Introduction.
a) Significance of Book IV. In his introduction to his revised translation of Book VI of the "Aeneid", (published on this blog on 10 January 2018), Sabidius made clear that Books IV and VI have drawn by far the main attention of readers both in Roman times and since. Although Book VI may justly be reckoned the greater of the two in terms of its overall literary and poetic quality, Book IV is unrivalled for its rhetorical force and emotional intensity, and Dido is perhaps unique in being the only character created by Latin verse to pass into world literature and music, in which she almost always receives sympathetic treatment.
b) The tragedy of Dido. Certainly the story of Dido is a tragic one, indeed, but the real source of her downfall and death is not so much her desertion by her lover, Aeneas, but her total inability to understand that her own personal feelings cannot override all other considerations. On the other hand, Aeneas, despite his genuine love for Dido, feels he has to prioritise his loyalty to the gods and his own destiny and that of his descendants.The depths of tragedy and emotion which Virgil exhibits in this book are unmatched in any other part of the "Aeneid" or, indeed, in any other piece of Latin literature. The extent of this tragedy is well expressed by R. Deryck Williams, in the notes to his edition of the "Aeneid", first published in 1972, who says of Dido: "She falls indeed from prosperity and success to utter disaster; the contrast between the capable, beautiful and wholly admirable queen in Book I and the terrifying personification of hatred and vengeance which she becomes in the second half of Book 4 is truly the stuff of the great Greek tragedies (one thinks especially of Euripides' Phaedra or Medea).'' Indeed, Virgil seeks to draw an analogy to Greek tragedy when he likens her being driven into a frenzy by the Furies as in the cases of Pentheus and Orestes (see ll. 469-473); and her threats to scatter Aeneas' limbs in the waves and to serve Ascanius' flesh to his father at dinner (see ll. 600-602) are reminiscent of Medea's murder of her brother Apsyrtus and of Atreus' serving up his son's flesh to Thyestes. Dido's manic fury and desire for vengeance stretching across the generations is portrayed by Virgil as the cause of the subsequent feud between Rome and Carthage, which was one of the keystones of Roman history, and it must have been fascinating for Romans to have imagined the background to that epic struggle as having arisen from such an agonising episode as Virgil recounts in Book IV of the "Aeneid".
c) Reasons for revision. Sabidius' reasons for undertaking a revision of Book IV are the same as in the case of Book VI (see section a. in his introduction to the revised version of Book VI). In fact Book IV was the first piece of classical literature translated and published on Sabidius' blog (see item published 20 January 2010). However, the actual changes made to the text in this, the revised version, from the original translation are not extensive, and the subdivisions of the text and the short annotated title of each section are retained, until the last section which has been divided. Sabidius' intention to seek to retain the structure of the Latin sentences as far as possible in the translation continues to be honoured in this revised version. However, the translation of any passage of Virgil is invariably a challenge; indeed, one is rarely completely satisfied with the words one has selected, and there is always a strong temptation to go back and seek to make changes here and there. At the back of this constant quest for improvement is the question of just what it is that Virgil is actually trying to say in a given piece. Here it is wise to remember T.E. Page's sage advice on the "Veil of Poesy" (see Sabidius' introduction to his revised translation of Book VI). Virgil does not always wish to be precise about the meaning of his words, and sometimes he leaves it to us, his readers, to reach our own conclusions.
d) Highlights. Such is the quality of Vigil's verse in Book IV that it is difficult to pinpoint many pieces as being especially outstanding. However T.E. Page in the introduction to his 1888 edition of Book VI picks out ll. 305-392, describing the final interview between Aeneas and Dido as a "masterpiece" of "invective, which for concentrated scorn, nervous force, and tragic grandeur, is almost unequalled." For his part, R. Deryck Williams, in his 1972 edition, finds ll. 584-629, which contains a soliloquy by Dido, when she sees the Trojan fleet sailing away, especially moving. Of this he writes: "The speech is perhaps the most perfect example in the Aeneid of Virgil's ability to use words and and metre to convey the tone and mood of an imagined situation at the highest possible point of intensity."
e) Quotations. Here the reader is referred to the item on this blog, entitled "Quotations from Virgil" (dated 8th October 2017), in which quotations are listed book by book. Six short quotations from the "Aeneid" Book IV are included. Of these, the best known, and one regularly quoted in succeeding centuries, is Mercury's dismissive view of the female sex: "Varium et mutabile semper femina." (A woman is ever fickle and changeable) (ll. 569-570). Sabidius doubts if even the messenger of the Gods would be permitted to speak, or have a statue, at any of today's universities.
Ll. 1-30. Queen Dido confesses her attraction to the Trojan prince Aeneas to her sister Anna, but vows to remain faithful to the memory of her first husband Sychaeus.
But the queen, now long since smitten with an intense longing, feeds the wound with her (life's) blood, and is consumed by a hidden fire. The man's great valour, and the great glory of his stock, come repeatedly to her mind; his features and his words stick in her pierced breast, and her longing does not grant gentle rest to her limbs.
The next (day's) Dawn was lighting up the earth with the lamp of Phoebus, and had dislodged the damp shadow from the sky, when, scarcely coherent, she addresses her sympathetic sister thus: "Sister Anna, what nightmares are disturbing and alarming me! Who (is) this stranger (who) enters our house (as) a guest? With what (distingished) looks he bears himself! What (courage) there is his valiant breast and armour! I really do believe, nor is my belief unfounded, that his stock is from the gods: fear exposes unheroic spirits. Alas, by what fates he was tossed about! What wars, (so) long endured, he was recounting! If it were not set fixed and immovable in my mind that I do not wish to join myself to anyone in the bonds of matrimony, since my first love disappointed (me) and cheated me by his death, if I had not become (so) weary of the bridal-chamber and the marriage-torch, I could perhaps have yielded to this one temptation, For I will admit (it), Anna, after the death of my poor husband Sychaeus, and after our household gods had been bespattered by the slaughter of a brother (i.e. Sychaeus had been killed by Dido's brother Pygmalion), he alone has moved my feelings, and caused my heart to waver. I recognise the vestiges of an old flame. But I would sooner pray that the lowest depths of the earth would gape open (to receive) me, or that the Almighty Father should blast me with a thunderbolt to the shadows, the pale shadows of Erebus (i.e. the Underworld) and its bottomless night, before, (O) conscience, I betray you or break your laws. That man, who first joined me to himself (in matrimony), has stolen away (all) my love; may he keep it with him and guard (it) in his grave!" Having thus spoken, she filled her bosom with the tears (that had) welled up (to choke her).
Ll. 31-55. Anna advises Dido to take a positive view of her feelings for Aeneas.
Anna replies: "O (you, who is) more dear to your sister than the light (of life), are you going to waste away in loneliness and grief throughout your youth, and will you never have experienced either sweet children or the rewards of love? Do you (really) think that ashes or shades, (once they have been) buried, care about this? Be that as it may, no (would-be) husbands have consoled you in your grief before now, not in Libya, nor, before (that), in Tyre; Iarbas has been scorned, and the other chiefs, whom the African soil, rich in triumphs, rears; will you even fight a love (that is) welcome (to you)? And does it not enter your mind in whose lands you have settled? On one side, the cities of the Gaetuli, a people unsurpassed in warfare, and the unbridled Numidians, and the inhospitable Syrtis surround (you); on the other side, there is a region deserted through drought, and the people of Barce are running around madly far and wide. Why should I mention the wars arising from Tyre and the threats of your brother ... ? I certainly think that with the gods (as) guides, and with Juno (being) on our side, the ships of Ilium held this course through the wind. (O) sister, what a city, what a realm you will see arising here from such a union as this! With the arms of the Teucrians accompanying them, with what grand achievements shall Punic glory exalt itself! May you only ask the favour of the gods, and, (when) you have performed the (necessary) sacrifices, indulge your guest, and string together reasons for delaying (him), while winter and a rainy Orion rage violently at sea, and his ships are still damaged, (and) while the weather (is so) forbidding." By saying these words, she inflamed the (queen's) burning breast with love, and gave hope to her doubting mind, and set her conscience free.
Ll. 56-89. Dido, disregarding everything else, gives way to her passionate love for Aeneas.
Firstly, they go to the shrines, and seek divine approval at every altar: they sacrifice sheep, chosen in accordance with custom (i.e. those which have grown only two adult teeth), to law-bringing Ceres, and to Phoebus, and to father Lyaeus (i.e. Bacchus), and, above all, to Juno, to whom the marriage-bond (is) a (matter of) duty. Dido, herself, peerless in her beauty, holding the cup in her right(-hand), pours wine into the middle of (the space) between the horns of a white heifer, or she walks in state before the faces of the gods (i.e. before their images) to the richly-laden altars, and she renews (each) day with gifts, and, staring into the breasts of the cattle (which have been) opened up, she examines their quivering entrails. Alas, the unknowing minds of seers! How do prayers, how (do) temples, help a (woman who is) out of her mind? Meanwhile, a flame eats into the soft marrow of her bones, and a silent wound flourishes (deep) within her breast. The unhappy Dido is aflame, and wanders all over the city in a frenzy, just like a hind, struck by an arrow, whom a shepherd, harrying (her) with his darts, has shot from afar, (as she wanders) heedlessly among the Cretan woods, and he abandons the flying steel (because he is) unaware (that she has been hit). She roams the wooded mountain-country of (Mount) Dicte in her flight; (but) the deadly shaft sticks in her side. At one moment, she takes Aeneas with her through the heart of the fortified city, and displays the wealth of Sidon and the city (she has been) building; she begins to speak, but stops in mid-sentence; at another moment, as the day is waning, she seeks that same gathering (i.e. the one in Books II and III, when Aeneas was describing the Trojans' travels), and, obsessed (as she is), she yearns to hear again of the toils of Ilium. Afterwards, when they have parted, and, in turn, the fading moon dims her light and the falling stars urge sleep, she grieves alone in her empty house, and clings to the couch (which he has) left: she, being lost, both sees and hears (him) in his absence, or she holds Ascanius in her lap, entranced by his likeness to his father, in the hope that she might be able to disguise her unspeakable love. The towers (which she has) begun no longer rise; her young men no longer exercise their weapons, nor (do her people) prepare harbours or ramparts (as) safeguards in war; the works, both the huge menacing walls and the crane, raised sky-high, hang suspended.
Ll. 90-104. Juno, apparently pitying Dido, proposes to Venus that there should be a marriage-alliance between the Trojans and the Carthaginians.
As soon as Jupiter's dear wife, the daughter of Saturn (i.e. Juno), realised that she (i.e. Dido) was gripped by so fatal a passion, and that (concern for) her reputation was no obstacle to her madness, she accosted Venus with the following words: "Outstanding indeed (is) the glory and ample the spoils (which) you are winning, both you and your boy (i.e. Cupid), (and) a great and memorable name (too), if a single woman has been overcome by the trickery of two gods. Nor has it at all escaped my (notice) that you, in fear of our fortifications, have held the buildings of lofty Carthage under suspicion. But what will be the end (of all this)? Or what is the object of such rivalry now? Why do we not arrange instead an everlasting peace and an agreed marriage? You (now) have what you have sought with your whole heart: Dido burns with love, and has drawn her madness (in) through (all) her bones. So, let us rule their people jointly and with shared authority; let her be permitted to be a slave to a Phrygian (i.e. Trojan) husband, and to commit her Tyrians to your right(-hand) (i.e. Aeneas) as her dowry."
Ll. 105-128. Venus, although she sees through Juno's scheme to divert the power of the Trojans to Carthage, agrees to the marriage proposal, subject to Jupiter's approval; Juno then instructs Venus as to how the marriage will be brought about.
Venus - for she perceived that (she) (i.e. Juno) had spoken with a pretended purpose, so that she could divert the kingdom of Italy to Libyan shores - began (to speak) thus in reply: "Who (could be so) foolish as to reject such (an offer), or prefer to contend with you in war, if only a happy outcome would follow the plan which you relate? But I am tossed around by the fates, uncertain whether Jupiter wishes there to be one city for the Tyrians and for those who set out from Troy, or whether he would approve of the peoples being combined together or of treaties being joined (between them). You (are) his wife; (it is right) for you to test his mind by your prayers. Go on; I shall follow." Then, royal Juno answered thus: "This task of yours will (rest) with me. Now, pay attention, (and) I shall explain in a few (words) how what is confronting us can be accomplished. Aeneas and the desperately love-sick Dido are preparing to go hunting together in the forest, when tomorrow's Titan (i.e. the Sun) effects his early rising and reveals the world with his rays. Then, while troops (of hunters) are scurrying about and enclosing the glades with a ring of nets, I shall pour down (on them) from above a black rain-cloud mixed with hail, and I shall rouse the whole of the sky with thunder. Their companions will scatter and will be concealed by the gloom of night: Dido and the Trojan leader will come to the same cave. I shall be there, and, if I can be assured of your good will (in this), I shall join (them) in lasting wedlock, and I shall assign (her to him as) his own. This will be their wedding." Not opposing her request, the Cytherean (goddess) (i.e. Venus) nodded in assent, and smiled at the guile (she had) detected.
Ll. 129-159. Aeneas and Dido take part in the hunt, in which Ascanius excels.
Meanwhile, Dawn arises and leaves the Ocean. When the sunlight has burst forth, a chosen (band of) young men issues from the gates. (They have) wide-meshed nets, (and) traps, (and) hunting-spears with broad iron (heads), and Massylian horsemen and a keen-scented pack of hounds rush forth. At the threshold (of the palace), the chiefs of the Carthaginians await the queen, (who is) lingering in her bridal-chamber, and, resplendent in purple and gold, stands her steed, and proudly he champs at his foaming bit. At last, with her great entourage thronging around (her), she comes forth, wearing a Sidonian riding-cloak with an embroidered hem: and her quiver is (made) of gold, her hair is gathered into a golden (clasp), and a golden brooch fastens her purple tunic. In addition, her Phrygian attendants and Iulus (i.e. Ascanius) come forward too in great excitement. Aeneas, himself, the most handsome of all the others, comes forward (as) her companion and unites the two troops. (It is) just like when Apollo quits Lycia (i.e. he had a shrine at Patara), and the streams of the Xanthus, in winter, and visits his mother's Delos and renews the dances, and, mingled together around the altars, the Cretans and the Dryopes and the tattoed Agathyrsians cheer: he, himself, treads the slopes of (Mount) Cynthus, and, shaping his flowing hair, he binds (it) with soft foliage, and holds (it) in place with a gold (diadem); his arrows rattle on his shoulders: no more slowly than he proceeded Aeneas, (and) as much beauty shines forth from his noble face. When they come into the high mountains and the pathless haunts (of wild animals), behold, the wild goats, dislodged from the top of a crag, come running down the slopes; from another direction, stags traverse the open plain at speed, and dusty herds mass together in flight and leave the mountains. But in the midst of the valleys the boy Ascanius delights in his lively horse, and he outstrips now these, now those, at a gallop, and, amid (all) these helpless flocks, he longs for a foaming boar to be offered (in response) to his prayers, or for a tawny lion to descend from the mountain.
Ll. 160-172. The storm breaks: Aeneas and Dido, sheltering in the same cave, consummate their marriage.
Meanwhile, the sky begins to be set in tumult by a great noise; a rain-cloud, mixed together with hail, follows on. Both her Tyrian companions and the Trojan youth, and Venus' Dardanian grandson (i.e. Ascanius), in their panic, sought different (kinds of) shelter in all directions across the fields: rivers rush down from the mountains. Dido and the Trojan leader come to the same cave. Earth and the bride-escorting Juno give the signal first: lightning flashed and the sky (was) a witness to the marriage, and the Nymphs howled from the mountain-tops. That day was the main cause of her ruin and the main (cause) of (all) her misfortunes. For she is no longer bothered by appearances or by (concern for) her reputation; nor does Dido any longer think of her love as a secret (one): she calls (it) a marriage: by this name she conceals her guilt.
Ll. 173-197. The monster, Rumour, spreads the news of the so-called marriage throughout Libya.
At once, Rumour goes through the great cities of Libya, Rumour, compared with which no other evil (is) swifter. She thrives on (speed of) movement, and acquires strength by going (along); small at the beginning of an alarm, she soon lifts herself up into the air, and (as) she walks along the ground, she hides her head among the clouds. Her mother, Earth, provoked by her anger against the gods, bore her, so they say, as a last (child), a sister to Coeus and Enceladus, quick with her feet and her nimble wing, a monster, horrible and huge, who has as many feathers on her body, as - wondrous to tell - she has watchful eyes beneath (her), and she has as many tongues, just as she has as many mouths (that) sound and as many ears (that) prick up. By night, she flies, shrieking, through the gloom in between heaven and earth, and she does not droop her eyelids in swift sleep. By day, she settles down to keep watch, either on the roof of the highest house or on lofty towers, and she alarms great cities (by being) as tenacious of falsehood and wrong as (she is) a reporter of the truth. Then, she happily filled peoples full of manifold (pieces of) gossip, and recounted fact and fiction equally: that Aeneas had arrived, (one) originating from Trojan blood, to whom as a husband the lovely Dido deigns to join herself; now, they are keeping the winter warm, however long (it lasts), in dalliance together, forgetful of their kingdoms, and captivated by shameful lust. The goddess spreads around these foul (ideas) indiscriminately on to the lips of men. Forthwith, she bends her course to king Iarbas, and inflames his mind with her words and fuels his wrath.
Ll. 198-218. Iarbas complains about Dido's conduct to his father, Jupiter.
This (man), a son of Ammon after he had ravished a Garamantian nymph, had built for Jupiter a hundred huge and fearful temples and a hundred altars to Jupiter throughout his broad realm, and had consecrated the undying flame, the eternal watch-fires of the gods; and the ground (was) rich with the (sacrificial) blood of flocks, and the doorways (were) blooming with various garlands. Now he, distraught in mind and inflamed by the bitter rumour, is said, to have prayed devoutly to Jupiter with outstretched hands (as) a suppliant, before the the altars, in the midst of the sacred presences of the gods: "Almighty Jupiter, to whom the Moorish nation, feasting on embroidered couches now pours a Lenaean (N.B. Lenaeus was the god of the wine-press) (libation in) your honour, do you see this? Or do we shudder vainly at you, Father, when you hurl your thunderbolts, and do those aimless fires in the clouds terrify our minds, and do those meaningless noises confound (us)? That woman, who, (while) wandering within my borders, established a small city for a price, (and) to whom we granted (a stretch of) the shore to cultivate, and to whom we gave laws for the place, has rejected my (offer of) marriage, and has accepted Aeneas (as) lord in her realm. And now that (second) Paris, with his eunuch retinue, with his Maeonian (i.e. Phrygian or Lydian) cap tied under his chin, and his hair dripping (with perfume) is master of this stolen (property). (As for me), I am bringing (what are) evidently (pointless) offerings to your temples, and I am cherishing your empty reputation."
Ll. 219-237. Jupiter orders Mercury to find Aeneas and remind him of his Italian destiny.
As he prayed with such words, while gripping the altar, the Almighty heard (him), and twisted his eyes towards the royal city and the lovers, (who were) forgetful of their better reputation. Then, he addresses Mercury thus, and commands the following (things): "Come now, be off with you, my son, summon the West Winds and glide (down swiftly) on your wings, and speak to the Dardanian leader who is now waiting around in Tyrian Carthage, not thinking about the cities granted (to him) by his destiny, and take my words (to him) through the swift winds. His most beautiful mother did not promise me such (a man as) this, but (she did promise) - and on account of this she twice rescued him from the arms of the Greeks - that he would be (the sort of man) who would rule Italy, pregnant with empire and seething with war, (and) would bequeath a lineage from the high blood of Teucer, and would bring the whole world under (the rule of) law. If the glory of such great things does not enthuse (him) at all, and he does not take up the task on behalf of his own reputation, does Ascanius' own father begrudge (him) the heights of Rome? What does he plan (to do)? Or with what hope does he linger amidst a hostile tribe and not regard (as important) his Ausonian (i.e. Italian) offspring and the Lavinian fields? Let him sail! That is the sum total (of it); let this be my message!"
Ll. 238-278. Mercury finds Aeneas superintending the building of Carthage; he delivers Jupiter's message and then departs.
He finished speaking. He (i.e. Mercury) prepared to obey the command of his mighty father: and, firstly, he fastens to his feet his golden sandals, which carry him aloft on their wings above both land and sea, as fast as a blast of wind. Then, he takes up his wand; with this he summons up pale souls from Orcus (i.e. the Underworld), (while) he sends others down to grim Tartarus (i.e. the deepest part of the Underworld); it gives sleep and takes (it) away, and it opens up men's eyes in death. Relying upon this, he drives the winds, and floats through the turbulent clouds. And now, as he flies, he sees the summit and the steep sides of the long-enduring Atlas, who supports the sky upon his head, of the Atlas, whose pine-covered head, unceasingly enclosed by black clouds, is battered by wind and rain alike; the snow falls on his shoulders and covers (them): then, rivers fall headlong from the old man's chin, and his shaggy beard is stiff with ice. Here the (god) from Cyllene (n.b. Mount Cyllene in Arcadia was Mercury's birthplace), supported on balanced wings, first came to rest; from here he threw himself headlong towards the waves, (using) the whole (weight of) his body, like a bird that flies low close to the sea along the shore around rocks full of fish. Just so did the offspring of (Mount) Cyllene, coming from his maternal grandfather (i.e. Atlas), fly between earth and sky to Libya's sandy shore, and cleave the winds. As soon as he reached the huts (on the outskirts of the city) on his winged feet, he sees Aeneas laying the foundations of the citadel and constructing new buildings: and he had a sword studded with yellow jasper, and, hanging from his shoulder, was a cloak aglow with Tyrian purple, which the wealthy Dido had made (for him as) a gift, and she had interwoven its cloth with a fine gold (thread). He challenged (him) at once: "So now, are you laying the foundations of lofty Carthage, and, in thrall to your wife, are you building up a fine city (indeed), forgetful, alas, of your kingdom and your own destiny? The ruler of the gods, himself, who turns heaven and earth by his divine power, sends me down (to you) from bright Olympus; he, himself, orders (me) to bring these commands through the swift winds. What are you planning? And in the hope of what are you squandering these idle (hours) in the lands of Libya? If the glory of so great a destiny does not inspire you in any way, and you, yourself, do not undertake this task on behalf of your own reputation, spare a thought for Ascanius, as he grows up, and for the hopes of your heir Iulus, to whom the kingdom of Italy and the land of Rome are due." With such a voice the (god) from Cyllene) (i.e. Mercury) spoke, and, in the midst of his speech, he left the vision of men and vanished out of their sight far away into the thin air.
Ll. 279-295. Horror-struck at this vision and the message from the gods, Aeneas determines to sail for Italy at once.
But in truth, Aeneas, aghast at this vision, was struck dumb, and his hair stood on end with horror, and his voice stuck in his throat. He was burning (with desire) to depart in flight and to leave this pleasant land, (as he had been) thunder-struck by so great a warning and command from the gods. Alas, what can he do? With what form of words should he now venture to conciliate the infatuated queen? What opening words should he first employ? And he casts his thoughts in quick succession, now hither, now thither, and pushes (them) in various directions and turns over all (possibilities). (To him) as he wavered, this policy seemed preferable: he summons Mnestheus and Sergestus, and the brave Serestus: let them fit out the fleet in silence, and muster his companions on the shore; let them prepare their ships' tackle, but let them conceal what the reason is for their plan being changed. Meanwhile, since gracious Dido would know nothing (of this), and would not expect that such great loves could be shattered, (he said that) he, himself, would try out an approach, both what (would be) the most harmless occasion for speaking (to her), and what (would be) the right way to (handle) matters. All (of his men) very quickly obey his commands with joy, and they carry out his instructions.
Ll. 296-330. Dido taunts Aeneas for his faithlessness and treachery, but begs him not to desert her.
But the queen - (for) who can deceive a lover? - had a premonition, and was the first to discover their coming movements, being anxious (even when) all (seemed) safe. That same wicked rumour, that the fleet was being fitted out and the voyage was being prepared for, came (to her) in her passionate (state). Out of her mind, she rages, and, incensed, she rushes wildly through the whole of the city, like a Thyiad (i.e. a Maenad or a Bacchante), aroused when the sacred emblems (of the god) are shaken, (and) when, hearing (the cry of) Bacchus, the triennial revels goad (her) on, and (Mount) Cithaeron summons her by night with its clamour. At last, of her own accord, she accosts Aeneas with these words: "Traitor, did you really expect that you could conceal so great a crime, and withdraw from my country in silence? Does neither our love, nor the pledge once given by you, nor Dido, about to die of a cruel death, detain you? Indeed, are you really striving (to rig out) your fleet in this wintry season, and are you hurrying in (so) heartless a fashion to sail out over the deep (sea) in the midst of the North Winds? Why? Even if you were not seeking other people's fields and unknown homes, and old Troy were still standing, would Troy be sought by your fleet over (such a) stormy sea? (Is it) me you are fleeing from? I (entreat) you by these tears, and (by) your own right(-hand) - since I myself have nothing else left to me now, wretched (as I am) - , by our marriage, (and) by the nuptial rites (which we have just) undertaken, that, if I have (ever) deserved well of you in anything, or, if anything at all of me was (ever) sweet to you, have pity on my collapsing home, and I implore (you), if (there is) still some room for my prayers, discard that plan of yours! Because of you, the Libyan peoples and the kings of the Numidians hate (me), (and (even) my Tyrians (are) hostile. Because of you, also, my modesty and my former reputation, by which alone I was reaching to the stars, (have been) blotted out. To what are you abandoning me, on the verge of death (as I am), (O) guest, since this (is) the only name (that is) left to me from (that) of husband? What am I waiting for? Until my brother Pygmalion pulls down my walls, or Gaetulian Iarbas takes (me) captive? At least, if some child of yours had been born to me before your flight, if some tiny Aeneas were playing in my courtyard, whose looks, in spite of everything, would remind (me) of you, I should not feel myself (so) utterly betrayed and abandoned."
Ll. 331-361. In his reply, Aeneas acknowledges his deep gratitude to Dido, but he indicates that he never intended to remain in Carthage, and that, indeed, the gods have commanded him to set sail for Italy.
She finished speaking. Because of Jupiter's warning words, he kept his eyes steady, and, with a great effort, mastered the anguish in the depths of his heart. At last, he replies in a few words: "I shall never deny, (O) Queen, that you have deserved (of me) all those many (things) which you can list in speech, nor shall I (ever) regret my memories of Elissa (i.e. Dido), while I am mindful of myself and while my breath governs these limbs (of mine). I shall say a few words in accordance with the facts. I did not expect to conceal this departure by stealth - do not imagine (that) - nor have I ever held out the torch of wedlock or entered into a contract such as that. If the Fates were allowing me to lead my life in accordance with my own auspices, and to settle my concerns of my own accord, I would first be tending the the city of Troy and the dear remnants of my people; the lofty palace of Priam would (still) be standing, and I would have built by hand a renewed Pergama (i.e. the citadel of Troy), defeated (though we were). But, as things are, (it is) the great (land of) Italy (that) Grynean Apollo, (n.b. there was a grove and temple sacred to Apollo in Gryneum in Aeolis in Asia Minor), (it is) Italy that the Lycian oracles (i.e. those of Patara in Lycia) have ordered me to seize. This is my love, this is my fatherland. If the towers of Carthage, and the sight of a city in Libya detains you, a Phoenician, what, I pray, are your grounds for begrudging the Teucrians (the privilege) of settling in the land of Ausonia (i.e. Italy)? We, too, (have) the right to look for a foreign kingdom. As often as night veils the earth with damp shadows, as often as the fiery stars arise, the troubled ghost of my father Anchises warns and alarms (me) in my sleep. My boy Ascanius, and the wrongs (I have done) to (so) dear a person, (disturb) me (too), (he,) whom I am cheating of his kingdom in Hesperia (i.e. Italy) and the lands (which are his) by destiny. Now, even the messenger of the gods (has been) sent by Jupiter himself - I swear (to it) on both our lives - and has brought down his commands through the swift winds; I, myself, have seen the god in the clear light (of day), entering these walls, and I have drunk in his voice with these ears. Do stop inflaming both me and you by your complaints. I am not pursuing Italy of my own will."
Ll. 362-392. Dido replies with a passionate reproach.
All the time he is saying these (things), she looks (at him) askance, darting her eyes this way and that, and she scans (him) up and down with expressionless eyes, and, in her passion, she bursts out thus: "Traitor, your mother (is) not divine, nor (was) Dardanus the founder of your race, but the rough Caucasus begot you on its hard rocks and Hyrcanian tigresses gave you suck. For why should I hide my feelings (now)? Or for what greater (insults) should I hold myself in readiness? He didn't sigh at my weeping, (did he)? Did he (even) move his eyes? He didn't shed the tears of (one) overcome (by grief), or show pity for the (woman) that loves (him), (did he)? What shall I put before what? Neither mighty Juno at one moment, nor our father, the son of Saturn (i.e. Jupiter), at another, can view these things with favourable eyes. Nowhere (is) good faith secure. Cast up on my shore, (and) destitute, I welcomed (him), and, in my madness, I gave him a share of my kingdom. I rescued his lost fleet and his companions from death. Alas, I am driven by the Furies, on fire (with rage)! And now the prophet Apollo, now the Lycian oracles, and now the messenger of the gods, sent by Jupiter, himself, brings these dread commands through the air. Doubtless, this is work for the gods, (and) this (is) the concern (which) disturbs (them) at their rest. I do not hold you (back), nor do I refute your words. Go, search for Italy in the winds; look for your kingdom over the waves. (But,) for my part, I hope that, if the righteous spirits have any power, (you) will drain (the cup of) retribution to the dregs in the midst of the rocks, and that you will call repeatedly on the name of Dido (as you drown). (Though) far away, I shall follow you with black fires, and, when cold death severs my body from my spirit, I shall be there with you (as) a shade in every place. You will pay the penalty, (you) villain! I shall hear (of it), and this news will reach me in the depths of the world of the dead." With these words she breaks off in the middle of her speech, and, in her anguish she flees the light of day, and she turns away and removes herself from his sight, leaving him hesitating through fear to say much, and (also) preparing (to say) much. Her maids take (her) up, and carry her fainting limbs to her marble bed-chamber and lay (her) on her bed.
Ll. 393-407. Although he is deeply grieved, Aeneas continues the preparations for departure.
But pious Aeneas, although he longs to soothe (her) as she grieves by consoling (her) and to avert her anxieties by his words, (and, while) he groans frequently and is shaken in spirit by his great love (for her), yet he carries out the commands of the gods and returns to his ships. Then, indeed, the Teucrians are hard at work and launch their ships all along the shore. The greased keel is set afloat; and they bring oars with leaves (still on them) and unfashioned timber from the woods in their eagerness for the journey. You could see (them) moving and rushing from every part of the city; and (it was happening) just as ants plunder a huge heap of corn-meal, and, mindful of winter, store (it) in their nest: a dark column goes over the plain, and they convey their spoil through the grass by a narrow track; some push large grains of corn with their shoulders with a great effort, others marshal the column and chastise stragglers; the whole path seethes with activity.
Ll. 408-436. Overcome by her love, Dido begs her sister to ask Aeneas at least to delay his departure.
What then were your feelings, Dido, when you notice such (things), and what groans did you keep on uttering, when you looked out from the top of your citadel and saw the shore aglow far and wide, and the whole sea stirred up before your eyes by so much hubbub? O relentless love, what do you not compel the human heart (to undergo)? Once more she is forced to burst into tears, once more (she is forced) to test (him) by entreaty, and humbly subordinate her pride to her love, lest she should leave anything untried and be about to die unnecessarily. "Anna, you see that there is a hastening (of activity) all over the beach; they have gathered around (there) from all directions; already their canvas invites the breezes, and the sailors have been placing garlands joyfully on their sterns. If I could have anticipated this terrible grief, I would even have been able to endure (it), sister. But Anna, do perform this one (service) for me in my misery; for that traitor cultivated you alone; he even entrusted to you his secret feelings, (and) only you knew the right time for soft approaches towards that man. Go (to him), sister, and humbly address our haughty foe: (it was) not I (who) conspired with the Danaans at Aulis to wipe out the Trojan race, or send a fleet to Pergama: nor did I disturb the ashes or the shade of his father Anchises; why does he refuse to admit my words into his pitiless ears? For what (reason) is he going to his doom? May he give his poor lover this final gift: let him await an easy flight and favouring winds. I am no longer begging for our former marriage, which he has betrayed, nor that he should forgo his precious Latium and abandon his kingdom: I am (just) seeking some leisure time, a respite and a reprieve for my anguish, until my destiny can teach me, vanquished (as I am), (how) to grieve. This last favour I crave - have pity on your sister! When he grants it, I shall repay (it) with interest on my death."
Ll. 437-449. Aeneas refuses to be moved from his purpose.
She besought (her) with such (words), and such (are) the tearful (messages from Dido which) her most unhappy sister bears and bears again. But he is not moved by any weeping, nor does he listen sympathetically to any words; his destiny stands in the way, and a god blocks the man's kindly ears. (It is) just as when the North Winds off the Alps, with blasts now here, now there, vie together to uproot an oak-tree, sturdy with the strength of years, there comes a crack, and the trunk quivers violently and leaves from on high strew the ground; (the tree,) itself, clings to the rocks, and with its crown it stretches as far up to the winds of heaven, as it stretches far down towards Tartarus with its roots. In the same way, the hero was buffeted on this side and on that side by unceasing appeals, and feels deeply the agony in his noble heart; (yet,) his mind remains unmoved; the tears fall in vain.
Ll. 450-473. Dido begins to plan her own death.
Then, indeed, unhappy Dido, appalled by her fate, prays for death; it sickens (her) to gaze at the vaults of heaven. In order that she may carry out her plan, and relinquish the light (of life), when she placed gifts on the incense-burning altars, she saw - horrible to relate - the sacred water turn black, and the wine, (when) poured, change into loathsome gore. This (was) seen by no one else, (and) she did not even tell her sister (about it). Moreover, there was in her palace a shrine to her former husband, (made) of marble, which she venerated with remarkable honour and wreathed with snow-white fleeces and festal foliage. From here, when dark night covered the earth, voices and the words of her husband (i.e. Sychaeus) calling (her) seemed to be heard: and a lonely owl often used to lament from the roof-tops in a funereal dirge and to draw out its long notes into a wail; and, besides, many prophecies of ancient seers horrify her by their terrible foreboding. In her sleep, a wild Aeneas, himself, harries (her) in her frenzy, and it seems that always she is left alone by herself, always travelling (down) a long road without any companions, and searching for her Tyrians in a desolate land. Like (her), a deranged Pentheus sees a band of the Eumenides (i.e. the Furies), and two suns and two (cities of) Thebes show themselves, or Agamemnon's son, Orestes, (is) hunted over the stage as he flees from his mother (i.e. Clytemnestra), (who is) armed with torches and black snakes, while the avenging Dirae (i.e. the Furies) are sitting on the threshold.
Ll. 474-503. Dido persuades Anna to construct a pyre, on which to burn the belongings of Aeneas, and, thus, to release her from her passion for him.
So, when, overcome by grief, she contracted madness and resolved to die, she works out on her own the (exact) time and manner, but, in her expression she conceals her plan and lights up her brow with hope, (while) she addressed her sorrowful sister thus: "Sister, I have found a way - rejoice with your sister! - to bring him back to me or to set me free from him as a lover. Close to the border of the Ocean, and the setting sun, is the most distant (land of all), the region of the Ethiopians, where mighty Atlas turns on his shoulders the vault (of heaven), studded with blazing stars. (Coming from) here a priestess of the Massylian people has been shown to me, (who is) the guardian of the sacred precinct of the Hesperides (i.e. the Daughters of Evening) and the rich food which she used to give to the dragon, and she guarded the sacred branches on the tree, sprinkling honey-dew and soporific poppy-seed. She promises that, by her spells, she will free the hearts of whomever she wishes (from suffering), but will let loose cruel love-pangs upon others, (and she undertakes) to stay the (flow of) water in streams and to turn back the stars; and she summons the spirits of the dead by night; you will perceive the earth to rumble under your feet and ash-trees to come down from the mountains. I call the gods and you, dear sister, and your own sweet person, to witness that I resort to the magic arts reluctantly. Do you erect in secret a pyre in the interior of my palace (which is) open to the sky, and may you lay upon (it) the arms of a husband, which that wicked (man) has left hanging in my bed-chamber, and all his remaining (belongings), and the marriage-bed, by which I have been destroyed: I wish to wipe out all reminders of that abominable man, and the priestess so commands." But Anna does not understand that her sister was disguising her funeral by these strange rites, nor does she realise that the passion in her mind was so intense, or fear anything more serious than (what had happened) on the death of Sychaeus. So she prepares what she has been asked (to do).
Ll. 504-521. Once the pyre has been raised, the priestess invokes the gods, and Dido makes a dying appeal.
But the queen, when the pyre, prodigious with pine-torches and hewn holm-oak, has been built, open to the sky in the innermost part of the palace, festoons the place with garlands and wreathes (it) with funereal foliage; above (it all) she lays on a couch his remaining possessions, and the sword (which he has) left behind and an image (of him), (even though she is) very well aware of what was to come. Altars are standing (all) around (it), and the priestess, with dishevelled hair, thunders from her mouth (the names of) three hundred gods, and Erebus (i.e. the dark Underworld) and Chaos (i.e. the Emptiness before the world began) and the triple Hecate (i.e. the goddess of witchcraft), the three faces of the virgin Diana (i.e. the goddess of hunting, the moon and chastity). She had also sprinkled waters (which she) pretended (had come) from the spring of Avernus (i.e. at the entrance to the Underworld), and herbs are sought which have been cut with bronze sickles by moonlight, and bursting with the milk of black poison; sought too is the love(-charm) (n.b. it is usually called a 'hippomanes'), ripped from the brow of a foal (before it could be) snatched by his mother. She, herself, standing close to the altar, with one foot freed from its bindings, and in loosened clothing, calls upon the gods and the stars (that are) conscious of destiny to witness that she is going to die; then, if (there is) a divine power, both just and mindful, which has as a duty lovers in a compact not equally (observed), she prays (to it).
Ll. 522-553. Night comes, but Dido cannot sleep; in her restless state, she sees death as the only course open to her.
It was night, and across the earth weary creatures were enjoying peaceful sleep, and the woods and wild seas had sunk to rest, and (it was the hour) when the stars revolve in the midst of their gliding (course), and when all the land is still, (and) beasts and colourful birds, both (those) that haunt the watery lakes far and wide, and (those) that dwell in the rough thickets of the countryside, (were) settled in sleep in the silence of the night; they soothed their cares, and their hearts (were) forgetful of their labours. But the heartbroken Phoenissa (i.e. Dido) (does) not (fall silent), nor does she ever relax in sleep, or receive the (gift of) night in her eyes or in her heart: her torment redoubles, and her passion, swelling up again and again, rages and surges in a great tide of wrath. Indeed, she persists in this way, and thus she communes with herself within her heart: "Well then, what can I do? Shall I try my former suitors again, (only) to be mocked (by them), and shall I humbly seek marriages with the Numidians, although I have already so often scorned (them as) husbands? So, shall I follow the fleet of Ilium and every last command of the Teucrians? (For what reason?) Shall I do it because (they are) thankful that (they have been) relieved by my previous assistance, and (because) their gratitude for my former deed stands firm in their memories? But who - supposing I did wish it - would let me (do so), or welcome (me,) the (woman) they hate, aboard their proud ships? Alas, ruined (as you are), do you not know, and do you not yet understand the treacheries of the race of Laomedon? What (shall I do) now? Shall I accompany those exultant sailors into exile on my own? Or shall I set off after (them), surrounded by the Tyrians and the whole band of my (supporters), and shall I force on to the open sea once more those whom I could scarcely tear away from the city of Sidon, and shall I order them to set their sails to the wind? But no, you must die, as you have deserved (to do), and put an end to your grief with the sword. (But) you, my sister, overcome by my tears, you were the first to load me, distraught (as I was,) with these ills, and to expose me to the enemy. I was not permitted to pass my life free of marriage, (and) guiltless, like a wild creature, and not to know such agonies (of love) as these! I have not kept the vows (which I) promised to Sychaeus' ashes." She let such lamentations burst from her breast.
Ll. 554-583. Aeneas is warned by Mercury in a dream to set sail at once, lest his ships be attacked by Dido.
Aeneas, now fixed on going, and now that things had been duly made ready, was enjoying some sleep on his lofty stern. The figure of the god, coming again with the same aspect, presented itself to him in his sleep, and, seeming like Mercury in all (respects), both in voice and complexion, and in his golden hair and comely limbs of youth, admonished (him) again thus: "Son of the goddess, (how) can you prolong your sleep at this (time of) crisis? And, (you) the madman (that you are), do you not see the dangers which stand all around you from now onward, and do you not hear the favourable West Winds blowing? That (woman), (now that she is) determined to die, is revolving stratagems and dreadful crimes in her mind, and she is stirring up (in her heart) the shifting flood-tides of her wrath. Are you not flying from here in haste, while the ability (to do so) can (still) hurry (you) away? Soon you will see the sea disturbed by her ships and lethal firebrands flaring, and then the shore ablaze with flames, if the Dawn finds you (still) lingering in these lands. So come, and put an end to delay! A woman (is) ever fickle and changeable." Having thus spoken, he blended with the darkness of night. Then, indeed, Aeneas, alarmed by the sudden apparition, hastily raises his body from sleep, and rouses his companions: "Quick, men, awake, and man the thwarts; speedily, unfurl your sails! A god, (who has been) sent from heaven above - look (at him) again! - is urging us to hasten our flight and cut our twisted cables. We follow you, O blessed (one) of the gods, whoever you are, and we gladly obey your command once more. Oh, may you be with (us), and may you graciously help us, and may you place favourable stars in the sky." He spoke, and he draws his flashing sword from its scabbard and strikes the hawsers with his unsheathed blade. The same enthusiasm possesses (them) all simultaneously: and they hurry and rush around; they have abandoned the shore; the sea lies hidden beneath their ships; bending (to it), they churn the foam and sweep the blue (waters).
Ll. 584-629. As she watches Aeneas and his fleet depart, Dido laments afresh, and invokes a solemn curse upon the Trojans, which leads to future enmity between their descendants and her Carthaginian descendants.
And now early Dawn, leaving the saffron(-coloured) bed of Tithonus, was sprinkling the earth with fresh daylight. As soon as the queen saw from her watch-towers the daylight grow white and the fleet sailing off with squared sails, and realised that the shore and harbours were devoid of oarsmen, she struck her lovely breast three or four times with her hand, and, tearing her golden hair, she says, "Oh, Jupiter, shall this intruder go and (be permitted to) make (such) a mockery of my realm? Will not (one group of my subjects) get their weapons ready and pursue (him) from all over the city, and will not others hastily drag out our ships from the dockyards? Go on, bring flames quickly, set sail, ply the oars! (But) what am I saying? Or where am I? What madness shifts my purpose? Unhappy Dido, does (the realisation of) your impious deeds come home to you (only) now? The proper time for that was when you gave (him a share) in your power. So this is the honour and good faith (of the man), who, they say, had carried (around with him) his father's household gods, (and) who had borne on his shoulders his father, worn out with age! Could I not have seized hold of (him), and torn his body asunder and scattered (his limbs) in the waves? Could I not have put his companions, and (even) Ascanius, himself, to the sword, and (then) served him up as a suitable feast at his father's table. But the outcome of the battle would have been in doubt. Let it have been (whatever it would have been)! Since I was going to die (in any case), whom did I have to fear? I might have carried firebrands into his camp; I might have filled his decks with flames, I might have extinguished both father and son together with their whole race, and indeed I might have flung my very self on top (of them). O Sun, (you) who illuminates all of the earth with your rays, and you, Juno, (who is) the mediator and witness of these sufferings of mine, and (you,) Hecate, (whose name) is shrieked every night at crossroads throughout the cities, and (you), the avenging Furies, and (you,) the gods of dying Elissa (i.e. Dido), listen to these (my) words, and direct your divine power, (which I have) earned, to my wrongs, and hear my prayers. (Even) if it is required for that vile being to reach harbour and to sail into land, and the fates of Jupiter are demanding this, and this goal remains fixed; still, (when he has been) harassed in war by the arms of a bold people, exiled from his territory, (and) torn from the embrace of Iulus, let him beg for help, and let him see the shameful deaths of his own (men); nor, when he has submitted himself to the terms of an unjust treaty, may he enjoy his kingship or the life he longed for, but let him fall before his time, and lie unburied in the middle of a strand. These (things) I pray for! I pour out this last utterance with my (life's) blood. Then, do you, O my Tyrians, pursue his lineage and all his future descendants with hatred, and offer this last service to my ashes. Let there be no affection or treaties between our peoples! May you, some avenger (i.e. Hannibal), arise from my bones to pursue the Dardanian settlers with both fire and sword, now (and) in the future, and at whatever time our strength will allow (it). I pray for our shores to be opposed to their shores, our waves to their waves, our arms to their arms! May they have war, both themselves and their descendants!"
Ll. 630-662. Dido mounts the funeral-pyre, and stabs herself with Aeneas' sword.
She says these (words) and began to turn her mind in all directions, seeking to put an end, as soon as possible, to the life (she) loathed. Then, she spoke briefly to Sychaeus' nurse, Barce, for the black ash (of the pyre) encompassed her own (nurse) in her former homeland: "My dear nurse, fetch hither my sister Anna; tell (her) to make haste to sprinkle her body with river-water, and bring with her the beasts for sacrifice as ordained (by the priestess). Thus may she come, and you, yourself, should veil your brows with a sacred fillet. It is my intention to perform the sacred rites to Stygian Jupiter, which I have duly prepared and begun, and to put an end to my sufferings, and to commit the pyre of that Dardanian man to the flames." So she says. The other, with the zeal of an old woman, quickened her step. But Dido, fearful and frantic at the enormity of her design, rolling her bloodshot eyes, and with her trembling cheeks flecked with (red) blotches, and pale at her imminent death, bursts through the inner door of the palace, and, in a wild state, climbs the lofty pyre and draws the Dardanian sword, a gift not sought for a use such as this. At this point, when she caught sight of the Ilian garb and the familiar bed, she lingered for a while in tearful reflection, and she lay down on the bed and spoke these last words: "Relics, sweet while the fates and the gods allowed (it), receive this spirit and release me from these sorrows. I have lived (my life) and I have finished the course which fortune had allotted (to me); and now my stately ghost will pass beneath the earth. I have founded a famous city; I have seen my city-walls; avenging my husband, I have exacted due punishment on a hostile brother. Happy, alas too happy, if only the Dardanian keels had never touched my shores!" She spoke, and pressing her face into the couch, she says, "I shall die unavenged, but let me die. So, in this manner, I wish to go down among the shades. May that pitiless Dardan (i.e. Aeneas) drink to the full this fire from the deep with his eyes, and may he bear with him the (evil) omen of my death."
Ll. 663-692. Anna laments over the body of her sister, whom she finds dying on the top of the pyre.
She finished speaking: and in the midst of these (words) her attendants see her falling on to the blade, and the sword foaming with her blood, and her hands bespattered (with it). Their cry goes up to the top of the (palace) halls; Rumour runs wildly through the city. The roofs resound with lamentations and groaning, and with women shrieking. (It was) just as if the whole of Carthage or of ancient Tyre were falling to an invading enemy (n.b. Just this was to happen both to Carthage in 146 B.C. when it was captured and destroyed by the Romans under Scipio Aemilianus, and also to Tyre in 332 B.C. when it was sacked by Alexander the Great), and flames were rolling wildly over the roofs of men and over (those) of the gods. Distraught, her sister heard, and, in her terror, she rushes in a frantic course through the middle (of the crowd), marring her face with her finger-nails and her breasts with her fists, and she calls upon the dying (woman) by name: "Was this that (thing which you spoke of), sister? (Was it) me you were aiming at with your trick? (Was) this, pray, that pyre of yours, (was) this the fires and the altars (which) they were preparing? Having been abandoned, what shall I complain about first? (When) dying, did you scorn your sister (as) a companion? You should have summoned me to the same fate: the same agonising sword stroke and the same moment should have taken (us) both. Did I actually form (this pyre) with these hands, and did I call upon our ancestral gods with my voice, in order, (O you) heartless (one), that, when you were lying thus, I should be (so) far away? Sister, you have destroyed yourself and me, and the people, and the senators of Sidon, and your city. Grant (that) I may wash these wounds with water, and (that), if any last breath (still) strays above (her), let me catch (it) with my lips." Speaking thus, she had (already) climbed the topmost steps, and, clasping her sister, (who was still) just breathing, she caressed her with a sob, and tried to staunch the dark (flow of) blood with her dress. She, trying to raise her heavy eyes in response, fails (to do so); the deep-set wound hisses within her breast. Three times she raised herself, and lifted (herself) up, supported by her elbow: three times she rolled back on to the couch, and with wandering eyes she sought the daylight in the heavens above, and let out a groan when she found (it).
Ll. 693-705. Iris is sent by Juno to release Dido from her final agony.
Then, all powerful Juno, pitying her long anguish and her difficult death, sent Iris down from Olympus to release her struggling spirit and her fettered limbs. For, since she was dying neither by destiny nor by a death (which she) deserved, but miserably, before her time, and inflamed by a sudden passion, Proserpine has not yet taken away from her the golden (lock of) hair on her head, and thus condemned her soul to Stygian Orcus. So, Iris, wet with dew, flies down through the sky on her saffron(-coloured) wings, trailing a thousand shifting tints athwart the sun, and hovered over her head. "(As I have been) commanded, I take this (as) an offering to Dis (i.e. Pluto), and I release you from that body of yours." So she speaks, and cuts the (lock of) hair with her right(-hand). Then, at one and the same moment, all her warmth slipped away, and her life passed into the winds.
a) Significance of Book IV. In his introduction to his revised translation of Book VI of the "Aeneid", (published on this blog on 10 January 2018), Sabidius made clear that Books IV and VI have drawn by far the main attention of readers both in Roman times and since. Although Book VI may justly be reckoned the greater of the two in terms of its overall literary and poetic quality, Book IV is unrivalled for its rhetorical force and emotional intensity, and Dido is perhaps unique in being the only character created by Latin verse to pass into world literature and music, in which she almost always receives sympathetic treatment.
b) The tragedy of Dido. Certainly the story of Dido is a tragic one, indeed, but the real source of her downfall and death is not so much her desertion by her lover, Aeneas, but her total inability to understand that her own personal feelings cannot override all other considerations. On the other hand, Aeneas, despite his genuine love for Dido, feels he has to prioritise his loyalty to the gods and his own destiny and that of his descendants.The depths of tragedy and emotion which Virgil exhibits in this book are unmatched in any other part of the "Aeneid" or, indeed, in any other piece of Latin literature. The extent of this tragedy is well expressed by R. Deryck Williams, in the notes to his edition of the "Aeneid", first published in 1972, who says of Dido: "She falls indeed from prosperity and success to utter disaster; the contrast between the capable, beautiful and wholly admirable queen in Book I and the terrifying personification of hatred and vengeance which she becomes in the second half of Book 4 is truly the stuff of the great Greek tragedies (one thinks especially of Euripides' Phaedra or Medea).'' Indeed, Virgil seeks to draw an analogy to Greek tragedy when he likens her being driven into a frenzy by the Furies as in the cases of Pentheus and Orestes (see ll. 469-473); and her threats to scatter Aeneas' limbs in the waves and to serve Ascanius' flesh to his father at dinner (see ll. 600-602) are reminiscent of Medea's murder of her brother Apsyrtus and of Atreus' serving up his son's flesh to Thyestes. Dido's manic fury and desire for vengeance stretching across the generations is portrayed by Virgil as the cause of the subsequent feud between Rome and Carthage, which was one of the keystones of Roman history, and it must have been fascinating for Romans to have imagined the background to that epic struggle as having arisen from such an agonising episode as Virgil recounts in Book IV of the "Aeneid".
c) Reasons for revision. Sabidius' reasons for undertaking a revision of Book IV are the same as in the case of Book VI (see section a. in his introduction to the revised version of Book VI). In fact Book IV was the first piece of classical literature translated and published on Sabidius' blog (see item published 20 January 2010). However, the actual changes made to the text in this, the revised version, from the original translation are not extensive, and the subdivisions of the text and the short annotated title of each section are retained, until the last section which has been divided. Sabidius' intention to seek to retain the structure of the Latin sentences as far as possible in the translation continues to be honoured in this revised version. However, the translation of any passage of Virgil is invariably a challenge; indeed, one is rarely completely satisfied with the words one has selected, and there is always a strong temptation to go back and seek to make changes here and there. At the back of this constant quest for improvement is the question of just what it is that Virgil is actually trying to say in a given piece. Here it is wise to remember T.E. Page's sage advice on the "Veil of Poesy" (see Sabidius' introduction to his revised translation of Book VI). Virgil does not always wish to be precise about the meaning of his words, and sometimes he leaves it to us, his readers, to reach our own conclusions.
d) Highlights. Such is the quality of Vigil's verse in Book IV that it is difficult to pinpoint many pieces as being especially outstanding. However T.E. Page in the introduction to his 1888 edition of Book VI picks out ll. 305-392, describing the final interview between Aeneas and Dido as a "masterpiece" of "invective, which for concentrated scorn, nervous force, and tragic grandeur, is almost unequalled." For his part, R. Deryck Williams, in his 1972 edition, finds ll. 584-629, which contains a soliloquy by Dido, when she sees the Trojan fleet sailing away, especially moving. Of this he writes: "The speech is perhaps the most perfect example in the Aeneid of Virgil's ability to use words and and metre to convey the tone and mood of an imagined situation at the highest possible point of intensity."
e) Quotations. Here the reader is referred to the item on this blog, entitled "Quotations from Virgil" (dated 8th October 2017), in which quotations are listed book by book. Six short quotations from the "Aeneid" Book IV are included. Of these, the best known, and one regularly quoted in succeeding centuries, is Mercury's dismissive view of the female sex: "Varium et mutabile semper femina." (A woman is ever fickle and changeable) (ll. 569-570). Sabidius doubts if even the messenger of the Gods would be permitted to speak, or have a statue, at any of today's universities.
Ll. 1-30. Queen Dido confesses her attraction to the Trojan prince Aeneas to her sister Anna, but vows to remain faithful to the memory of her first husband Sychaeus.
But the queen, now long since smitten with an intense longing, feeds the wound with her (life's) blood, and is consumed by a hidden fire. The man's great valour, and the great glory of his stock, come repeatedly to her mind; his features and his words stick in her pierced breast, and her longing does not grant gentle rest to her limbs.
The next (day's) Dawn was lighting up the earth with the lamp of Phoebus, and had dislodged the damp shadow from the sky, when, scarcely coherent, she addresses her sympathetic sister thus: "Sister Anna, what nightmares are disturbing and alarming me! Who (is) this stranger (who) enters our house (as) a guest? With what (distingished) looks he bears himself! What (courage) there is his valiant breast and armour! I really do believe, nor is my belief unfounded, that his stock is from the gods: fear exposes unheroic spirits. Alas, by what fates he was tossed about! What wars, (so) long endured, he was recounting! If it were not set fixed and immovable in my mind that I do not wish to join myself to anyone in the bonds of matrimony, since my first love disappointed (me) and cheated me by his death, if I had not become (so) weary of the bridal-chamber and the marriage-torch, I could perhaps have yielded to this one temptation, For I will admit (it), Anna, after the death of my poor husband Sychaeus, and after our household gods had been bespattered by the slaughter of a brother (i.e. Sychaeus had been killed by Dido's brother Pygmalion), he alone has moved my feelings, and caused my heart to waver. I recognise the vestiges of an old flame. But I would sooner pray that the lowest depths of the earth would gape open (to receive) me, or that the Almighty Father should blast me with a thunderbolt to the shadows, the pale shadows of Erebus (i.e. the Underworld) and its bottomless night, before, (O) conscience, I betray you or break your laws. That man, who first joined me to himself (in matrimony), has stolen away (all) my love; may he keep it with him and guard (it) in his grave!" Having thus spoken, she filled her bosom with the tears (that had) welled up (to choke her).
Ll. 31-55. Anna advises Dido to take a positive view of her feelings for Aeneas.
Anna replies: "O (you, who is) more dear to your sister than the light (of life), are you going to waste away in loneliness and grief throughout your youth, and will you never have experienced either sweet children or the rewards of love? Do you (really) think that ashes or shades, (once they have been) buried, care about this? Be that as it may, no (would-be) husbands have consoled you in your grief before now, not in Libya, nor, before (that), in Tyre; Iarbas has been scorned, and the other chiefs, whom the African soil, rich in triumphs, rears; will you even fight a love (that is) welcome (to you)? And does it not enter your mind in whose lands you have settled? On one side, the cities of the Gaetuli, a people unsurpassed in warfare, and the unbridled Numidians, and the inhospitable Syrtis surround (you); on the other side, there is a region deserted through drought, and the people of Barce are running around madly far and wide. Why should I mention the wars arising from Tyre and the threats of your brother ... ? I certainly think that with the gods (as) guides, and with Juno (being) on our side, the ships of Ilium held this course through the wind. (O) sister, what a city, what a realm you will see arising here from such a union as this! With the arms of the Teucrians accompanying them, with what grand achievements shall Punic glory exalt itself! May you only ask the favour of the gods, and, (when) you have performed the (necessary) sacrifices, indulge your guest, and string together reasons for delaying (him), while winter and a rainy Orion rage violently at sea, and his ships are still damaged, (and) while the weather (is so) forbidding." By saying these words, she inflamed the (queen's) burning breast with love, and gave hope to her doubting mind, and set her conscience free.
Ll. 56-89. Dido, disregarding everything else, gives way to her passionate love for Aeneas.
Firstly, they go to the shrines, and seek divine approval at every altar: they sacrifice sheep, chosen in accordance with custom (i.e. those which have grown only two adult teeth), to law-bringing Ceres, and to Phoebus, and to father Lyaeus (i.e. Bacchus), and, above all, to Juno, to whom the marriage-bond (is) a (matter of) duty. Dido, herself, peerless in her beauty, holding the cup in her right(-hand), pours wine into the middle of (the space) between the horns of a white heifer, or she walks in state before the faces of the gods (i.e. before their images) to the richly-laden altars, and she renews (each) day with gifts, and, staring into the breasts of the cattle (which have been) opened up, she examines their quivering entrails. Alas, the unknowing minds of seers! How do prayers, how (do) temples, help a (woman who is) out of her mind? Meanwhile, a flame eats into the soft marrow of her bones, and a silent wound flourishes (deep) within her breast. The unhappy Dido is aflame, and wanders all over the city in a frenzy, just like a hind, struck by an arrow, whom a shepherd, harrying (her) with his darts, has shot from afar, (as she wanders) heedlessly among the Cretan woods, and he abandons the flying steel (because he is) unaware (that she has been hit). She roams the wooded mountain-country of (Mount) Dicte in her flight; (but) the deadly shaft sticks in her side. At one moment, she takes Aeneas with her through the heart of the fortified city, and displays the wealth of Sidon and the city (she has been) building; she begins to speak, but stops in mid-sentence; at another moment, as the day is waning, she seeks that same gathering (i.e. the one in Books II and III, when Aeneas was describing the Trojans' travels), and, obsessed (as she is), she yearns to hear again of the toils of Ilium. Afterwards, when they have parted, and, in turn, the fading moon dims her light and the falling stars urge sleep, she grieves alone in her empty house, and clings to the couch (which he has) left: she, being lost, both sees and hears (him) in his absence, or she holds Ascanius in her lap, entranced by his likeness to his father, in the hope that she might be able to disguise her unspeakable love. The towers (which she has) begun no longer rise; her young men no longer exercise their weapons, nor (do her people) prepare harbours or ramparts (as) safeguards in war; the works, both the huge menacing walls and the crane, raised sky-high, hang suspended.
Ll. 90-104. Juno, apparently pitying Dido, proposes to Venus that there should be a marriage-alliance between the Trojans and the Carthaginians.
As soon as Jupiter's dear wife, the daughter of Saturn (i.e. Juno), realised that she (i.e. Dido) was gripped by so fatal a passion, and that (concern for) her reputation was no obstacle to her madness, she accosted Venus with the following words: "Outstanding indeed (is) the glory and ample the spoils (which) you are winning, both you and your boy (i.e. Cupid), (and) a great and memorable name (too), if a single woman has been overcome by the trickery of two gods. Nor has it at all escaped my (notice) that you, in fear of our fortifications, have held the buildings of lofty Carthage under suspicion. But what will be the end (of all this)? Or what is the object of such rivalry now? Why do we not arrange instead an everlasting peace and an agreed marriage? You (now) have what you have sought with your whole heart: Dido burns with love, and has drawn her madness (in) through (all) her bones. So, let us rule their people jointly and with shared authority; let her be permitted to be a slave to a Phrygian (i.e. Trojan) husband, and to commit her Tyrians to your right(-hand) (i.e. Aeneas) as her dowry."
Ll. 105-128. Venus, although she sees through Juno's scheme to divert the power of the Trojans to Carthage, agrees to the marriage proposal, subject to Jupiter's approval; Juno then instructs Venus as to how the marriage will be brought about.
Venus - for she perceived that (she) (i.e. Juno) had spoken with a pretended purpose, so that she could divert the kingdom of Italy to Libyan shores - began (to speak) thus in reply: "Who (could be so) foolish as to reject such (an offer), or prefer to contend with you in war, if only a happy outcome would follow the plan which you relate? But I am tossed around by the fates, uncertain whether Jupiter wishes there to be one city for the Tyrians and for those who set out from Troy, or whether he would approve of the peoples being combined together or of treaties being joined (between them). You (are) his wife; (it is right) for you to test his mind by your prayers. Go on; I shall follow." Then, royal Juno answered thus: "This task of yours will (rest) with me. Now, pay attention, (and) I shall explain in a few (words) how what is confronting us can be accomplished. Aeneas and the desperately love-sick Dido are preparing to go hunting together in the forest, when tomorrow's Titan (i.e. the Sun) effects his early rising and reveals the world with his rays. Then, while troops (of hunters) are scurrying about and enclosing the glades with a ring of nets, I shall pour down (on them) from above a black rain-cloud mixed with hail, and I shall rouse the whole of the sky with thunder. Their companions will scatter and will be concealed by the gloom of night: Dido and the Trojan leader will come to the same cave. I shall be there, and, if I can be assured of your good will (in this), I shall join (them) in lasting wedlock, and I shall assign (her to him as) his own. This will be their wedding." Not opposing her request, the Cytherean (goddess) (i.e. Venus) nodded in assent, and smiled at the guile (she had) detected.
Ll. 129-159. Aeneas and Dido take part in the hunt, in which Ascanius excels.
Meanwhile, Dawn arises and leaves the Ocean. When the sunlight has burst forth, a chosen (band of) young men issues from the gates. (They have) wide-meshed nets, (and) traps, (and) hunting-spears with broad iron (heads), and Massylian horsemen and a keen-scented pack of hounds rush forth. At the threshold (of the palace), the chiefs of the Carthaginians await the queen, (who is) lingering in her bridal-chamber, and, resplendent in purple and gold, stands her steed, and proudly he champs at his foaming bit. At last, with her great entourage thronging around (her), she comes forth, wearing a Sidonian riding-cloak with an embroidered hem: and her quiver is (made) of gold, her hair is gathered into a golden (clasp), and a golden brooch fastens her purple tunic. In addition, her Phrygian attendants and Iulus (i.e. Ascanius) come forward too in great excitement. Aeneas, himself, the most handsome of all the others, comes forward (as) her companion and unites the two troops. (It is) just like when Apollo quits Lycia (i.e. he had a shrine at Patara), and the streams of the Xanthus, in winter, and visits his mother's Delos and renews the dances, and, mingled together around the altars, the Cretans and the Dryopes and the tattoed Agathyrsians cheer: he, himself, treads the slopes of (Mount) Cynthus, and, shaping his flowing hair, he binds (it) with soft foliage, and holds (it) in place with a gold (diadem); his arrows rattle on his shoulders: no more slowly than he proceeded Aeneas, (and) as much beauty shines forth from his noble face. When they come into the high mountains and the pathless haunts (of wild animals), behold, the wild goats, dislodged from the top of a crag, come running down the slopes; from another direction, stags traverse the open plain at speed, and dusty herds mass together in flight and leave the mountains. But in the midst of the valleys the boy Ascanius delights in his lively horse, and he outstrips now these, now those, at a gallop, and, amid (all) these helpless flocks, he longs for a foaming boar to be offered (in response) to his prayers, or for a tawny lion to descend from the mountain.
Ll. 160-172. The storm breaks: Aeneas and Dido, sheltering in the same cave, consummate their marriage.
Meanwhile, the sky begins to be set in tumult by a great noise; a rain-cloud, mixed together with hail, follows on. Both her Tyrian companions and the Trojan youth, and Venus' Dardanian grandson (i.e. Ascanius), in their panic, sought different (kinds of) shelter in all directions across the fields: rivers rush down from the mountains. Dido and the Trojan leader come to the same cave. Earth and the bride-escorting Juno give the signal first: lightning flashed and the sky (was) a witness to the marriage, and the Nymphs howled from the mountain-tops. That day was the main cause of her ruin and the main (cause) of (all) her misfortunes. For she is no longer bothered by appearances or by (concern for) her reputation; nor does Dido any longer think of her love as a secret (one): she calls (it) a marriage: by this name she conceals her guilt.
Ll. 173-197. The monster, Rumour, spreads the news of the so-called marriage throughout Libya.
At once, Rumour goes through the great cities of Libya, Rumour, compared with which no other evil (is) swifter. She thrives on (speed of) movement, and acquires strength by going (along); small at the beginning of an alarm, she soon lifts herself up into the air, and (as) she walks along the ground, she hides her head among the clouds. Her mother, Earth, provoked by her anger against the gods, bore her, so they say, as a last (child), a sister to Coeus and Enceladus, quick with her feet and her nimble wing, a monster, horrible and huge, who has as many feathers on her body, as - wondrous to tell - she has watchful eyes beneath (her), and she has as many tongues, just as she has as many mouths (that) sound and as many ears (that) prick up. By night, she flies, shrieking, through the gloom in between heaven and earth, and she does not droop her eyelids in swift sleep. By day, she settles down to keep watch, either on the roof of the highest house or on lofty towers, and she alarms great cities (by being) as tenacious of falsehood and wrong as (she is) a reporter of the truth. Then, she happily filled peoples full of manifold (pieces of) gossip, and recounted fact and fiction equally: that Aeneas had arrived, (one) originating from Trojan blood, to whom as a husband the lovely Dido deigns to join herself; now, they are keeping the winter warm, however long (it lasts), in dalliance together, forgetful of their kingdoms, and captivated by shameful lust. The goddess spreads around these foul (ideas) indiscriminately on to the lips of men. Forthwith, she bends her course to king Iarbas, and inflames his mind with her words and fuels his wrath.
Ll. 198-218. Iarbas complains about Dido's conduct to his father, Jupiter.
This (man), a son of Ammon after he had ravished a Garamantian nymph, had built for Jupiter a hundred huge and fearful temples and a hundred altars to Jupiter throughout his broad realm, and had consecrated the undying flame, the eternal watch-fires of the gods; and the ground (was) rich with the (sacrificial) blood of flocks, and the doorways (were) blooming with various garlands. Now he, distraught in mind and inflamed by the bitter rumour, is said, to have prayed devoutly to Jupiter with outstretched hands (as) a suppliant, before the the altars, in the midst of the sacred presences of the gods: "Almighty Jupiter, to whom the Moorish nation, feasting on embroidered couches now pours a Lenaean (N.B. Lenaeus was the god of the wine-press) (libation in) your honour, do you see this? Or do we shudder vainly at you, Father, when you hurl your thunderbolts, and do those aimless fires in the clouds terrify our minds, and do those meaningless noises confound (us)? That woman, who, (while) wandering within my borders, established a small city for a price, (and) to whom we granted (a stretch of) the shore to cultivate, and to whom we gave laws for the place, has rejected my (offer of) marriage, and has accepted Aeneas (as) lord in her realm. And now that (second) Paris, with his eunuch retinue, with his Maeonian (i.e. Phrygian or Lydian) cap tied under his chin, and his hair dripping (with perfume) is master of this stolen (property). (As for me), I am bringing (what are) evidently (pointless) offerings to your temples, and I am cherishing your empty reputation."
Ll. 219-237. Jupiter orders Mercury to find Aeneas and remind him of his Italian destiny.
As he prayed with such words, while gripping the altar, the Almighty heard (him), and twisted his eyes towards the royal city and the lovers, (who were) forgetful of their better reputation. Then, he addresses Mercury thus, and commands the following (things): "Come now, be off with you, my son, summon the West Winds and glide (down swiftly) on your wings, and speak to the Dardanian leader who is now waiting around in Tyrian Carthage, not thinking about the cities granted (to him) by his destiny, and take my words (to him) through the swift winds. His most beautiful mother did not promise me such (a man as) this, but (she did promise) - and on account of this she twice rescued him from the arms of the Greeks - that he would be (the sort of man) who would rule Italy, pregnant with empire and seething with war, (and) would bequeath a lineage from the high blood of Teucer, and would bring the whole world under (the rule of) law. If the glory of such great things does not enthuse (him) at all, and he does not take up the task on behalf of his own reputation, does Ascanius' own father begrudge (him) the heights of Rome? What does he plan (to do)? Or with what hope does he linger amidst a hostile tribe and not regard (as important) his Ausonian (i.e. Italian) offspring and the Lavinian fields? Let him sail! That is the sum total (of it); let this be my message!"
Ll. 238-278. Mercury finds Aeneas superintending the building of Carthage; he delivers Jupiter's message and then departs.
He finished speaking. He (i.e. Mercury) prepared to obey the command of his mighty father: and, firstly, he fastens to his feet his golden sandals, which carry him aloft on their wings above both land and sea, as fast as a blast of wind. Then, he takes up his wand; with this he summons up pale souls from Orcus (i.e. the Underworld), (while) he sends others down to grim Tartarus (i.e. the deepest part of the Underworld); it gives sleep and takes (it) away, and it opens up men's eyes in death. Relying upon this, he drives the winds, and floats through the turbulent clouds. And now, as he flies, he sees the summit and the steep sides of the long-enduring Atlas, who supports the sky upon his head, of the Atlas, whose pine-covered head, unceasingly enclosed by black clouds, is battered by wind and rain alike; the snow falls on his shoulders and covers (them): then, rivers fall headlong from the old man's chin, and his shaggy beard is stiff with ice. Here the (god) from Cyllene (n.b. Mount Cyllene in Arcadia was Mercury's birthplace), supported on balanced wings, first came to rest; from here he threw himself headlong towards the waves, (using) the whole (weight of) his body, like a bird that flies low close to the sea along the shore around rocks full of fish. Just so did the offspring of (Mount) Cyllene, coming from his maternal grandfather (i.e. Atlas), fly between earth and sky to Libya's sandy shore, and cleave the winds. As soon as he reached the huts (on the outskirts of the city) on his winged feet, he sees Aeneas laying the foundations of the citadel and constructing new buildings: and he had a sword studded with yellow jasper, and, hanging from his shoulder, was a cloak aglow with Tyrian purple, which the wealthy Dido had made (for him as) a gift, and she had interwoven its cloth with a fine gold (thread). He challenged (him) at once: "So now, are you laying the foundations of lofty Carthage, and, in thrall to your wife, are you building up a fine city (indeed), forgetful, alas, of your kingdom and your own destiny? The ruler of the gods, himself, who turns heaven and earth by his divine power, sends me down (to you) from bright Olympus; he, himself, orders (me) to bring these commands through the swift winds. What are you planning? And in the hope of what are you squandering these idle (hours) in the lands of Libya? If the glory of so great a destiny does not inspire you in any way, and you, yourself, do not undertake this task on behalf of your own reputation, spare a thought for Ascanius, as he grows up, and for the hopes of your heir Iulus, to whom the kingdom of Italy and the land of Rome are due." With such a voice the (god) from Cyllene) (i.e. Mercury) spoke, and, in the midst of his speech, he left the vision of men and vanished out of their sight far away into the thin air.
Ll. 279-295. Horror-struck at this vision and the message from the gods, Aeneas determines to sail for Italy at once.
But in truth, Aeneas, aghast at this vision, was struck dumb, and his hair stood on end with horror, and his voice stuck in his throat. He was burning (with desire) to depart in flight and to leave this pleasant land, (as he had been) thunder-struck by so great a warning and command from the gods. Alas, what can he do? With what form of words should he now venture to conciliate the infatuated queen? What opening words should he first employ? And he casts his thoughts in quick succession, now hither, now thither, and pushes (them) in various directions and turns over all (possibilities). (To him) as he wavered, this policy seemed preferable: he summons Mnestheus and Sergestus, and the brave Serestus: let them fit out the fleet in silence, and muster his companions on the shore; let them prepare their ships' tackle, but let them conceal what the reason is for their plan being changed. Meanwhile, since gracious Dido would know nothing (of this), and would not expect that such great loves could be shattered, (he said that) he, himself, would try out an approach, both what (would be) the most harmless occasion for speaking (to her), and what (would be) the right way to (handle) matters. All (of his men) very quickly obey his commands with joy, and they carry out his instructions.
Ll. 296-330. Dido taunts Aeneas for his faithlessness and treachery, but begs him not to desert her.
But the queen - (for) who can deceive a lover? - had a premonition, and was the first to discover their coming movements, being anxious (even when) all (seemed) safe. That same wicked rumour, that the fleet was being fitted out and the voyage was being prepared for, came (to her) in her passionate (state). Out of her mind, she rages, and, incensed, she rushes wildly through the whole of the city, like a Thyiad (i.e. a Maenad or a Bacchante), aroused when the sacred emblems (of the god) are shaken, (and) when, hearing (the cry of) Bacchus, the triennial revels goad (her) on, and (Mount) Cithaeron summons her by night with its clamour. At last, of her own accord, she accosts Aeneas with these words: "Traitor, did you really expect that you could conceal so great a crime, and withdraw from my country in silence? Does neither our love, nor the pledge once given by you, nor Dido, about to die of a cruel death, detain you? Indeed, are you really striving (to rig out) your fleet in this wintry season, and are you hurrying in (so) heartless a fashion to sail out over the deep (sea) in the midst of the North Winds? Why? Even if you were not seeking other people's fields and unknown homes, and old Troy were still standing, would Troy be sought by your fleet over (such a) stormy sea? (Is it) me you are fleeing from? I (entreat) you by these tears, and (by) your own right(-hand) - since I myself have nothing else left to me now, wretched (as I am) - , by our marriage, (and) by the nuptial rites (which we have just) undertaken, that, if I have (ever) deserved well of you in anything, or, if anything at all of me was (ever) sweet to you, have pity on my collapsing home, and I implore (you), if (there is) still some room for my prayers, discard that plan of yours! Because of you, the Libyan peoples and the kings of the Numidians hate (me), (and (even) my Tyrians (are) hostile. Because of you, also, my modesty and my former reputation, by which alone I was reaching to the stars, (have been) blotted out. To what are you abandoning me, on the verge of death (as I am), (O) guest, since this (is) the only name (that is) left to me from (that) of husband? What am I waiting for? Until my brother Pygmalion pulls down my walls, or Gaetulian Iarbas takes (me) captive? At least, if some child of yours had been born to me before your flight, if some tiny Aeneas were playing in my courtyard, whose looks, in spite of everything, would remind (me) of you, I should not feel myself (so) utterly betrayed and abandoned."
Ll. 331-361. In his reply, Aeneas acknowledges his deep gratitude to Dido, but he indicates that he never intended to remain in Carthage, and that, indeed, the gods have commanded him to set sail for Italy.
She finished speaking. Because of Jupiter's warning words, he kept his eyes steady, and, with a great effort, mastered the anguish in the depths of his heart. At last, he replies in a few words: "I shall never deny, (O) Queen, that you have deserved (of me) all those many (things) which you can list in speech, nor shall I (ever) regret my memories of Elissa (i.e. Dido), while I am mindful of myself and while my breath governs these limbs (of mine). I shall say a few words in accordance with the facts. I did not expect to conceal this departure by stealth - do not imagine (that) - nor have I ever held out the torch of wedlock or entered into a contract such as that. If the Fates were allowing me to lead my life in accordance with my own auspices, and to settle my concerns of my own accord, I would first be tending the the city of Troy and the dear remnants of my people; the lofty palace of Priam would (still) be standing, and I would have built by hand a renewed Pergama (i.e. the citadel of Troy), defeated (though we were). But, as things are, (it is) the great (land of) Italy (that) Grynean Apollo, (n.b. there was a grove and temple sacred to Apollo in Gryneum in Aeolis in Asia Minor), (it is) Italy that the Lycian oracles (i.e. those of Patara in Lycia) have ordered me to seize. This is my love, this is my fatherland. If the towers of Carthage, and the sight of a city in Libya detains you, a Phoenician, what, I pray, are your grounds for begrudging the Teucrians (the privilege) of settling in the land of Ausonia (i.e. Italy)? We, too, (have) the right to look for a foreign kingdom. As often as night veils the earth with damp shadows, as often as the fiery stars arise, the troubled ghost of my father Anchises warns and alarms (me) in my sleep. My boy Ascanius, and the wrongs (I have done) to (so) dear a person, (disturb) me (too), (he,) whom I am cheating of his kingdom in Hesperia (i.e. Italy) and the lands (which are his) by destiny. Now, even the messenger of the gods (has been) sent by Jupiter himself - I swear (to it) on both our lives - and has brought down his commands through the swift winds; I, myself, have seen the god in the clear light (of day), entering these walls, and I have drunk in his voice with these ears. Do stop inflaming both me and you by your complaints. I am not pursuing Italy of my own will."
Ll. 362-392. Dido replies with a passionate reproach.
All the time he is saying these (things), she looks (at him) askance, darting her eyes this way and that, and she scans (him) up and down with expressionless eyes, and, in her passion, she bursts out thus: "Traitor, your mother (is) not divine, nor (was) Dardanus the founder of your race, but the rough Caucasus begot you on its hard rocks and Hyrcanian tigresses gave you suck. For why should I hide my feelings (now)? Or for what greater (insults) should I hold myself in readiness? He didn't sigh at my weeping, (did he)? Did he (even) move his eyes? He didn't shed the tears of (one) overcome (by grief), or show pity for the (woman) that loves (him), (did he)? What shall I put before what? Neither mighty Juno at one moment, nor our father, the son of Saturn (i.e. Jupiter), at another, can view these things with favourable eyes. Nowhere (is) good faith secure. Cast up on my shore, (and) destitute, I welcomed (him), and, in my madness, I gave him a share of my kingdom. I rescued his lost fleet and his companions from death. Alas, I am driven by the Furies, on fire (with rage)! And now the prophet Apollo, now the Lycian oracles, and now the messenger of the gods, sent by Jupiter, himself, brings these dread commands through the air. Doubtless, this is work for the gods, (and) this (is) the concern (which) disturbs (them) at their rest. I do not hold you (back), nor do I refute your words. Go, search for Italy in the winds; look for your kingdom over the waves. (But,) for my part, I hope that, if the righteous spirits have any power, (you) will drain (the cup of) retribution to the dregs in the midst of the rocks, and that you will call repeatedly on the name of Dido (as you drown). (Though) far away, I shall follow you with black fires, and, when cold death severs my body from my spirit, I shall be there with you (as) a shade in every place. You will pay the penalty, (you) villain! I shall hear (of it), and this news will reach me in the depths of the world of the dead." With these words she breaks off in the middle of her speech, and, in her anguish she flees the light of day, and she turns away and removes herself from his sight, leaving him hesitating through fear to say much, and (also) preparing (to say) much. Her maids take (her) up, and carry her fainting limbs to her marble bed-chamber and lay (her) on her bed.
Ll. 393-407. Although he is deeply grieved, Aeneas continues the preparations for departure.
But pious Aeneas, although he longs to soothe (her) as she grieves by consoling (her) and to avert her anxieties by his words, (and, while) he groans frequently and is shaken in spirit by his great love (for her), yet he carries out the commands of the gods and returns to his ships. Then, indeed, the Teucrians are hard at work and launch their ships all along the shore. The greased keel is set afloat; and they bring oars with leaves (still on them) and unfashioned timber from the woods in their eagerness for the journey. You could see (them) moving and rushing from every part of the city; and (it was happening) just as ants plunder a huge heap of corn-meal, and, mindful of winter, store (it) in their nest: a dark column goes over the plain, and they convey their spoil through the grass by a narrow track; some push large grains of corn with their shoulders with a great effort, others marshal the column and chastise stragglers; the whole path seethes with activity.
Ll. 408-436. Overcome by her love, Dido begs her sister to ask Aeneas at least to delay his departure.
What then were your feelings, Dido, when you notice such (things), and what groans did you keep on uttering, when you looked out from the top of your citadel and saw the shore aglow far and wide, and the whole sea stirred up before your eyes by so much hubbub? O relentless love, what do you not compel the human heart (to undergo)? Once more she is forced to burst into tears, once more (she is forced) to test (him) by entreaty, and humbly subordinate her pride to her love, lest she should leave anything untried and be about to die unnecessarily. "Anna, you see that there is a hastening (of activity) all over the beach; they have gathered around (there) from all directions; already their canvas invites the breezes, and the sailors have been placing garlands joyfully on their sterns. If I could have anticipated this terrible grief, I would even have been able to endure (it), sister. But Anna, do perform this one (service) for me in my misery; for that traitor cultivated you alone; he even entrusted to you his secret feelings, (and) only you knew the right time for soft approaches towards that man. Go (to him), sister, and humbly address our haughty foe: (it was) not I (who) conspired with the Danaans at Aulis to wipe out the Trojan race, or send a fleet to Pergama: nor did I disturb the ashes or the shade of his father Anchises; why does he refuse to admit my words into his pitiless ears? For what (reason) is he going to his doom? May he give his poor lover this final gift: let him await an easy flight and favouring winds. I am no longer begging for our former marriage, which he has betrayed, nor that he should forgo his precious Latium and abandon his kingdom: I am (just) seeking some leisure time, a respite and a reprieve for my anguish, until my destiny can teach me, vanquished (as I am), (how) to grieve. This last favour I crave - have pity on your sister! When he grants it, I shall repay (it) with interest on my death."
Ll. 437-449. Aeneas refuses to be moved from his purpose.
She besought (her) with such (words), and such (are) the tearful (messages from Dido which) her most unhappy sister bears and bears again. But he is not moved by any weeping, nor does he listen sympathetically to any words; his destiny stands in the way, and a god blocks the man's kindly ears. (It is) just as when the North Winds off the Alps, with blasts now here, now there, vie together to uproot an oak-tree, sturdy with the strength of years, there comes a crack, and the trunk quivers violently and leaves from on high strew the ground; (the tree,) itself, clings to the rocks, and with its crown it stretches as far up to the winds of heaven, as it stretches far down towards Tartarus with its roots. In the same way, the hero was buffeted on this side and on that side by unceasing appeals, and feels deeply the agony in his noble heart; (yet,) his mind remains unmoved; the tears fall in vain.
Ll. 450-473. Dido begins to plan her own death.
Then, indeed, unhappy Dido, appalled by her fate, prays for death; it sickens (her) to gaze at the vaults of heaven. In order that she may carry out her plan, and relinquish the light (of life), when she placed gifts on the incense-burning altars, she saw - horrible to relate - the sacred water turn black, and the wine, (when) poured, change into loathsome gore. This (was) seen by no one else, (and) she did not even tell her sister (about it). Moreover, there was in her palace a shrine to her former husband, (made) of marble, which she venerated with remarkable honour and wreathed with snow-white fleeces and festal foliage. From here, when dark night covered the earth, voices and the words of her husband (i.e. Sychaeus) calling (her) seemed to be heard: and a lonely owl often used to lament from the roof-tops in a funereal dirge and to draw out its long notes into a wail; and, besides, many prophecies of ancient seers horrify her by their terrible foreboding. In her sleep, a wild Aeneas, himself, harries (her) in her frenzy, and it seems that always she is left alone by herself, always travelling (down) a long road without any companions, and searching for her Tyrians in a desolate land. Like (her), a deranged Pentheus sees a band of the Eumenides (i.e. the Furies), and two suns and two (cities of) Thebes show themselves, or Agamemnon's son, Orestes, (is) hunted over the stage as he flees from his mother (i.e. Clytemnestra), (who is) armed with torches and black snakes, while the avenging Dirae (i.e. the Furies) are sitting on the threshold.
Ll. 474-503. Dido persuades Anna to construct a pyre, on which to burn the belongings of Aeneas, and, thus, to release her from her passion for him.
So, when, overcome by grief, she contracted madness and resolved to die, she works out on her own the (exact) time and manner, but, in her expression she conceals her plan and lights up her brow with hope, (while) she addressed her sorrowful sister thus: "Sister, I have found a way - rejoice with your sister! - to bring him back to me or to set me free from him as a lover. Close to the border of the Ocean, and the setting sun, is the most distant (land of all), the region of the Ethiopians, where mighty Atlas turns on his shoulders the vault (of heaven), studded with blazing stars. (Coming from) here a priestess of the Massylian people has been shown to me, (who is) the guardian of the sacred precinct of the Hesperides (i.e. the Daughters of Evening) and the rich food which she used to give to the dragon, and she guarded the sacred branches on the tree, sprinkling honey-dew and soporific poppy-seed. She promises that, by her spells, she will free the hearts of whomever she wishes (from suffering), but will let loose cruel love-pangs upon others, (and she undertakes) to stay the (flow of) water in streams and to turn back the stars; and she summons the spirits of the dead by night; you will perceive the earth to rumble under your feet and ash-trees to come down from the mountains. I call the gods and you, dear sister, and your own sweet person, to witness that I resort to the magic arts reluctantly. Do you erect in secret a pyre in the interior of my palace (which is) open to the sky, and may you lay upon (it) the arms of a husband, which that wicked (man) has left hanging in my bed-chamber, and all his remaining (belongings), and the marriage-bed, by which I have been destroyed: I wish to wipe out all reminders of that abominable man, and the priestess so commands." But Anna does not understand that her sister was disguising her funeral by these strange rites, nor does she realise that the passion in her mind was so intense, or fear anything more serious than (what had happened) on the death of Sychaeus. So she prepares what she has been asked (to do).
Ll. 504-521. Once the pyre has been raised, the priestess invokes the gods, and Dido makes a dying appeal.
But the queen, when the pyre, prodigious with pine-torches and hewn holm-oak, has been built, open to the sky in the innermost part of the palace, festoons the place with garlands and wreathes (it) with funereal foliage; above (it all) she lays on a couch his remaining possessions, and the sword (which he has) left behind and an image (of him), (even though she is) very well aware of what was to come. Altars are standing (all) around (it), and the priestess, with dishevelled hair, thunders from her mouth (the names of) three hundred gods, and Erebus (i.e. the dark Underworld) and Chaos (i.e. the Emptiness before the world began) and the triple Hecate (i.e. the goddess of witchcraft), the three faces of the virgin Diana (i.e. the goddess of hunting, the moon and chastity). She had also sprinkled waters (which she) pretended (had come) from the spring of Avernus (i.e. at the entrance to the Underworld), and herbs are sought which have been cut with bronze sickles by moonlight, and bursting with the milk of black poison; sought too is the love(-charm) (n.b. it is usually called a 'hippomanes'), ripped from the brow of a foal (before it could be) snatched by his mother. She, herself, standing close to the altar, with one foot freed from its bindings, and in loosened clothing, calls upon the gods and the stars (that are) conscious of destiny to witness that she is going to die; then, if (there is) a divine power, both just and mindful, which has as a duty lovers in a compact not equally (observed), she prays (to it).
Ll. 522-553. Night comes, but Dido cannot sleep; in her restless state, she sees death as the only course open to her.
It was night, and across the earth weary creatures were enjoying peaceful sleep, and the woods and wild seas had sunk to rest, and (it was the hour) when the stars revolve in the midst of their gliding (course), and when all the land is still, (and) beasts and colourful birds, both (those) that haunt the watery lakes far and wide, and (those) that dwell in the rough thickets of the countryside, (were) settled in sleep in the silence of the night; they soothed their cares, and their hearts (were) forgetful of their labours. But the heartbroken Phoenissa (i.e. Dido) (does) not (fall silent), nor does she ever relax in sleep, or receive the (gift of) night in her eyes or in her heart: her torment redoubles, and her passion, swelling up again and again, rages and surges in a great tide of wrath. Indeed, she persists in this way, and thus she communes with herself within her heart: "Well then, what can I do? Shall I try my former suitors again, (only) to be mocked (by them), and shall I humbly seek marriages with the Numidians, although I have already so often scorned (them as) husbands? So, shall I follow the fleet of Ilium and every last command of the Teucrians? (For what reason?) Shall I do it because (they are) thankful that (they have been) relieved by my previous assistance, and (because) their gratitude for my former deed stands firm in their memories? But who - supposing I did wish it - would let me (do so), or welcome (me,) the (woman) they hate, aboard their proud ships? Alas, ruined (as you are), do you not know, and do you not yet understand the treacheries of the race of Laomedon? What (shall I do) now? Shall I accompany those exultant sailors into exile on my own? Or shall I set off after (them), surrounded by the Tyrians and the whole band of my (supporters), and shall I force on to the open sea once more those whom I could scarcely tear away from the city of Sidon, and shall I order them to set their sails to the wind? But no, you must die, as you have deserved (to do), and put an end to your grief with the sword. (But) you, my sister, overcome by my tears, you were the first to load me, distraught (as I was,) with these ills, and to expose me to the enemy. I was not permitted to pass my life free of marriage, (and) guiltless, like a wild creature, and not to know such agonies (of love) as these! I have not kept the vows (which I) promised to Sychaeus' ashes." She let such lamentations burst from her breast.
Ll. 554-583. Aeneas is warned by Mercury in a dream to set sail at once, lest his ships be attacked by Dido.
Aeneas, now fixed on going, and now that things had been duly made ready, was enjoying some sleep on his lofty stern. The figure of the god, coming again with the same aspect, presented itself to him in his sleep, and, seeming like Mercury in all (respects), both in voice and complexion, and in his golden hair and comely limbs of youth, admonished (him) again thus: "Son of the goddess, (how) can you prolong your sleep at this (time of) crisis? And, (you) the madman (that you are), do you not see the dangers which stand all around you from now onward, and do you not hear the favourable West Winds blowing? That (woman), (now that she is) determined to die, is revolving stratagems and dreadful crimes in her mind, and she is stirring up (in her heart) the shifting flood-tides of her wrath. Are you not flying from here in haste, while the ability (to do so) can (still) hurry (you) away? Soon you will see the sea disturbed by her ships and lethal firebrands flaring, and then the shore ablaze with flames, if the Dawn finds you (still) lingering in these lands. So come, and put an end to delay! A woman (is) ever fickle and changeable." Having thus spoken, he blended with the darkness of night. Then, indeed, Aeneas, alarmed by the sudden apparition, hastily raises his body from sleep, and rouses his companions: "Quick, men, awake, and man the thwarts; speedily, unfurl your sails! A god, (who has been) sent from heaven above - look (at him) again! - is urging us to hasten our flight and cut our twisted cables. We follow you, O blessed (one) of the gods, whoever you are, and we gladly obey your command once more. Oh, may you be with (us), and may you graciously help us, and may you place favourable stars in the sky." He spoke, and he draws his flashing sword from its scabbard and strikes the hawsers with his unsheathed blade. The same enthusiasm possesses (them) all simultaneously: and they hurry and rush around; they have abandoned the shore; the sea lies hidden beneath their ships; bending (to it), they churn the foam and sweep the blue (waters).
Ll. 584-629. As she watches Aeneas and his fleet depart, Dido laments afresh, and invokes a solemn curse upon the Trojans, which leads to future enmity between their descendants and her Carthaginian descendants.
And now early Dawn, leaving the saffron(-coloured) bed of Tithonus, was sprinkling the earth with fresh daylight. As soon as the queen saw from her watch-towers the daylight grow white and the fleet sailing off with squared sails, and realised that the shore and harbours were devoid of oarsmen, she struck her lovely breast three or four times with her hand, and, tearing her golden hair, she says, "Oh, Jupiter, shall this intruder go and (be permitted to) make (such) a mockery of my realm? Will not (one group of my subjects) get their weapons ready and pursue (him) from all over the city, and will not others hastily drag out our ships from the dockyards? Go on, bring flames quickly, set sail, ply the oars! (But) what am I saying? Or where am I? What madness shifts my purpose? Unhappy Dido, does (the realisation of) your impious deeds come home to you (only) now? The proper time for that was when you gave (him a share) in your power. So this is the honour and good faith (of the man), who, they say, had carried (around with him) his father's household gods, (and) who had borne on his shoulders his father, worn out with age! Could I not have seized hold of (him), and torn his body asunder and scattered (his limbs) in the waves? Could I not have put his companions, and (even) Ascanius, himself, to the sword, and (then) served him up as a suitable feast at his father's table. But the outcome of the battle would have been in doubt. Let it have been (whatever it would have been)! Since I was going to die (in any case), whom did I have to fear? I might have carried firebrands into his camp; I might have filled his decks with flames, I might have extinguished both father and son together with their whole race, and indeed I might have flung my very self on top (of them). O Sun, (you) who illuminates all of the earth with your rays, and you, Juno, (who is) the mediator and witness of these sufferings of mine, and (you,) Hecate, (whose name) is shrieked every night at crossroads throughout the cities, and (you), the avenging Furies, and (you,) the gods of dying Elissa (i.e. Dido), listen to these (my) words, and direct your divine power, (which I have) earned, to my wrongs, and hear my prayers. (Even) if it is required for that vile being to reach harbour and to sail into land, and the fates of Jupiter are demanding this, and this goal remains fixed; still, (when he has been) harassed in war by the arms of a bold people, exiled from his territory, (and) torn from the embrace of Iulus, let him beg for help, and let him see the shameful deaths of his own (men); nor, when he has submitted himself to the terms of an unjust treaty, may he enjoy his kingship or the life he longed for, but let him fall before his time, and lie unburied in the middle of a strand. These (things) I pray for! I pour out this last utterance with my (life's) blood. Then, do you, O my Tyrians, pursue his lineage and all his future descendants with hatred, and offer this last service to my ashes. Let there be no affection or treaties between our peoples! May you, some avenger (i.e. Hannibal), arise from my bones to pursue the Dardanian settlers with both fire and sword, now (and) in the future, and at whatever time our strength will allow (it). I pray for our shores to be opposed to their shores, our waves to their waves, our arms to their arms! May they have war, both themselves and their descendants!"
Ll. 630-662. Dido mounts the funeral-pyre, and stabs herself with Aeneas' sword.
She says these (words) and began to turn her mind in all directions, seeking to put an end, as soon as possible, to the life (she) loathed. Then, she spoke briefly to Sychaeus' nurse, Barce, for the black ash (of the pyre) encompassed her own (nurse) in her former homeland: "My dear nurse, fetch hither my sister Anna; tell (her) to make haste to sprinkle her body with river-water, and bring with her the beasts for sacrifice as ordained (by the priestess). Thus may she come, and you, yourself, should veil your brows with a sacred fillet. It is my intention to perform the sacred rites to Stygian Jupiter, which I have duly prepared and begun, and to put an end to my sufferings, and to commit the pyre of that Dardanian man to the flames." So she says. The other, with the zeal of an old woman, quickened her step. But Dido, fearful and frantic at the enormity of her design, rolling her bloodshot eyes, and with her trembling cheeks flecked with (red) blotches, and pale at her imminent death, bursts through the inner door of the palace, and, in a wild state, climbs the lofty pyre and draws the Dardanian sword, a gift not sought for a use such as this. At this point, when she caught sight of the Ilian garb and the familiar bed, she lingered for a while in tearful reflection, and she lay down on the bed and spoke these last words: "Relics, sweet while the fates and the gods allowed (it), receive this spirit and release me from these sorrows. I have lived (my life) and I have finished the course which fortune had allotted (to me); and now my stately ghost will pass beneath the earth. I have founded a famous city; I have seen my city-walls; avenging my husband, I have exacted due punishment on a hostile brother. Happy, alas too happy, if only the Dardanian keels had never touched my shores!" She spoke, and pressing her face into the couch, she says, "I shall die unavenged, but let me die. So, in this manner, I wish to go down among the shades. May that pitiless Dardan (i.e. Aeneas) drink to the full this fire from the deep with his eyes, and may he bear with him the (evil) omen of my death."
Ll. 663-692. Anna laments over the body of her sister, whom she finds dying on the top of the pyre.
She finished speaking: and in the midst of these (words) her attendants see her falling on to the blade, and the sword foaming with her blood, and her hands bespattered (with it). Their cry goes up to the top of the (palace) halls; Rumour runs wildly through the city. The roofs resound with lamentations and groaning, and with women shrieking. (It was) just as if the whole of Carthage or of ancient Tyre were falling to an invading enemy (n.b. Just this was to happen both to Carthage in 146 B.C. when it was captured and destroyed by the Romans under Scipio Aemilianus, and also to Tyre in 332 B.C. when it was sacked by Alexander the Great), and flames were rolling wildly over the roofs of men and over (those) of the gods. Distraught, her sister heard, and, in her terror, she rushes in a frantic course through the middle (of the crowd), marring her face with her finger-nails and her breasts with her fists, and she calls upon the dying (woman) by name: "Was this that (thing which you spoke of), sister? (Was it) me you were aiming at with your trick? (Was) this, pray, that pyre of yours, (was) this the fires and the altars (which) they were preparing? Having been abandoned, what shall I complain about first? (When) dying, did you scorn your sister (as) a companion? You should have summoned me to the same fate: the same agonising sword stroke and the same moment should have taken (us) both. Did I actually form (this pyre) with these hands, and did I call upon our ancestral gods with my voice, in order, (O you) heartless (one), that, when you were lying thus, I should be (so) far away? Sister, you have destroyed yourself and me, and the people, and the senators of Sidon, and your city. Grant (that) I may wash these wounds with water, and (that), if any last breath (still) strays above (her), let me catch (it) with my lips." Speaking thus, she had (already) climbed the topmost steps, and, clasping her sister, (who was still) just breathing, she caressed her with a sob, and tried to staunch the dark (flow of) blood with her dress. She, trying to raise her heavy eyes in response, fails (to do so); the deep-set wound hisses within her breast. Three times she raised herself, and lifted (herself) up, supported by her elbow: three times she rolled back on to the couch, and with wandering eyes she sought the daylight in the heavens above, and let out a groan when she found (it).
Ll. 693-705. Iris is sent by Juno to release Dido from her final agony.
Then, all powerful Juno, pitying her long anguish and her difficult death, sent Iris down from Olympus to release her struggling spirit and her fettered limbs. For, since she was dying neither by destiny nor by a death (which she) deserved, but miserably, before her time, and inflamed by a sudden passion, Proserpine has not yet taken away from her the golden (lock of) hair on her head, and thus condemned her soul to Stygian Orcus. So, Iris, wet with dew, flies down through the sky on her saffron(-coloured) wings, trailing a thousand shifting tints athwart the sun, and hovered over her head. "(As I have been) commanded, I take this (as) an offering to Dis (i.e. Pluto), and I release you from that body of yours." So she speaks, and cuts the (lock of) hair with her right(-hand). Then, at one and the same moment, all her warmth slipped away, and her life passed into the winds.
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