company of men arrive with haste
where Dido held her court, and quickly he perceived amongst them
Antheus, and Cloanthus, and other men of Troy, from whom he had been
parted by the storm. Then leave being given Ilioneus, one of them, to
address Queen Dido regarding their presence there, he thus began: “O
Queen! whom Jupiter permits to rear this spacious city, we are men of
Troy whom storms have driven to your midst; we pray thee spare our
ships from flames, and save a people serving the gods. There is a land
called Italy, whither we journey, as the gods commanded. We had a king,
Æneas, but we know not whether he be alive or buried in the sea.”
Then Dido answered: “Fear not, ye men of Troy! Know that I will give
you help and protect you. If you will settle in this land, Trojans and
Tyrians shall be equal in my sight. Would that your king were here! But
I will send messengers throughout this land to seek him, lest haply he
be cast upon the shore.”
Then were Æneas and Achates glad to hear this welcome of the fair
Queen Dido; and they would fain have shown themselves, but the mist
restrained them. But lo! the cloud parted forthwith, and Æneas stood
before the queen, with face and breast as of a god; for so his mother
had clothed him, and cast about him a purple light, through which he
shone with all the beauties of youth. Then spake he to Queen Dido:—
“Lo! I am he you ask for, even Æneas of Troy. So long as the rivers run
to the seas, and the shadows fall on the hollows of the hills, so long
shall thy name and glory last for this thy kindness to poor strangers
cast upon thy shores.”
Then Dido, after a time of silent meditation, graciously replied: “I
too have wandered far, even as you, and having suffered much, have
learnt to succor them that suffer. Even from the day my father Belus
conquered Cyprus have I known the wondrous tale of Troy. Come ye,
therefore, to my palace.”
So saying, she led Æneas to her stately palace, sending meanwhile most
bountiful provision to his companions in the ships,—even twenty oxen,
a hundred swine, and a hundred sheep and lambs. Then in her royal
palace a sumptuous feast was spread. The tables were weighted with gold
and silver vessels and cups of marvellous workmanship, whereon were
engraved great deeds of valor. The rooms were adorned with luxurious
couches draped with costly purple, embroidered with cunning skill;
while fair Dido was herself most radiant in resplendent robes of
shining tissues sparkling with priceless gems.
Then did Æneas send Achates in haste to the ships, that he might bring
the young Ascanius to the feast. Also Æneas ordered that the boy should
be laden with rare and costly gifts, of such things as they had saved
from the ruins of Troy, that they might be presented to fair Dido as
a grateful offering for her most courteous reception of himself and
followers.
Among these gifts there was a mantle of golden tissue and a veil
bordered with yellow acanthus: this had fair Helen brought from her
Grecian home, and which her mother Leda had lovingly bestowed. There
was a sceptre likewise, having belonged to Ilione, eldest daughter
of King Priam; also a necklace of pearls, and a double crown of gold
encrusted with dazzling jewels. But ere the boy Ascanius departed from
the ships bearing these gifts, Venus contrived a cunning scheme to
guard her son Æneas from any coming treachery from the men of Tyre; for
Venus pondered well on Juno’s hatred of her son and many wiles. So fair
Venus called to her aid her bright son Cupid, even the lovely wingéd
boy known as the god of Love. To him she thus unfolded her well-laid
plan:—
“Most beautiful and powerful Cupid! my best-beloved son, who laughest
at the dreadful thunders of the mighty Jupiter, and canst even defy
the wiles of wrathful Juno, thy aid I seek in guarding Æneas from her
treacherous devices. To-day Queen Dido entertains thy brother Æneas
in her palace, and showeth him courteous favor; but evil may betide
unless her heart is fixed in continued liking for him. List thou, and
do my bidding! His son Ascanius even now cometh from the ships, laden
with rich gifts for the Carthaginian queen. I would that thou shouldst
assume his dress and features and mode of speech and gait; bear thyself
these presents to fair Dido, while I, meanwhile, will snatch the boy
Ascanius away in a cloud, and bear him to Cythera or Idalium, and hide
him there in heavy slumbers, resting on bed of sleep-producing flowers
and fanned with gentle zephyrs. Do thou, meanwhile, go to the palace
as Ascanius, and when Dido welcomes thee with kiss and fond embrace,
breathe into her heart a fire of love, so that she shall forget the
grave of Sichæus, and turn her thoughts and glances upon the handsome
countenance of Æneas.”
Thus did it come to pass. Ascanius slept in the cool and shady woods
of Idalium, lulled by sweet-smelling flowers, and Cupid in the guise
of Æneas’s son did bear the costly gifts to the fair queen, which
graciously she received with tender welcome and loving embraces of the
beautiful boy, who, after greeting Æneas as his father, betook himself
to the side of the gentle Dido; and as she toyed with his shining locks
of golden hair or pressed fond kiss upon his brow, the wily Cupid did
forthwith ensnare her heart; and though he had left wings and darts
behind when he put off his godlike mien, his bright eyes sent arrows
of fire to her heart, and his childish clasp around her neck did
thrill her being. But ’twas of the brave Æneas that she thought, and
petted the pretty boy for his supposed father’s sake. Much the Tyrians
marvelled at the costly gifts of Prince Æneas, and more they wondered
at his beautiful boy, the false Ascanius; and Dido could not satisfy
her eyes with looking on this lovely vision of youthful beauty; and
little wot she of the trouble that same winning child was preparing for
her in the days to come.
Most sumptuous was the feast. Then the queen called for a huge cup
of gold, encrusted with gems, from which King Belus, her illustrious
father, often drank in his days of power; and having filled it with
the sparkling wine, she cried: “Great Jupiter, thou god of feasts and
mightiest of all the immortals at the table of the gods, grant joy this
day to men of Troy and men of Tyre, and may our friendship endure to
future generations.” And having touched the foaming goblet to her lips,
she handed it to the highest princes of the realm, and each in order
drank. Then did the minstrel Iopas, famed for striking wondrous music
from the harp, give charming entertainment to the guests, singing of
sun and moon and stars; of Arcturus and Hyades, and why the winter sun
hastens to dip his shining head in ocean, and why the winter nights
are long and dreary; and also of men and beasts he sang; of valiant
deeds and adventures of the chase. Then Queen Dido asked Æneas much of
Troy and the wondrous story of its direful fall; nor was she satisfied
until he had recounted all things that had befallen him, both during
that famous contest and since, even till he landed on her shores. And
many days were spent in telling this most fascinating tale; for still
again each day the queen begged he would renew the marvellous account
of heroes slain or battles won. Much was Queen Dido moved in spirit by
this story, and still with greater favor did she esteem the teller of
this wondrous tale, and scarce could sleep for thinking of him.
Then thus she spake to her sister Anna: “O my sister, I have been
greatly troubled this night with evil dreams. Who can be this wondrous
stranger who hath come to our coasts? Surely his noble mien and brave
valor betokens that he is one of the sons of the gods! Were I not
steadfastly purposed that I would not yoke myself again in marriage, to
this man only might I yield.”
Then Anna answered: “Why wilt thou waste thy youth in useless sorrow
for the dead? Think also of the dangers which surround thy throne,
and to what greatness may the strength of Carthage grow through such
alliance. Seek counsel of the gods, who, methinks, direct thy heart.”
Thus did her sister offer comforting advice, the which, forsooth, fair
Dido was not loath to take.
Then was a royal hunt prepared. The princes of Carthage waited for
their queen at the palace door, where her proud steed stood champing
his golden bit, caparisoned with royal trappings of gold and purple.
Beauteous indeed was fair Dido, as she appeared adorned with Sidonian
mantle with embroideries of divers colors. Her quiver was of gold, and
of the same the rich clasp of her mantle, while her hair was caught in
knot of gold. Æneas came to meet her, beautiful as Apollo himself; and
forth the hunters went with goodly escort, and coming to the hills,
found many goats and stags, which they chased; Ascanius scorning such
easy hunting, wishing for wild boar or lion for his prey.
Then did a terrible storm arise; and seeking shelter, the guests were
separated from one another, and the Tyrian princes also lost sight of
their queen. By order of the gods, fair Dido and brave Æneas fled both
to the same sheltering cave. Here was their troth plighted; and when
the nuptial knot was tied by Hymen, god of marriage, straightway the
goddess Rumor reported this event throughout all Libya, how that fair
Dido was wedded to Æneas of Troy. Then was Iarbas, her former suitor,
very wroth, and vowed swift vengeance, and made haste to the temple
of Jupiter and spread his grief before the great ruler of Olympus.
Whereupon great Jove despatched swift-footed Mercury to Æneas with this
message:—
“Thus saith the king of gods and men: Is this what thy mother promised
of thee, twice saving thee from the spear of the Greeks? Art thou
he that shall rule Italy, and its mighty men of war, and spread thy
dominions to the end of the world? What doest thou here? Why lookest
thou not to Italy? Depart, and tarry not.”
This message swift Mercury brought to Æneas, where he stood, with
yellow jasper in his sword-hilt, and wrapped in cloak of purple, gold
embroidered—Queen Dido’s gifts. Having delivered the commands of mighty
Jupiter to the trembling Trojan hero, the god Mercury vanished, and
Æneas was left with troubled thoughts to ponder on these weighty words.
At last he joined his companions, having resolved to fly from alluring
Carthage; and he bid them secretly prepare their fleet for sailing.
Meanwhile he sought some fitting opportunity to take a last farewell of
the beautiful queen, who by her loving devotion made his going grievous.
But Dido, with jealous love, which is most keen of sight, divined
his purpose ere he had revealed it to her; and quickly seeking Æneas,
she exclaimed in mingled love and anger: “Thoughtest thou to hide thy
purpose and to depart in silence from this land? Carest thou not for
her whom thou leavest to die? And hast thou no fear of winter storms
upon the sea? Repent thee of this cruel resolve.”
But Æneas, fearing the words of Jupiter, stood with averted eyes and
looks which relented not. At last he spake:—
“I deny not, O Queen, the benefits thou hast done to me, nor while
I live shall I forget Dido. But the gods command that I should seek
Italy. Thou hast thy Carthage; why dost thou grudge Italy to us? Nor
may I tarry. Even now the messenger of Jupiter came to me and bade me
depart.”
Then was Queen Dido very wroth; and her eyes blazed with jealous love
and anger, which waged within her heart a mighty contest. At last she
cried: “As for thee, I keep thee not. Go, seek thy Italy across the
seas; only if there is any vengeance in heaven, thou wilt pay the
penalty for this wrong. Then wilt thou call on Dido in vain. Ay, and
wherever thou shalt go, I will haunt thee, and rejoice in the dwellings
below to hear thy doom.”
Having said which, the afflicted queen hasted to depart to her palace.
But her grief o’ercame her powerful spirit, so that she fell like to
one dead, and was laid by her maidens upon her bed.
Though Æneas would fain comfort the sorrowing queen, the word of Jove
o’ermastered his inclination, so that he hasted to his ships and
speedily prepared for flight. But when the spirit returned to fainting
Dido, she cried out in heart, and bade her sister note the treacherous
Trojans who thus so poorly repaid her generous treatment. And Dido
sought once more to move the mind of Æneas, even sending Anna to him to
beg that if he must depart indeed, he yet would stay his going for a
space of time. But stern Æneas relented not; whereupon fair Dido grew
weary of her life, and as she offered sacrifice she perceived many ill
omens of coming woe. Then she bethought herself of a plan to avenge her
heart, though it should cost her life. But she hid the matter from her
sister, and said to her that a noted prophetess had declared there was
a remedy which should bring her Trojan hero back or free her of him.
Thus she deceived her trusting sister, who little imagined her direful
purpose. And Queen Dido bade her sister build a funeral pile—for so
the priestess had commanded—and put thereon the sword which Æneas had
left behind; also the garments he wore, and the couch on which he lay,
even all that was his, that they might perish together. Also an image
of Æneas was laid upon the pile, and the priestess, with hair unbound,
sprinkled thereon water, said to be drawn from the lake of Avernus,
while she scattered evil herbs that had been cut at the full moon with
a sickle of bronze. Dido herself, meanwhile, with loosened garments
and bare feet, threw meal upon the fire, and called upon the gods for
vengeance. Thus did the queen hide her dread purpose ’neath spell of
witchery and sacrifice to the gods.
In the meantime, Æneas lay asleep in his ship, and in a dream again
Mercury appeared and warned him of Dido, telling him to fly and tarry
not.
Æneas, waking in great fear, called his companions, and they
straightway loosed the sails and sped o’er the sea.
And in the morning, lo! Dido, from her watch-tower, perceived the
Trojan fleet had fled. Then did she smite upon her breast, and tore her
hair in anguish. But still she kept her real intent from all around
her; and calling to old Barcé, who had been nurse to Sichæus, she did
dissemble her great grief, and bade her call her sister Anna, that she
might now prepare the sacrifice; and Dido also bade old Barcé to bind a
garland round her head, for she was now minded to finish the sacrifice,
and to burn the image of the man of Troy. Then when the old woman
hasted to do her bidding, Dido herself ran to the funeral pile, made
for the burning, and drew the sword of Æneas from the scabbard, and
having mounted the pile, she threw herself upon Æneas’s couch, and wept
and kissed his image, and cried: “Shall I die unavenged? Nevertheless,
let me die. The man of Troy shall see this fire from the sea, whereon
he journeys, and carry with him an augury of death.”
And when her sister and her maidens, coming in haste, looked upon the
pile, lo! she had fallen upon the sword, and the blood was upon her
hands. Then a great cry arose throughout the palace, and Anna, rushing
through the midst, called upon her name: “O my sister, was this thy
purpose? Were the pile and the sword and the fire for this?” Then she
climbed upon the pile and took her sister in her arms and sought to
stanch the flowing blood. Three times did Dido strive to raise her
eyes; three times did her spirit leave her. Then Juno, looking down
from heaven and perceiving that her pain was long, in pity sent down
Iris, her messenger, that she might loose the soul that struggled to
be free. For, seeing that she died not by nature, nor yet by the hand
of man, but before her time and by her own madness. Queen Proserpine
had not shred the ringlet from her head which she shreds from them who
die. Wherefore, Iris, flying down with dewy wings from heaven, with a
thousand colors about her from the light of the sun, stood above her
head and said, “I give thee to death, even as I am bidden, and loose
thee from thy body.” Then she shred the lock, and Queen Dido yielded up
her mortal spirit.
Once more Æneas met Queen Dido when he was permitted by the gods to
descend into the land of shadows, where dwelt the shades of the dead.
When Æneas and the Sibyl, who conducted him thither, came to the river
Styx, then was the Boatman Charon persuaded to ferry them over, for the
Sibyl showed him the marvellous bough of gold, a gift intended for the
Queen of Hades; and the huge, terrible watch-dog Cerberus, which guards
the portals to the Land of Shadows, was tamed by eating of the cake the
Sibyl gave, made of honey and poppy-seed, causing sleep.
Thus did they come within the Mourning Fields, where dwell the souls of
those who have died of love. Among these shades was Dido, fresh from
the wound wherewith she slew herself. And when Æneas saw her darkly
through the shadows, he wept and cried: “O Dido! it was truth, then,
that they told me,—that thou hadst slain thyself with the sword? Loath
was I, O Queen,—I swear it,—to leave thy land. But the gods constrained
me; nor did I think that thou wouldst take such sorrow from my
departure. But stay! depart not; for never again may I speak to thee,
but this time only.”
But Dido cast her eyes upon the ground, and her heart was hard against
him, even as a rock. His tears and groans and sighs and friendly words
moved not her spirit, nor could appease her wrath. Silent and scornful
she departed to the grove that was hard by, where dwelt her first
husband, Sichæus, who gave her love, even as he was loved by her.
Thus was the love of Dido, which Æneas had slighted, avenged. And
herewith endeth the poet’s story of the famous Queen Dido, in which he
telleth of her fame and beauty and unhappy love and direful death.