Part 20

The ships were laid up, and generous provision made for the weary sailors, while their chief and his friends were feasted by the queen in Oriental splendour and luxury. Rich gifts from Troy were presented to Dido by Æneas, and received by her with great delight. There were the jewels of Ilione, King Priam’s eldest daughter: the sceptre that she had borne, her diadem of gold and gems, and the pearls that once hung about her neck. They were scarcely of happy omen, one would think; but more ill-fated still were the presents that Dido found most beautiful.

_A mantle stiff with figures, and with gold, A veil, too, with a border wrought about Of saffron-flowered acanthus, ornaments Of Argive Helen._[34]

Yet no shadow from their history fell upon the queen. She was strangely happy as she listened to her guest and caressed his beautiful little son. She did not know that the mighty love-goddess was plotting against her; and when the feast was over, she rose to pour a libation to the gods with a prayer for peace and blessing.

“_Oh Jupiter! for thou, they say, art he Who gives the laws that govern host and guest, Grant that this day a day of joy may be To us of Tyre, and these our guests from Troy, A day to be remembered by our sons! May Bacchus the Joy-Bringer be with us, And Juno the Beneficent._“[34]

When the Fourth Book opens Æneas is still the honoured guest of the queen, entertained by her at the banquet as each succeeding night falls, and accompanying her during the day as she rides to inspect the progress of her city. But Dido was no longer quite untroubled in her happiness. She could not hide from herself her growing love for the Trojan hero; and she was assailed by a sense of wrong to her dead husband.

At first she fought against her passion and called up every resource of pride and modesty to hide it from the prince. But the emotion of a richly dowered nature was not easily to be kept in check; and Dido had not learned to dissemble. The inner conflict grew daily stronger, absorbing every thought: on the one hand drawing her irresistibly toward Æneas, and on the other claiming fidelity to the memory of Sichæus. At last, craving relief and counsel, she confided in her sister Anna. But Anna was no idealist, and her advice to Dido was the plainest commonsense. Was she to waste all her life for the sake of faith to the dead? It was certain that Sichæus himself would not desire it; and why then should Dido renounce the joys of love and motherhood? Why pine alone all her days, her country menaced on every side by wild African tribes, because she had no warrior at her side to make them fear? So the argument ran, turning adroitly from questions of sentiment to the call of patriotism and ambition. Undoubtedly Dido was right in refusing marriage with the barbarian chiefs who had asked for her hand; but she must remember that she had thereby made enemies of them. Let her consider the danger to her little state from these jealous kings; and on the other hand let her think of the power and glory which Carthage might win, if only it were allied to the race of Troy. Lastly, added the astute pleader, with a word which she knew had power to move her sister, for her part she believed that the coming of Æncas was ordained by heaven, and by Juno herself, the great goddess of marriage.

No wonder that Dido’s resolution was weakened, when every instinct of her being was thus championed, and the only opponent was an idea, an abstraction, that even to herself began to look fantastic. Again she begged her guest to remain in Carthage, and the memory of Sichæus began rapidly to fade.

_Now Dido leads Æneas round the ramparts, to him shows The wealth of Sidon, all the town laid out, Begins to speak, then stops, she knows not why._[34]

Then at night, when the guests are gone from the banquet: when—

_The wan moon pales her light, and waning stars Persuade to sleep, she in her empty halls Mourns all alone, and throws herself along The couch where he had lain._[34]

Æneas himself was losing all thought of his mission in the society of the lovely queen. Italy was forgotten in the peace and luxury of his life; and he gave himself up to content, without one glance beyond the present. He had toiled so long and hard; surely he might take his ease for a while. Moreover, it would be mere churlishness to refuse Dido’s gracious bounty; and he could not be so ungentle. So both the lovers wrapped themselves in a golden dream, with reality shut far away.

_The unfinished flanking turrets cease to rise, No more the young men exercise in arms, Build harbours, or rear bastions for defence; All work is at a standstill—giant walls That frown defiance, cranes that climb the sky._[34]

All the happy toil of brain and muscle was suspended, and Carthage, silent in the sun all day, gave itself up, like its queen, to idleness and revelry. The weeks slipped quickly by, and one by one the restraints which her clear spirit had imposed were loosened or forgotten. And then the autumn came, and the fatal day of the hunt, when Dido gave herself without reserve or shame to her lover.

_The nymphs Along the mountain-tops were heard to wail. That day bred death, disasters manifold; For now she took no heed what men might say._[34]

She who had been so proud and chaste, whose wisdom and fidelity had been the fame of all the countries round about, was now the prey of every evil tongue. Rumour flew from city to city, soiling her fair name; and soon it was known in all the jealous neighbouring lands that the queen of Carthage had joined herself in unlawful union with Æneas, Prince of Troy. The reputation that had been so painfully won was quickly lost; and not one of her many qualities were remembered. The courage and quick wit and resource, the generous hospitality, the impartial judgment, the kindness and tender sympathy—were all forgotten.

Dido knew of the malignance and scorn that were smouldering about her; but she was too honest to hide her sin, and secure in Æneas’ love, she paid no heed. Together they recommenced the work which had lain idle so long; and as winter came, the towers began to rise again.

But now the gods grew envious of the little barbarian state, and Jupiter turned an angry glance upon Æneas. Was this the end for which he had been saved from Troy—to make his home among a savage people, heedless of the divine command? Has he so poor a soul that he is content to spend his days in dalliance while the fair land of Italy cries out for a hand to govern it? Let Mercury carry to the prince this warning from the ruler of Olympus:

“_With what hopes lingers he ‘Mongst hostile races, heedless of the great Ausonian line, and the Lavinian plains? Let him put out to sea! My last word this._“[34]

The message fell upon Æneas with a shock of fear and remorse. His dream was shattered: his sleeping conscience suddenly sprang to life, and in a flash he saw the long months spent in Carthage as treachery to the gods, to his countrymen, and to the son who was to inherit the great Roman state. In a rush of penitence, his first thought was to flee instantly: to leave at once and for ever the land that had seen his folly. But the moment after he remembered Dido, and realized in horror all the suffering that he would bring to her. He knew the intensity of her love; and recalling all her kindness to him and his, he could not summon courage to face her and tell her that he must go. Weakly he resolved to prepare in secret for departure; and orders were sent down to the ships to fit out with all speed. But the unworthy act was bound to bring disaster. Word was soon brought to the queen that the Trojan fleet was being furtively prepared for sea, and she leapt to the obvious conclusion. Æneas intended to forsake her—and to go by stealth. All her frank nature revolted at the deception. That he should wish to go at all, lightly flinging away her love and honour, was a thing that her own fidelity had never suspected; but to steal away thus was baseness that drove her to fury. Her ungoverned Oriental rage was loosed upon him.

“_False as thou art, and didst thou hope, ay, hope To keep thy infamous intent disguised, And steal away in silence from my realm?_“[34]

But the first gust of anger past, she dropped to a softer mood and besought him by every tender plea that her tongue could frame, not to leave her—by their great love: by her trust in him, and the pledge that he had given her; by the constant service that she had paid him, and all that she had forfeited for his sake.

“_Because of thee it is, the Libyan tribes, And Nomad chieftains hate me; my own people Are turned against me; all because of thee My woman’s honour has been blotted out, And former fair good name whereby alone I held my head aloft. To whom dost thou Abandon me, a woman marked for death? My guest, my guest! Since only by that name I am to know my husband!_“[34]

It would seem that her anguish must melt a heart of stone, but Æneas remained apparently immovable. Before him still shone the vision of the god, and in his ears Jove’s message rang insistently. Controlling every tender impulse, he answered in words that were made harsh by restraint. To Dido their coldness was as cruel as death and far more bitter. She did not know the gentle Æneas in the grip of the force that was driving him, transforming him into a monster of ingratitude.

“_This man thrown up a beggar on my shores, I took him in, insanely gave him up A portion of my realm, from very death Redeemed his comrades, saved his scattered ships. ... Go! Make for Italy! Chased by the winds, across the wild waves seek These vaunted kingdoms! But in sooth I hope, If the benignant Gods can aught avail, Vengeance will strike thee midway on the rocks, Calling and calling upon Dido’s name._“[34]

She was borne away fainting, and Æneas, racked by pity that he dare not show, made his way down to the harbour to hasten the sailing of the fleet. Day by day his men toiled with a will, for they were sick of inaction and eager to get away, although winter was already upon them. And watching from her tower, Dido saw each day’s work completed with deeper misery, and a growing sense of despair. Very soon now all would be ready; the day was rapidly approaching when Æneas would trust himself to that stormy winter sea, with small chance, as she knew, of ever reaching Latium. At the thought of that final parting and of her lover’s danger, Dido’s anger melted, and every vestige of her pride was swept away. She could not and would not let him go like this. At the risk of worse humiliation still, she would make another effort to keep him in Carthage, at least until the stormy season should be passed. In feverish haste she called Anna and sent a poignant message.

“_In pity of my love, Let him concede this boon—the last I crave,— And wait propitious winds to speed his flight._“[34]

But Æneas is inexorable, and when Anna returns to the queen with his refusal, it adds the last intolerable touch to her pain and shame. Nightlong she roams the palace, like one distraught; and finding her way to the tomb of Sichæus, she prays to die. Strange omens answer her; and to her maddened brain it seems that the voice of her husband is calling her to come to him. The water of her libation turns black as she pours it upon the altar, and the wine congeals to blood. The high gods have answered her: they approve her purpose.

As soon as day comes, she begins with deliberate care to make all ready for her death. Under her directions, a great pyre is built within the courtyard, on which the queen announces that she intends to offer a solemn sacrifice. Every relic of Æneas is gathered and laid upon it; his armour, his cloak and his sword; while all about it Dido herself hangs garlands and funeral chaplets. Her sister and her women wonder, but have no hint of her intention. When night falls and all the palace is sunk in sleep, Dido stands again before the altar and consecrates herself for the sacrifice. But she cannot yet take the fatal step. She longs for one more look from her watch-tower, down upon the ships that are so soon to carry her lover away. So she strains her eyes through the darkness, only to find, with the first gleam of light, that the harbour is bare. The fleet has sailed: Æneas, warned by a vision from Jove, has fled in the night. A bitter cry escapes her:

“_Oh rare Fidelity and honour! And they say, He takes his household gods about with him, And on his shoulders bore his aged sire!_“[34]

She calls upon the great powers of Earth and Sky and the dreadful Underworld to avenge her wrongs; and looking forward to the years that are to come, she invokes upon Æneas and his descendants the curse that followed the Roman race through many generations:

“_So then do you, My Tyrians, harry with envenomed hate His race and kin through ages yet to come: Be this your tribute to my timeless death!... Let coast conflict with coast, and sea with sea. Embattled host with host, and endless war Be waged, ‘twixt their and your posterity!_“[34]

Then, rushing to the courtyard, she climbs the great pyre, and grasps Æneas’ sword. For one moment, ere she falls upon it, the frenzy lifts from her brain and shows her all the course of her troubled life.

“_Lo! I have lived my life, have run the course Assigned to me by fate; now ‘neath the earth I go, the queenly shade of what I was. I have built a goodly city; I have seen Its walls complete; I have avenged my spouse, And struck my cruel brother blow for blow!..._

“_This heartless Trojan, let him from the waves Drink in with startled eyes the funeral fires, And bear with him the presage of my death!_”[34]

So the founder of Carthage died; and the father of great Rome, looking back with remorseful eyes from his fleeing ship, saw the flames of her pyre reddening the dawn.

Footnote 34:

From Sir Theodore Martin’s translation of the _Æneid_ (Wm. Blackwood & Sons).

_Index_

Absyrtus, 229, 230

Achilles, 24, 30, 33, 34, 40, 41, 139, 140, 257, 266, 274

Admetus, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226

Adrastus, 190

Aeêtes, 229

Ægeus, 238

Æneas, 37, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287

Æschylus, 101, 102, 103, 104, 118, 132, 133, 136, 137, 139, 148, 150, 151, 163, 164, 165, 168, 187, 190, 209, 257

Aeolus, King, 62

Agamemnon, 35, 39, 58, 59, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 117, 118, 120, 127, 129, 136, 140, 142, 143, 146, 152, 256, 257, 258, 259, 262, 266, 267, 268

Aigeus, 190

Ajax, 23

Alcestis, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 220, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227

Alcinous, 60, 62, 85, 90, 93, 94, 97, 230

Alcmena, 42

Andromache, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 140

Andromeda, 22

Anna, 281, 286

Antigone, 22, 150, 166, 171, 186, 187, 188, 189, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207

Antinous, 42, 46, 47

Aphrodite, 18, 19, 20, 23, 25, 26, 244, 245, 246, 250, 255

Apollo, 97, 105, 109, 112, 113, 118, 123, 126, 129, 131, 133, 135, 137, 140, 144, 146, 168, 169, 172, 173, 181, 189, 212, 213, 214, 226, 238, 258, 271

Ares, 21, 40

Arete, Queen, 85, 97, 230

Argus, 157, 158

Artemis, 92, 93, 213, 244, 246, 247, 255, 257, 258, 261, 262, 271, 272

Astyanax, 35, 36, 37

Atè, 115, 132

Athena, 18, 19, 24, 30, 31, 42, 44, 45, 46, 50, 55, 76, 85, 87, 88, 89, 92, 93, 95, 97, 137, 256, 272

Athene (_see_ Athena)

Atlas, 76, 151

Augustus, 273

Bacchus, 280

Cadmus, 149, 163, 206

Calypso, 43, 60, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 81, 82, 83, 84, 87

Camilla, 12

Cassandra, 35, 109, 112, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 164

Castor, 23

Charon, 218

Charybdis, 72

Chiron, 228

Chrysothomis, 165

Cilix, 149

Circe, 60, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 230

Clytemnestra, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 123, 127, 129, 130, 131, 137, 143, 144, 164, 165, 256, 257, 258, 266

Creon, 12, 171, 172, 173, 174, 176, 177, 178, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 206, 207, 231, 232, 234, 235, 241

Creusa, 276

Cronos, 151, 157

Cyclôpes, 269

Cypris, 244, 250, 251

Diana, 277

Dido, 10, 12, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287

Diomedes, 30

Dionysus, 101

Eëtion, 30

Egisthus, 106, 107, 115, 117, 121, 124, 127, 130

Electra, 12, 116, 118, 119, 120, 121, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 132, 133, 134, 164, 166

Elpenor, 71

Enone, 18, 21

Epaphus, 149, 161

Epicasta, 167

Erinys, 115

Eteocles, 171, 188, 190, 191, 193, 197

Euripides, 10, 35, 102, 132, 133, 136, 137, 150, 209, 210, 211, 212, 214, 231, 243, 247, 256

Europa, 149

Euryclea, 50, 53, 57

Eurydice, 208

Eurylochus, 67

Eurystheus, 216, 220

Force, 152

Glaucé, 231, 237, 239, 240, 241

Hæmon, 202, 203, 204, 207

Hector, 21, 24, 25, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 139, 273

Hecuba, 29, 32, 35, 36, 140, 141

Hekabe (_see_ Hecuba)

Helen, 12, 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 35, 37, 41, 42, 43, 103, 135, 138, 141, 259, 265

Helenus, 37

Hephæstus, 152, 153

Hera, 18, 19, 24, 33, 98, 148, 150, 156, 169

Heracles, 161, 220, 221, 223, 224, 225, 226, 270

Hermes, 65, 66, 77, 78, 79, 119

Hesiod, 152

Hippolytus, 243, 244, 245, 246, 249, 251, 252, 253, 254

Homer, 9, 11, 12, 16, 25, 29, 58, 65, 73, 85, 87, 99, 163, 167, 274

Hymen, 141

Icarius, 46, 59, 60

Idomeneus, 23, 139

Ilione, 280

Inachus, 150, 157, 158

Io, 148, 149, 150, 151, 157, 158, 160, 161, 162, 164, 167

Iphigenia, 103, 104, 105, 121, 211, 256, 257, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271

Ismene, 166, 171, 192, 194, 195, 196, 201, 202

Iulus, 276

Jason, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 242

Jocasta, 150, 163, 166, 167, 168, 170, 171, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185

Jove, 108, 287

Juno, 276, 280

Jupiter, 280, 283

Laertes, 59

Laius, 168, 169, 170, 171, 173, 175, 178, 179, 181

Leto, 261

Loxias, 141, 180

Medea, 211, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 234, 235, 236, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243, 247

Medon, 48, 49

Menelaus, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 25, 26, 27, 35

Mercury, 283

Merope, 169, 180, 182

Minos, 53

Mycene, 42

Nausicaa, 60, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98

Neoptolemus, 140

Oceanus, 153, 154

Odysseus, 23, 27, 39, 40, 41, 43, 44, 46, 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 92, 93, 94, 96, 97, 98, 140, 274

Œdipus, 12, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 195, 201

Orestes, 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 133, 164, 165, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 272

Othryoneus, 138

Paris, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 23, 29, 30, 137, 138, 276

Patroclus, 33, 34

Pelias, 212, 228, 230, 231

Pelops, 262

Penelope, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 75, 79, 82, 86, 87, 163, 164

Persephone, 69, 70

Phædra, 211, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 254

Phemius, 45

Pheres, 222, 223

Phoebus, 173

Pollux, 23

Polybus, 168, 169, 180, 181, 182, 183

Polynices, 171, 188, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 207

Polyxena, 140

Poseidon, 27, 39, 40, 87, 88, 94, 189, 191, 254

Priam, 17, 18, 22, 24, 25, 29, 30, 32, 34, 35, 36, 109, 135, 137, 138, 280

Prometheus, 149, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 189

Pygmalion, 276, 277

Pylades, 118, 119, 130, 131, 258, 261, 263, 264, 267, 268

Rhodius, Apollonius, 228

Scylla, 72

Sichæus, 276, 277, 281, 282, 286

Sophocles, 102, 132, 133, 150, 163, 165, 166, 172, 186, 194, 206, 209, 210

Talthybius, 140, 142

Tantalus, 103, 123

Telemachus, 27, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 50, 51, 55, 56

Themis, 162

Theseus, 189, 190, 191, 243, 248, 253, 254

Thetis, 33, 41

Thoas, 259, 261, 267, 270, 271, 272

Tiresias, 69, 70, 170, 171, 174, 175, 178, 206

Tyndareus, 19, 20, 41

Typhon, 151

Tyro, 42

Venus, 276, 277, 278

Virgil, 9, 12, 273, 274

Zeus, 18, 24, 27, 32, 33, 41, 47, 49, 50, 54, 65, 73, 76, 77, 78, 79, 93, 94, 97, 98, 112, 126, 127, 128, 148, 149, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 160, 161, 167, 200, 226

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Changed ‘hales’ to ‘hails’ on p. 220. 2. Silently corrected typographical errors. 3. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

End of Project Gutenberg's Women of the Classics, by Mary C. Sturgeon