ACT I. SCENE 3

A banquet hall in Dido’s palace. Across the back of the stage is a colonnade (2), raised above the level of the hall. Through the columns there is a view (1) out over the moonlit sea. Two broad steps lead from the colonnade to a landing, from which again three steps at each side descend to the level of the hall (3). At the second wing (4) on each side, curtained doorways open into the side rooms, from which the servants hurry with viands for the table. At the first wing (5), half columns form the corner of the wall. In the center a sort of triclinium (6) is set for the feast, a broad, three-sided table flanked by couches upholstered in Tyrian purple and having pillows of blue and gold.

When the curtain rises, the moonlight is streaming down through the columns upon the scene. A tripod burns before the triclinium. Otherwise there is no light except as it flashes from the side rooms when the curtains are parted for an instant. Servants are strewing the banquet table with flowers and bringing in dishes of gold.

The antique bronze lamps, hung between the columns, are lighted one by one, till the scene is brilliant with light and color.

Music is heard within. The servants hastily finish their work. The royal party enters along the colonnade. Dido is still clad in white, but Anna and the other ladies of the court have assumed himations of royal purple, royal blue, brilliant yellow, and deep green. Æneas has laid aside his helmet and greaves, but still wears his breastplate of mail, although he carries on his shoulder a cloak of royal purple.

The Carthaginians are more elaborately and richly dressed than in the first scene. The Trojans have put aside their outer cloaks, and wear tunics gayly embroidered in colors. The servants wear tunics of white.

The guests recline upon the couches. Æneas is in the seat of honor, while Dido has placed the supposed Ascanius upon the couch at her side. Many of the Carthaginians and the Trojans fill the hall.

Dido rises. There is silence through the room. She intones the invocation.

_Dido_ (731-735):

[For music, see p. 69]

O Jove, thou lord of gods and men, since ‘t is from thee The rites of hospitality proceed, ordain That this may be a day of joy to us of Tyre And these the Trojan exiles; let its fame go down To our descendants. May the god of wine and joy, And fost’ring Juno grace and celebrate the day.

The entire company repeats the invocation in unison. When they have finished, all bow and Dido pours forth the libation upon the table. Touching the cup to her lips, she passes it to the guests of honor.

While the cup is passing about, Iopas and his chorus sing.

_Song of Iopas_ (suggested by 740-746)

[For music, see p. 72]

I

Of the orb of the wandering moon I sing, As she wheels through the darkening skies; Where the storm-brooding band of the Hyades swing, And the circling Triones arise; Of the sun’s struggling ball Which the shadows appall Till the menacing darkness flies;

2

Of the all-potent forces that dwell in the air, With its measureless reaches of blue; The soft floating clouds of gossamer there, And the loud-wailing storm-rack too; Of the rain and the winds And the lightning that blinds When its swift-darting bolt flashes through;

3

Of the marvels deep hid in the bowels of earth, In the dark caves of Ocean confined, Where the rivers in slow-trickling rills have their birth, And the dense tangled mazes unwind; In the deep under-land, In the dim wonderland, Where broods the vast cosmical mind.

4

Of the manifold wonders of life I sing, Its mysteries striving to scan, In the rippling wave, on the fluttering wing, In beast and all-dominant man. ‘T is the indwelling soul Of the god of the whole, Since the dawn of creation began.

_Dido_, who has been gazing upon Æneas in rapt admiration (753-756):

Now come, my guest, and from the first recount the tale Of Grecian treachery, thy friends’ sad overthrow And all thy toils; for lo, the seventh summer finds Thee wand’ring still in every land, on every sea.

_Æneas_, rising (II. 3-13)

Thou wouldst that I should feel a woe unspeakable, O Queen, and tell again how all our Trojan power And kingdom, endless source of grief, the Greeks o’erthrew: Those sad events which I myself beheld, and in Whose fabric I was wrought a part. Who, though he be Of fierce Achilles’ band, or in the train of hard Ulysses, telling such a tale could hold his tears? Now night sinks down the steeps of heaven, while setting stars And constellations summon us to rest. But if So strong is thy desire to know the story of Our woe, and hear Troy’s final agonies rehearsed, Though at the very thought my soul within me shrinks And has recoiled in grief, I will begin the tale.

All the Trojans and Carthaginians crowd around the tables, seating themselves to listen. As all faces are turned toward Æneas, he sinks back upon his couch, overcome with emotion. There is a moment of silent sympathy. Curtain.