ACT I. SCENE 1

Early morning; the open square before the temple of Juno on a height near Carthage. In the distance (see cut, 1, 2, 3) appear mountains, and at their foot lies the city, clustered about the harbor where ships are riding at anchor. The effect of elevation is increased by the unfinished columns and the tree-tops just showing above the low marble wall which encloses the square. This scene (4) is set nearer than 1, 2, 3, to increase the perspective.

At the first wing on the right (5), a colonnade, leading to a flight of steps, forms the entrance from the city below. On the same side, along the wall, is a broad marble seat (6), shaded by a wild crab tree, pink with bloom. The dark rug on the step before it is strewn with fallen petals. On the left is the front of the temple (7). Two large columns of white marble flank three broad steps leading to the platform. Above these columns, the architrave bears a frieze representing scenes from the Trojan war. Before the temple door is an altar on which fire is burning.

At the rise of the curtain, a chorus of Carthaginian maidens, clad in white, are seen kneeling before the altar on the temple steps; they sing a greeting to the dawn.

_Hymn to the Dawn_

[For music, see p. 61]

Wake, Aurora, Wake! Come, rosy-fingered goddess of the dawn, The saffron couch of old Tithonus scorning; Fling wide the golden portals of the morning, And bid the gloomy mists of night be gone.

Hail, Aurora, Hail! The dewy stars have sped their silent flight, The fuller glories of thy rays expecting; With rosy beauty from afar reflecting, Thy Orient steeds come panting into sight.

Rise, Apollo, Rise! Send forth thy healing rays to greet the world, Upon the lands thy blessed radiance streaming; Arise, and fling afar, in splendor gleaming, The banners of thy golden light unfurled.

Enter Æneas and Achates, on their way into the city, evidently attracted hither by the singing. Æneas is resplendent in full armor. Achates wears the Phrygian costume: long trousers of brown, a tunic of deep old blue, ornate with embroidered patterns in gold and purple thread; over this a traveling cloak of brown. He carries two spears. The maidens withdraw and as their voices grow fainter Æneas and Achates kneel before the altar. The light brightens. A bugle call in the distance rouses them from their devotion. They arise. Enter Venus, dressed as a huntress.

_Venus_ (_Æneid_, I. 321-324):

I crave your grace, good sirs. If my attendant maids Have chanced to wander hither, quiver-girt, and clad In tawny robes of fur, the trophies of the chase, Or with triumphant shouts close pressing in pursuit The foaming boar,—I fain would know their course.

_Æneas_ (326-334):

Fair maid, No huntress of thy train have we beheld, nor heard The clamor of their chase.—But oh, no mortal maid Art thou! Th’ immortal beauty of thy face and voice Proclaim thee goddess. Art thou Phœbus’ sister then? Or some fair nymph? Whoe’er thou art, we crave _thy_ grace: Be merciful and tell beneath what sky at length, Upon what shores we ‘re tossed. For ignorant of men And land we wander, driven on by wind and wave In vast conspiracy. Full many a victim slain Upon thine altars shall repay thine aid.

_Venus_ (335-350):

For me, I claim no homage due the gods. Behold a maid Of ancient Tyre, with quiver girt and feet high shod With purple buskin—such our country’s garb. Thou seest Before thee Punic realms; the city and its men Are both alike Phœnician; but around them lie The borders of the Libyans, hardy race, unmatched In war. The city owns the sway of Dido, late Escaped from Tyre and from her brother’s threat’nings. Long The story of her wrongs, and devious its way; But here I ‘ll trace the outline of her history. Her husband was Sychæus, of his countrymen The richest far in wide possessions; well beloved By his ill-fated bride was he, whose virgin hand In wedlock’s primal rite her sire had given him. But Tyre’s domain Pygmalion her brother held, Surpassing all in crime. Between these Tyrian lords A deadly feud arose. With impious hand and blind With love of gold, Pygmalion, at the altar-side, With stealthy, unsuspected stroke Sychæus slew; And little recked he of his sister’s doting love.

_Æneas_ (III. 56, 57):

O awful, quenchless thirst of gold! ‘T was ever thus That thou hast spurred the hearts of men to deeds of blood.

_Venus_ (I. 351-370):

He long concealed the deed with wanton, feigned excuse, And mocked his sister, sick at heart, with empty hopes. In vain: for in the visions of the night the shade, The pallid shade of her unburied husband came; The cruel altar and his piercèd breast he showed, And all the hidden guilt of that proud house revealed. He bade her speed her flight and leave her fatherland, And showed, to aid her cause, deep buried in the earth, An ancient treasure, store of silver and of gold Uncounted. Thus forewarned the queen prepared her flight And bade her comrades join her enterprise. They came, Whom hatred or consuming terror of the prince Inspired. A fleet of ships at anchor chanced to lie In waiting. These they seized and quickly filled with gold; Pygmalion’s treasure, heaped with greedy care, was reft Away upon the sea, a woman leading all. They reached at last the place where now the mighty walls And newly rising citadel of Carthage stand. But who and whence are ye? and whither do ye fare?

_Æneas_ (372-385):

O goddess, if beginning at the first the tale Of direful woes on land and deep I should relate, The day, before my story’s end, would sink to rest. From Troy (perchance the name of Troy has reached your ears) Borne over many seas, the fitful tempest’s will Has brought us to these shores. Æneas am I called, The Pious, for that in my ships I ever bear My country’s gods, snatched from our burning Troy. My fame O’erleaps the stars. My quest is Italy, a land And race that mighty Jove hath promised me. For this, With score of vessels staunch I braved the Phrygian sea, By Venus’ star directed and by fate impelled. But oh, alas for Venus’ star, alas for fate! Scarce seven shattered barks survive the waves, and I— And I, a beggared stranger, wander helpless here, A fugitive from all the world.

_Venus_ (387-401):

Whoe’er thou art, Full sure am I the gods must love thee well, since thou Through dangers manifold hast reached this Tyrian realm. But haste thee and with heart of cheer seek out the queen. For lo, thy friends are rescued and thy fleet restored, Unless in vain my parents taught me augury. For see, those joyous swans are fluttering to the earth, Which, swooping from the sky, but now the bird of Jove Was harrying. As they, with fluttering wings and cries Of joy regain the earth, so, by this token know, Thy ships and comrades even now are safe in port, Or with full sails the harbor’s mouth are entering. Then fare thee on, and follow where the path of fate May lead.

As Venus vanishes from the temple steps she is illumined in rosy light.

_Æneas_ (402-409):

Achates, see the bright refulgent glow Upon her face! ‘T is light divine! And from her locks Ambrosial, heavenly odors breathe! Her garments sweep In stately folds, and she doth walk, a goddess all, With tread majestic! Lo, ‘t is Venus’ self! O stay, My heavenly mother, stay! Why dost thou, cruel too, So often mock thy son with borrowed semblances? Why may we not join hands, each in his proper self, And speak the words of truth? Ah me! She’s vanished quite, And I am left forlorn!—

Deeply moved, he follows her vanishing figure.

_Achates_, seeking to divert Æneas, leads him to the parapet and points out to him the life awakening in the city below (422-429).

Behold this city with its gates and mighty walls, And well-paved streets, where even now the Tyrians With eager zeal press on their various toil. See there, Some build the citadel and heave up massive stones With straining hands; while some a humbler task essay, And trace the furrow round their future homes. Behold, Within the harbor others toil, and here thou seest The deep foundations of the theater, where soon Shall rise huge columns, stately set, to deck the scene.

_Æneas_(430-437):

Yea all, like busy bees throughout the flowery mead, Are all astir with eager toil. O blessed toil! O happy ye, whose walls already rise! But I,— When shall I see _my_ city and my city’s walls?

He remains in deep dejection.

_Achates_, observing the pediment of the temple itself (456-458):

But here, O friend, behold, in carvèd imagery, Our Trojan battles one by one, that mighty strife Whose fame has filled the world. Here see Achilles fierce, The sons of Atreus,—and, alas, our fallen king!

_Æneas_, deeply affected (459-463):

What place, Achates, what far corner of the world Is not o’erburdened with our woes? O fallen King, E’en here our glorious struggle wins its meed of praise, And those our mortal hopes defeated and o’erthrown, Are mourned by human tears. Therefore our present cares Let us dismiss. This fame shall bring us safety too.

_Achates_, continuing to examine the pediment (467, 468):

See how the Greeks are fleeing, pressed by Trojan youth! While here, alas, our warriors flee Achilles’ might.

_Æneas_ (469-478):

And here behold the ill-starred Rhesus’ white-winged tents, Where fierce Tydides slays his sleeping foe; and drives Those snowy steeds to join the Grecian camp, before They graze in Trojan meadows or the Xanthus drink. Alas poor Troilus, I see thee too, ill-matched With great Achilles. Prone thou liest within thy car, While in the dust thy comely locks and valiant spear Are basely trailed.

_Achates_ (479-482):

Here to Minerva’s temple come Our Trojan dames with suppliant mien and votive gifts; With locks dishevelled, self-inflicted blows, and tears; But all for naught. All unappeased the goddess stands With stern averted face, nor will she heed their prayers.

_Æneas_ (483-487):

Thrice round the walls of Troy the fell Achilles drags The body of my friend.—O Hector, Hector! Here He sells thy lifeless body for accursed gold, While aged Priam stretches forth his helpless hands.

_Achates_ (488-497):

And here behold thyself amid the Grecian chiefs In combat raging. See the swarthy Memnon’s arms, And that fierce maid, who, clad in gleaming armor, dares To lead her Amazons and mingle in the fray.

Music is heard in the distance, flutes and zithers leading a chorus.

But hark! The distant strains of music greet my ear, As of some stately progress fitly timed with flute And zither. See, it is the queen, who with her band Of chosen youths and maidens hither takes her way.

_Æneas_ (498-501):

How like Diana when she leads her bands by swift Eurotas, or on Cynthus green, while round her press A thousand graceful creatures of the wood; but she, With shoulder quiver-girt, a very goddess moves With stately tread among the lesser beings of Her train. To such an one I liken yonder queen.

They conceal themselves in the foreground behind the columns of the temple. Dido, accompanied by her bands of courtiers, crosses the stage and ascends the temple steps. She seats herself on the throne which has been placed for her at the temple door.

Dido throughout this act is dressed in white, the symbol of her widowhood. Her dress, worn without himation, is of light filmy stuff draped in the Greek style, and unornamented save for a border of gold thread. Anna wears a dress of delicate blue, elaborately embroidered about the edges with a Greek pattern in gold thread. Her himation, wrapped gracefully about her, is a tender shade of rose pink.

In Dido’s train all classes are represented, gayly dressed courtiers, soldiers, and peasants. The men wear cloaks of dark blue and of rich brown over their tunics. The women are clad in dresses of cream color, pink, and faint green.

When all are on the stage, the general effect should be a mingling of pink, blue, brown, green, and white, which harmonize with the tints of the marble, of the flowering crab tree, the blue sky, and the purple mountains.

Suddenly Ilioneus and his following of Trojans appear. They wear the Phrygian costume, but over it the long brown traveling cloak. The singing ceases, the guards lower their spears, and great excitement reigns.

_Æneas_, aside (509, 510):

Achates, can it be? What! Antheus, and our brave Cloanthus and Sergestus too?

_Achates_, aside (511-514):

Yea, all our friends Whose ships the raging storm hath parted from our fleet And driven far away. O joy! Come, let us go And grasp their hands in greeting.

_Æneas_, aside (515-521):

Nay, not so, for still Our fortune in the balance hangs. Here let us see What fate befalls our friends, where they have left their fleet, And why they hither come. For chosen messengers In suppliant aspect do they seek this sacred fane, While round them rage the mob.—But see, Ilioneus speaks.

Dido has arisen and with a gesture bids the soldiers stand aside. She sends a page to lead Ilioneus to her throne. Ilioneus kneels before her; she extends the scepter, which he touches.

_Ilioneus_, rising and standing before the queen (522-558):

O Queen to whom the king of heav’n hath given to found A city and to curb proud nations with the reins Of law, we Trojans in our need, the sport of winds On every sea, implore thee, spare a pious race And look, we pray, with nearer view upon our cause. We have not come to devastate with fire and sword The Libyan homes, or fill our ships with plundered stores. Such violence and such high-handed deeds a race By fate o’ercome may not attempt. There is a place, Hesperia the Greeks have named it, ancient, rich In heroes, and of fertile soil. Œnotrians Once held the land; but now, as rumor goes, their sons In honor of their mighty leader have the place Italia called. To this our seaward course was bent: When suddenly, upstarting from the deep, all charged With tempests, did Orion on the shallows drive Our vessels, with the aid of boisterous winds and waves, Through boiling, overtopping floods and trackless reefs, And put us utterly to rout. To these thy shores A few of us have drifted. But alas! what race Of men is this? What land permits such savage deeds As these? We are refused the barren refuge of The sandy shore; they seek a cause for mortal strife, And will not that we set our feet upon the land. What though the human race and mortal arms are naught To thee; be sure that gods regard the evil and The good. We had a king, Æneas, more than peer Of all in justice, piety, and warrior’s might. If by decree of fate he still survives, if still He draws the vital air of heav’n, and lies not low Amid the gloomy shades, fear not, and let it not Repent thee that in deeds of mercy thou didst strive To be the first. We still possess both towns and lands Upon Sicilia’s isle; Acestes too, renowned, And born of Trojan blood, is ours. Our only prayer, That we may draw our shattered fleet upon the shore, And in the forest shade renew our weakened beams And broken oars. That thus, if to Italia’s realms, Our comrades and our king regained, ‘t is ours again To hold our way, with joy we may that selfsame land And Latium’s borders seek. But if in vain our hope, And if, loved father of the Teucri, thou art held By Libya’s billows and no more we may upon Iulus rest our hopes, then let us seek the land And homes reserved for us, whence, setting sail, we came To these thy hostile shores, and make Acestes king.

Shouts of applause from the Trojans.

_Dido_, with modest bearing (562-578):

Let not a fear disturb your souls, O Teucrians; Away with all your cares. My cruel fortune and My yet unstable throne compel me thus to guard My bounds with wide and jealous watch. Who knows not well Æneas and his race, their city Troy, their brave, Heroic deeds? Who has not seen the far-off flames Of their great war? We carry not such brutish hearts Within our breasts, nor yet does Phœbus yoke his steeds So far from this our land. Seek you the mighty west, The land of Saturn’s reign, or where your foster-king, Acestes, rules within Sicilia’s borders? Lo, In safety will I send you forth and gird you with My aid. Or would you share with me this realm? Behold, The city which I build is yours. Draw up your ships. To Trojan and to Tyrian will I favor show In equal measure. Would that your Æneas’ self, Conducted by the same o’er-mastering gale, were here! My messengers along the shore will I despatch, And bid them search the farthest bounds of Libya, If he in wood or city, rescued from the waves, May chance to stray.

She despatches courtiers to seek Æneas. Æneas and Achates, meantime, are greatly agitated by her words.

_Achates_, to Æneas, aside (582-585):

Æneas, what thy purpose now? Thou seest all is well. Thy fleet and captains all, Save one, are rescued. One we saw ourselves o’erwhelmed Within the deep. All else thy mother’s prophecy Upholds.

At this, Æneas suddenly reveals himself, to the great surprise of both Trojans and Carthaginians.

_Æneas_, to Dido (595-609):

O Queen, before thee, whom thou wouldst behold, am I, Æneas, Prince of Troy, late rescued from the waves Of Libya. O thou, who only o’er the woes, The dreadful woes of Troy hast wept, who to thy town And home dost welcome us, the leavings of the Greeks, Who every peril of the land and sea have faced, And lost our all: we may not thank thee worthily, O Queen, nor yet the Trojan race, what remnant still In distant lands in exile wanders. May the gods A fitting gift bestow upon thee; if indeed They feel a true regard for pious souls, if e’er The truth and conscious virtue aught avail. But thee— What blessed age, what mighty parents gave thee birth? Whate’er my fate, while to the sea the rivers flow, While o’er the mountains’ rounded sides the shadows drift, While on the plains of heav’n the stars shall feed, so long Thine honor and thy name and praises shall abide.

The queen is silent with amazement, while Æneas greets his friends amid general rejoicing.

_Dido_, recovering from her astonishment (615-630):

What fate, thou son of heav’n, decrees these perils vast? And what the power that drives thee on our savage shores? And art thou that Æneas whom to Ilium’s prince, Anchises, on the bank of Phrygian Simois, The kindly Venus bore? And now do I recall That Teucer once to Sidon came as suppliant; For exiled from his native Salamis he came. ‘T was at the time when fertile Cyprus bowed beneath My father’s might, and by the victor’s sway was held. From that time on, thy name, and all the Grecian kings, And the fortunes of thy city have been known to me. Nay, Teucer’s self, though foeman, sang the praise of Troy, And said that he himself from ancient Trojan stock Had sprung. Wherefore, O princes, come and make my halls Your own. An equal fate has willed that I, like you, The sport of many toils, should find a resting place Within this land. With grief acquainted, I have learned To comfort hapless wanderers oppressed with grief.

They prepare to leave the scene. Dido despatches men to bear gifts to the Trojan fleet, and proclaims a banquet for the ensuing night in honor of Æneas and the Trojan princes.

_Æneas_, to Achates (643-655):

Go, speed thee, friend, to where, upon the sandy beach, Our comrades camp about the ships. This joyful news To young Ascanius bear, and bid him come with thee To Dido’s town.

Exit Achates.

To other Trojans:

Go ye, and fetch from out the ships The treasures that we saved from Ilium’s fall: the robe, Stiff wrought with golden pattern, and the flowing veil All interwov’n with bright acanthus’ yellow bloom, Those beauteous robes of price which Argive Helen brought From rich Mycenæ when to Pergama she came, Her mother’s wondrous gift. And bring the scepter fair Which once Ilione, the eldest daughter of Our monarch, bore; the pearl-set necklace, and the crown, Its double golden circlet spangled o’er with gems.

The Trojans withdraw to do his bidding. The music sounds, and as the entire court moves from the scene, Dido sends some of her maidens back to throw incense upon the flames. They kneel upon the steps and Anna advances to the altar. As the smoke ascends, Dido and Æneas turn to follow the rest. Curtain.