BIBLIOGRAPHY

My story being done,She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;She wished she had not heard it, yet she wishedThat heaven had made her such a man. She thanked me,And bade me if I had a friend that loved her,I should but teach him how to tell my story,And that would woo her.

By these same means, unwittingly has Æneas stirred the love in Dido's heart. She goes to her bed, but not to sleep. All night she tosses restlessly, picturing the hero's face and recalling his words; and in the morning, sick of soul, she pours her tears and cares into her sister Anna's bosom.

O sister, what dread visions of the night invadeMy troubled soul! What of this stranger lodged withinOur halls, how noble in his mien, how brave in heart,Of what puissant arms! From heav'n in truth his raceMust be derived, for fear betokens low-born souls.Alas, how tempest-tossed of fate was he! How toThe dregs the bitter cup of war's reverses hathHe drained! If in my soul the purpose were not fixedThat not to any suitor would I yield myselfIn wedlock, since the time when he who won my loveWas reft away, perchance I might have yielded now.For sister, I confess it, since my husband's fate,Since that sad day when by his blood my father's houseWas sprinkled, this of all men has my feelings moved.Again I feel the force of passion's sway. But no!May I be gulfed within earth's yawning depths; may JoveAlmighty hurl me with his thunders to the shades,The pallid shades of Erebus and night profound,Before, O constancy, I violate thy laws!He took my heart who first engaged my maiden love.Still may he keep his own, and in the silent tombPreserve my love inviolate.Miller.

Anna advises her sister to yield to this new love, and argues that policy as well as inclination is on her side. Such a union as this would strengthen her against her brother, and exalt the sway of Carthage to unhoped for glory.

And to what glory shalt thou see thy city rise,What strong, far-reaching sway upreared on such a tie!Assisted by the Trojan arms, our youthful stateUp to the very pinnacle of fame shall soar.Miller.

Thus advised, Dido gives herself up to passion's sway. Her city is forgotten, her queenly ambition gone. In hospitality, in feasting, and the dalliance of love the days go by. And seemingly Æneas, too, has forgotten his glorious destiny, his promised land of Italy, and is sunk in a languorous dream of present bliss.

But the fates of future Rome must not be thwarted. He is rudely awakened from his dream by Mercury, who at the command of Jove suddenly appears before him as he is engaged in urging on the walls and towers of Carthage.

And can it be that thou art building here the wallsOf Tyrian Carthage, and uprearing her fair towers,Thou dotard, of thy realm and thy great destinyForgetful! Jove himself, the ruler of the gods,Who holds the heavens and earth and moves them at his will,To thee from bright Olympus straight hath sent me here.He bade me bear on speeding pinions these commands:What dost thou here? or with what hopes dost thou delayUpon the Libyan shores? If thou, indeed, art movedBy no regard of thine own glorious destiny,Respect at least the budding hopes of him, thy son,Who after thee shall hold the scepter; for to himAre due the realms of Italy, the land of Rome.Miller.

Æneas is overwhelmed with astonishment and remorse. At once all his old ambitions regain their sway, and his mind is bent upon instant departure. He cries aloud:

O Jove, and I had near forgot my destiny,To oblivion lulled amid the sweets of this fair land!But now my heart's sole longing is for Italy,Which waits me by the promise of the fates. But howFrom this benumbing passion shall I free myself?How face the queen and put away her clinging love?[To his attendants.] "Go ye, and swiftly call the Trojans to theshore;Bid them equip the vessels quickly for the sea,And frame for this our sudden voyage some fitting cause."Miller.

But Dido has seen the hurrying Trojan mariners, and with her natural perceptions sharpened by suspicious fear, at once divines the meaning of this sudden stir. Maddened with the pangs of blighted love, she seeks Æneas and pours out her hot indignation mingled with pitiful pleadings.

And didst thou hope that thou couldst hide thy fell design,O faithless, and in silence steal away from thisMy land? Does not our love, and pledge of faith once given,Nor thought of Dido, doomed to die a cruel death,Detain thee? Can it be that under wintry skiesThou wouldest launch thy fleet and urge thy onward way'Mid stormy blasts across the sea, O cruel one?But what if not a stranger's land and unknown homesThou soughtest; what if Troy, thy city, still remained:Still wouldst thou fare to Troy along the wave-tossed sea?Is't I thou fleest? By these tears and thy right hand—Since in my depth of crushing woe I've nothing left—And by our marriage bond and sacred union joined,If ever aught of mercy I have earned of thee,If I have ever giv'n thee one sweet drop of joy,Have pity on my falling house, and change, I pray,Thy cruel purpose if there still is room for prayer.For thee the Libyan races hate me, and my lordsOf Tyre; for thee my latest scruple was o'ercome;My fame, by which I was ascending to the stars,My kingdom, fates,—all these have I giv'n up for thee.And thou, for whom dost thou abandon me, O guest?—Since from the name of husband this sole name remains.What wait I more? Is't till Pygmalion shall come,And lay my walls in ruins, or the desert prince,Iarbus, lead me captive home? O cruel fate!If only ere thou fledst some pledge had been conceivedOf thee, if round my halls some son of thine might sport,To bear thy name and bring thine image back to me,Then truly should I seem not utterly bereft.Miller.

Æneas is seemingly unmoved by this appeal. With the warnings of Jupiter still sounding in his ears, he dares not let his love answer a word to Dido's pleadings. And so he coldly answers her that he is but following the bidding of his fate, which is leading him to Italy, even as hers had led her to this land of Africa.

Dido has stood during this reply with averted face and scornful look, and now turns upon him in a passion of grief and rage. No pleadings now, but scornful denunciation and curses.

Thou art no son of Venus, nor was DardanusThe ancient founder of thy race, thou faithless one;But Caucasus with rough and flinty crags begot,And fierce Hyrcanian tigers suckled thee. For whyShould I restrain my speech, or greater evil wait?Did he one sympathetic sigh of sorrow heave?Did he one tear let fall, o'ermastered by my grief?Now neither Juno, mighty queen, nor father JoveImpartial sees; for faith is everywhere betrayed.That shipwrecked beggar in my folly did I takeAnd cause to sit upon my throne; I saved his fleet,His friends I rescued—Oh, the furies drive me mad!Now 'tis Apollo's dictate, now the Lycian lots,And now "the very messenger of heaven sent downBy Jove himself" to bring this mandate through the air!A fitting task is that for heaven's immortal lords!Such cares as these disturb their everlasting calm!I seek not to detain nor answer thee; sail onTo Italy, seek fated realms beyond the seas.For me, if pious prayers can aught avail, I prayThat thou amid the wrecking reefs mayst drain the cupOf retribution to the dregs and vainly callUpon the name of Dido. Distant though I be,With fury's torch will I pursue thee, and when deathShall free my spirit, will I haunt thee everywhere.O thou shalt meet thy punishment, perfidious one;My soul shall know, for such glad news would penetrateThe lowest depths of hell.Miller.

She works herself up to a frenzy, and as she finishes she turns to leave him with queenly scorn, staggers, and falls. The servants carry her from the scene, leaving Æneas in agony of soul, struggling between love and duty. Meanwhile the Trojan preparations go on with feverish haste. The ships are launched, hurried final preparations made, and all is now ready for departure. Dido sends her sister to Æneas with one last appeal, but all in vain. No tears or prayers can move him now.

The queen resolves on death. She has a huge pyre built within her palace court under the pretense of magic rites which shall free her from her unhappy love. The Trojans spend the night sleeping on their oars; the queen, in sleepless torment. As the dawn begins to brighten, the sailors are heard singing in the distance as they joyfully hoist their sails. Dido rushes to her window and beholds the fleet just putting out from shore. She cries aloud in impotent frenzy.

Ye gods! and shall he go and mock our royal power?Why not to arms, and send our forces in pursuit,And bid them hurry down the vessels from the shore?Ho there, my men, quick, fetch the torches, seize your arms,And man the oars!—What am I saying? where am I?What madness turns my brain? O most unhappy queen,Is it thus thy evil deeds are coming back to thee?Such fate was just when thou didst yield thy scepter up.—Lo,there'sthe fealty of him who, rumor says,His country's gods with him in all his wandering bears,And on his shoulders bore his sire from burning Troy!Why could I not have torn his body limb from limb,And strewed his members on the deep? and slain his friends,His son Aschanius, and served his mangled limbsTo grace his father's feast?—Such conflict might have hadA doubtful issue.—Grant it might, but whom had I,Foredoomed to death, to fear? I might have fired his camp,His ships, and wrapped in common ruin father, son,And all the race, and given myself to crown the doomOf all.—O Sun, who with thy shining rays dost seeAll mortal deeds; O Juno, who dost know and thusCanst judge the grievous cares of wedlock; thou whom wildAnd shrieking women worship through the dusky streets,O Hecate; and ye avenging Furies—ye,The gods of failing Dido, come and bend your powerTo these my woes and hear my prayer. If yonder wretchMust enter port and reach his land decreed by fate,If thus the laws of Jove ordain, this order holds;But, torn in war, a hardy people's foeman, farFrom friends and young Iulus' arms, may he be forcedTo seek a Grecian stranger's aid, and may he seeThe death of many whom he loves. And when at lastA meager peace on doubtful terms he has secured,May he no pleasure find in kingdom or in life;But may he fall untimely, and unburied lieUpon some solitary strand. This, this I pray,And with my latest breath this final wish proclaim.Then, O my Tyrians, with a bitter hate pursueThe whole accurséd race, and send this to my shadeAs welcome tribute. Let there be no amityBetween our peoples. Rise thou from my bones,O some avenger, who with deadly sword and brandShall scathe the Trojan exiles, now, in time to come,Whenever chance and strength shall favor. Be our shoresTo shores opposed, our waves to waves, and arms to arms,Eternal, deadly foes through all posterity.Miller.

With this prophetic curse, to be fulfilled centuries hence, on the bloody fields of the Trebia, Trasumenus, and of Cannæ, she snatches up Æneas' sword, rushes out of the room, and mounts the pyre which she has prepared. Here have been placed all the objects which her Trojan lover has left behind. Passionately kissing these and pressing them to her breast, she utters her last words.

Sweet pledges of my lord, while fate and god allowed,Accept this soul of mine, and free me from my cares.For I have lived and run the course that Fortune set;And now my stately soul to Hades shall descend.A noble city have I built; my husband's deathHave I avenged, and on my brother's head my wrathInflicted. Happy, ah too happy, had the keelsOf Troy ne'er touched my shores!—And shall I perish thus?—But let me perish. Thus, oh thus, 'tis sweet to seekThe land of shadows.—May the heartless Trojan see,As on he fares across the deep, my blazing pyre,And bear with him the gloomy omens of my death.Miller.

So saying, she falls upon the sword and perishes. The report of the queen's tragic death

runs wild through the convulsed city. With wailing and groaning, and screams of women, the palace rings; the sky resounds with mighty cries and beating of breasts—even as if the foe were to burst the gates and topple down Carthage or ancient Tyre, and the infuriate flame were leaping from roof to roof among the dwellings of men and gods.Conington.

Conington.

With the southern sky murky with the smoke and lurid with the glare of Dido's funeral pyre, Æneas sails away with sad forebodings, and comes again to Sicily. By chance this return to Sicily has fallen upon the anniversary of Anchises' death. Æneas therefore determines to hold a solemn festival in honor of his father, which he celebrates with the accustomed funeral games.

While these games are in progress, by the machinations of Juno, the Trojan women, weary of their long wanderings, attempt to burn the fleet. But the vessels are saved, with the loss of four, by the miraculous intervention of Jupiter. Æneas thereupon is advised by Nautes, a Trojan prince, to build a town here in Sicily, and to leave behind all those who have grown weak or out of sympathy with his great enterprise.

This advice is ratified by the shade of Anchises, who gives Æneas further direction for his way.

My son, more dear, while life remained,E'en than that life to me,My son, long exercised and trainedIn Ilium's destiny,My errand is from Jove the sire,Who saved your vessels from the fire,And sent at last from heaven aboveThe wished-for token of his love.Hear and obey the counsel sageBestowed by Nautes' reverend age:Picked youths, the bravest of the brave,Be these your comrades o'er the wave,For haughty are the tribes and rudeThat Latium has to be subdued.But ere you yet confront the foe,First seek the halls of Dis below,Pass deep Avernus' vale, and meetYour father in his own retreat.Not Tartarus' prison-house of crimeDetains me, nor the mournful shades:My home is in the Elysian clime,With righteous souls, 'mid happy glades.The virgin Sibyl with the goreOf sable sheep shall ope the door;Then shall you learn your future line,And what the walls the Fates assign.And now farewell: dew-sprinkled NightHas scaled Olympus' topmost height:I catch their panting breath from far,The steeds of morning's cruel star.Conington.

Moved by this vision, Æneas builds a town for the dispirited members of his band; and consigning these to King Acestes, sets his face once more toward Italy. This time, by Venus' aid, he reaches the Italian port of Cumæ, with no misadventure except the loss of his faithful pilot, Palinurus.

Once more on land, the Trojans joyfully scour the woods, seek out fresh springs of water, and collect fuel for their fires. Æneas, however, turns his steps to the temple of Apollo upon a neighboring height, and prays the guidance of the god upon his further way. But most of all it is upon the hero's heart to visit his father in the underworld according to the mandate of his father's shade in Sicily. At the advice of the Sibyl who presides over the temple of Apollo, Æneas performs the necessary rites preliminary to this journey, and entering the dread cave near Lake Avernus, they take their gloomy way below.

Obscure they went thro' dreary shades, that ledAlong the waste dominions of the dead.Thus wander travelers in wood by night,By the moon's doubtful and malignant light,When Jove in dusky clouds involves the skies,And the faint crescent shoots by fits before their eyes.Dryden.

They reach at last the gates of Hades, where hover the dreadful shapes of Cares, Disease and Death, Want, Famine, Toil and Strife. Through these they fare, and stand upon the sedgy bank of the river of death. They see approaching them across the stream the old boatman Charon, who in his frail skiff ferries souls across the water.

A sordid god: down from his hoary chinA length of beard descends, uncomb'd, unclean:His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;A girdle foul with grease binds his obscene attire.He spreads his canvas; with his pole he steers;The freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears.He looked in years; yet in his years were seenA youthful vigor, and autumnal green.Dryden.

The unsubstantial shades throng down to Charon's boat, where some are accepted for passage, and some rejected. Æneas in wonder turns to his guide for an explanation of this. She replies:

Son of Anchises! offspring of the gods!(The Sibyl said) you see the Stygian floods,The sacred streams, which heav'n's imperial stateAttests in oaths, and fears to violate.The ghosts rejected are th' unhappy crewDepriv'd of sepulchres and fun'ral due:The boatman, Charon: those, the buried host,He ferries over to the farther coast;Nor dares his transport vessel cross the wavesWith such whose bones are not compos'd in graves.A hundred years they wander on the shore;At length, their penance done, are wafted o'er.Dryden.

Æneas and his guide now present themselves for passage, but the old boatman refuses his boat to mortal bodies, until he is appeased by the Sibyl. Grim Cerberus, the three-headed dog who guards the farther bank of the stream and blocks their onward way, is next appeased. And on they go, past where the cries of wailing infants fill their ears; where Minos sits in judgment on the shades and assigns to each his place of punishment; past the abode of suicides, who rushed so rashly out of life, but now sigh vainly for the life which they threw away; past the Mourning Fields, dark groves where wander those who died of love. Here Æneas meets the shade of Dido, and learns what he had only feared before. With tears of love and pity he approaches and addresses her; but she, in indignant silence, turns away.

They reach the fields where souls of slain warriors dwell, still handling their shadowy arms and ghostly chariots. With empty, voiceless shouts the Trojan dead greet their hero, in wonder that he comes still living among them, while the Grecian shades flee gibbering away.

Still on the Sibyl leads her charge, and pausing before the horrid gates of Tartarus, the abode of lost souls, they listen to the dreadful sounds within, "the groans of ghosts, the pains of sounding lashes and of dragging chains." Standing before the gates, Æneas is told of the suffering which these must undergo whose souls, by reason of impious lives on earth, are past all reach of cure. What are the crimes that brought them here? What does Vergil regard as unpardonable sins?

They, who brothers' better claim disown,Expel their parents, and usurp the throne;Defraud their clients, and, to lucre sold,Sit brooding on unprofitable gold;Who dare not give, and e'en refuse to lend,To their poor kindred, or a wanting friend—Vast is the throng of these; nor less the trainOf lustful youths, for foul adult'ry slain—Hosts of deserters, who their honor sold,And basely broke their faith for bribes of gold;All these within the dungeon's depth remain,Despairing pardon, and expecting pain.To tyrants, others have their countries sold,Imposing foreign lords, for foreign gold;Some have old laws repeal'd, new statutes made,Not as the people pleas'd, but as they paid.With incest some their daughters' bed profan'd.All dar'd th' worst of ills, and what they dar'd, attain'd.Dryden.

As they turn away from this dread place, a tortured voice sounds after them:

Learn righteousness, and dread th' avenging deities.

Far off from here they reach the abode of the blessed—the Elysian Fields,

Where long extended plains of pleasure lay.The verdant fields with those of heav'n may vie,With ether vested, and a purple sky—The blissful seats of happy souls below:Stars of their own, and their own suns, they know.There airy limbs in sports they exercise,And on the green contend the wrestlers' prize.Some, in heroic verse, divinely sing;Others in artful measures lead the ring.Here patriots live, who, for their country's good,In fighting fields were prodigal of blood;Priests of unblemish'd lives here make abode,And poets worthy their inspiring god;And searching wits of more mechanic parts,Who grac'd their age with new-invented arts;Those who to worth their bounty did extend,And those who knew that bounty to commend.The heads of these, with holy fillets bound,And all their temples were with garlands crown'd.Dryden.

Seeking Anchises among these happy shades, the two are directed to a remote valley, where, beside the waters of Oblivion, old Anchises is passing in review the long train of his posterity, marshaled in the order of their birth into the world. When Anchises sees his son approaching, he cries out joyfully to him:

And are you come at last? Has love fulfilled a father's hopes and surmounted the perils of the way? Is it mine to look on your face, my son, and listen and reply as we talked of old? Yes; I was even thinking so in my own mind. I was reckoning that it would be, counting over the days. Nor has my longing played me false. Oh, the lands and the mighty seas from which you have come to my presence! the dangers, my son, that have tossed and smitten you! Oh, how I have feared lest you should come to harm in that realm of Libya!Conington.

Conington.

Then follows a revelation of the mysteries of transmigration of souls, the nature of soul essence, its purgation after years of contact with its old body, and its ages of preparation for another mortal habitation.

Anchises now calls his son's attention to his own posterity, standing in majestic review before him—noble shades, some of whom are destined to go to the upper world at once, and some to wait long centuries in the land of preëxistent souls. The mighty host of Roman worthies are marshaled here, who, as yet unknown, are to make the name of Rome known and feared or honored to the farthest bounds of earth. Here stalk the shadowy forms of kings, consuls, generals, and statesmen, who on earth shall be Romulus, Numa, and Tarquin; Brutus, Decius, Camillus, Cato, and the Gracchi; the Scipios, the Fabii; Cæsar and Pompey, and he whose brow shall be first to wear the imperial crown as ruler of the world—Augustus Cæsar.

And now Æneas, fortified for any hardships upon earth by these glorious visions of his posterity, turns his face back to the upper world.

There are two gates of Sleep: the one, as story tells, of horn, supplying a ready exit for true spirits; the other gleaming with the polish of dazzling ivory, but through it the powers below send false dreams to the world above. Thither Anchises, talking thus, conducts his son and the Sibyl, and dismisses them by the gate of ivory. Æneas traces his way to the fleet, and returns to his comrades; then sails along the shore for Caieta's haven. The anchor is cast from the prow; the keels are ranged on the beach.Conington.

Conington.

The Trojans sail up the coast, touch once more upon the land, skirt wide past Circe's realm of dreadful magic, and then they come to where a wide-mouthed river pours out into the sea.

The sea was just reddening in the dawn, and Aurora was shining down from heaven's height in saffron robe and rosy car, when all at once the winds were laid, and every breath sank in sudden sleep, and the oars pull slowly against the smooth unmoving wave. In the same moment Æneas, looking out from the sea, beholds a mighty forest. Among the trees Tiber, that beauteous river, with his gulfy rapids and the burden of his yellow sand, breaks into the main. Around and above, birds of all plumes, the constant tenants of bank and stream, were filling the air with their notes and flying among the woods. He bids his comrades turn aside and set their prows landward, and enters with joy the river's shadowed bed.Conington.

Conington.

Up this great stream they sail, and reach at last the spot which Fate has held in store for them. When that Italy which has so long eluded the grasp of the hero is actually reached, and he stands upon the fated ground to which prophecy and the visions of his eager fancy have long been pointing him, the poem is complete; and all that follows is another poem, actuated by another spirit. To this point Fate has led him, through the smoke of his burning city, through storms and shipwreck, and the unceasing opposition of adverse powers, and here she has finally rewarded his piety and unswerving faith in his destiny. The first six books of theÆneidpresent the hero as the all-enduring one, the last as the warrior king. The first six books are the story of hope and anticipation; the last, of attainment and realization.

The incidents of the last six books which constitute the second part of theÆneidmay be briefly told. King Latinus, who ruled over Latium, received the Trojan prince with kindness and promised him Lavinia for his wife, the king's only daughter and heiress of his crown. But Juno's spite still pursued the Trojans, and through her machinations the Latins and their allies were aroused against these foreigners. Especially was Italian Turnus roused, a mighty prince of the Rutuli, for he had long been suitor for Lavinia, and had won the favor of the Queen Amata to his cause.

And now all Italy is ablaze with sudden war. Against his allied foes Æneas secures the aid of the Greek Evander with his Arcadians, and of the Etruscan tribes. The plains of Troy are transferred to Italy. Again are heard the clashing of arms, the trumpet's blare, the snorting of horses, the heavy tread of marching feet, hoarse challenges to conflict, the hollow groans of the wounded and dying; the air is lit with the gleam of torches; the ground is red with streams of blood. Juno and Venus are active throughout, as of old in the Homeric story, each in the interest of her own favorite.

But Juno's implacable hate is no match for destiny. Æneas must triumph, for the fates have spoken it. The interest of the whole conflict centers in the rival heroes; and when these two, after endless slaughter, on both sides, of lesser men, meet at last in single conflict, there is no doubt, even in the Italian's own heart, that he is foredoomed. And when he falls, wounded by Æneas' spear and slain by his sword, the poem ends abruptly, for the story can contain no more.

With these words, fierce as flame, he plunged the steel into the breast that lay before him. That other's frame grows chill and motionless, and the soul, resenting its lot, flies groaningly to the shades.Conington.

Conington.

Roman Epic Poetry, as illustrated by Nævius (269-199 B. C.), "the first Roman who deserves to be called a poet,"Bellum Punicum; Ennius (239-169 B. C.), "the father of Roman literature," theAnnals; Vergil (70-19 B. C.), greatest of Roman poets, theÆneid.

1. What is known of the life of Nævius? 2. What is the nature of hisBellum Punicum? 3. What did Vergil owe to this poem? 4. Quote the epitaph of Nævius. 5. What is the significance of it? 6. What were the chief events in the life of Ennius? 7. What interesting bit of self-portraiture appears in hisAnnals? 8. Why does he deserve the title of "the father of Roman literature"? 9. What is the nature of theAnnals? 10. Why is the loss of the great body of this work so much to be regretted? 11. What progress did Latin literature make between the time of Ennius and that of Vergil? 12. How was Vergil fitted for his career both by nature and training? 13. Into what select circle was he privileged to enter? 14. What was the nature of theEclogues? 15. What of theGeorgics? 16. Why did theÆneidnever receive its finishing touches? 17. How was the poem saved from destruction? 18. What was Vergil's probable purpose in writing theÆneid? 19. Quote the lines which promise world dominion to the Romans. 20. What religious motive seems to guide Æneas? 21. How does Vergil's treatment of the gods compare with that of Ovid? 22. What in brief is the story of theÆneid? 23. What characteristic passages in the poem deal with the mystery of nature? 24. From what different sources does Æneas throughout the poem receive guidance as to his future home? 25. On what occasions do the gods interfere to influence the progress of events? 26. What characteristic customs of the times are portrayed in the poem? 27. What picture of life after death does the poem present? 28. What crimes does Vergil represent as unpardonable sins? 29. How does Vergil glorify Æneas in his descendants? 30. How many books of the poem are devoted to the wanderings of Æneas? 31. What in brief is the story of the remaining books?

Transcriber Notes:Punctuation corrected without note."+ +" indicates Greek transliteration.Pg 051, "his" changed to "has" (all that has passed)Pg 053, "Phromio" changed to "Phormio" (the shrewdness of Phormio)

Back to Index Next