The Aeneid (22 page)

                These were Dido’s pleas. These were the griefs her unhappy
                sister brought and brought again. But no griefs moved Aeneas.
440         He heard but did not heed her words. The Fates forbade it and
                
God blocked his ears to all appeals. Just as the north winds off
                the Alps vie with one another to uproot the mighty oak whose
                timber has hardened over long years of life, blowing upon it
                from this side and from that and howling through it; the trunk
                feels the shock and the foliage from its head covers the ground,
                but it holds on to the rocks with roots plunged as deep into the
                world below as its crown soars towards the winds of heaven –
                just so the hero Aeneas was buffeted by all this pleading on this
                side and on that, and felt the pain deep in his mighty heart but
                his mind remained unmoved and the tears rolled in vain.

450         Then it was that unhappy Dido prayed for death. She had
                seen her destiny and was afraid. She could bear no longer to
                look up to the bowl of heaven, and her resolve to leave the
                light was strengthened when she was laying offerings on the
                incense-breathing altars and saw to her horror the consecrated
                milk go black and the wine, as she poured it, turn to filthy gore.
                No one else saw it and she did not tell even her sister. There
                was more. She had in her palace a marble shrine dedicated to
                Sychaeus, who had been her husband. This she used to honour
                above all things, hanging it with white fleeces and sacred
460         branches. When the darkness of night covered the earth, she
                thought she heard, coming from this shrine, the voice of her
                husband and the words he uttered as he called to her, and all
                the while the lonely owl kept up its long dirge upon the roof,
                drawing out its doleful song of death. And there was more.
                She kept remembering the predictions of ancient prophets that
                terrified her with their dreadful warnings, and as she slept
                Aeneas himself would drive her relentlessly in her madness, and
                she was always alone and desolate, always going on a long road
                without companions, looking for her Tyrians in an empty land.
                She would be like Pentheus in his frenzy when he was seeing
470         columns of Furies and a double sun and two cities of Thebes; or
                like Orestes, son of Agamemnon, driven in flight across the stage
                by his own mother armed with her torches and black snakes,
                while the avenging Furies sat at the door.

                And so Dido was overwhelmed by grief and possessed by
                madness. She decided to die and planned in her mind the time
                and the means. She went and spoke to her sorrowing sister with
                
her face composed to conceal her plan and her brow bright with
                hope. ‘My dear Anna, rejoice with your sister. I have found a
480         way to bring him back to me in love or else to free me from him.
                Near Oceanus and the setting of the sun is the home of the
                Ethiopians, the most distant part of our earth, where mightiest
                Atlas turns on his shoulders the axis of the sky, studded with its
                burning stars. From here, they say, there comes a Massylian
                priestess who was the guardian of the temple of the Hesperides.
                She used to keep watch over the branches of the sacred tree and
                bring rich foods for the serpent, spreading the oozing honey and
                sprinkling the sleep-bringing seeds of the poppy. She undertakes
                to free by her spells the mind of anyone she wishes and to send
                cruel cares to others, to stop the flow of rivers and turn stars
490         back in their courses. At night she raises the spirits of the dead
                and you will see the ash trees coming down from the mountains
                and hear the earth bellow beneath your feet. I call the gods and
                your own sweet self to witness, O my dearest sister, that it is
                not by my own will that I have recourse to magic arts. Go now,
                telling no one, and build up a pyre under the open sky in the
                inner courtyard of the palace and lay on it the armour this
                traitor has left hanging on the walls of my room, everything
                there is of his remaining, and the marriage bed on which I was
                destroyed. I want to wipe out everything that can remind me of
                such a man and that is what the priestess advises.’

500         She spoke, and spoke no more. Her face grew pale, but Anna
                did not understand that these strange rites were a pretence and
                that her sister meant to die. She had no inkling that such madness
                had seized Dido, no reason to fear that she would suffer more
                than she had at the death of Sychaeus. She did what she was
                asked.

                But the queen knew what the future held. As soon as the pine
                torches and the holm-oak were hewn and the huge pyre raised
                under the open sky in the very heart of the palace, she hung the
                place with garlands and crowned the pyre with funeral branches.
                Then she laid on a bed an effigy of Aeneas with his sword and
                everything of his he had left behind. There were altars all around
510         and the priestess with hair streaming called with a voice of
                thunder upon three hundred gods, Erebus, Chaos, triple Hecate
                
and virgin Diana of the three faces. She had also sprinkled water
                to represent the spring of Lake Avernus. She also sought out
                potent herbs with a milk of black poison in their rich stems and
                harvested them by moonlight with a bronze sickle. She found,
                too, a love charm, torn from the forehead of a new-born foal
                before the mare could bite it off. Dido herself took meal in her
                hands and worshipped, standing by the altars with one foot
                freed from all fastenings and her dress unbound, calling before
520         she died to gods and stars to be witnesses to her fate and praying
                to whatever just and mindful power there is that watches over
                lovers who have been betrayed.

                It was night and weary living things were peacefully taking
                their rest upon the earth. The woods and wild waves of ocean
                had been stilled. The stars were rolling on in mid-course. Silence
                reigned over field and flock and all the gaily coloured birds were
                laid to sleep in the quiet of night, those that haunt broad lakes
                and those that crowd the thickets dotted over the countryside.
530         But not Dido. Her heart was broken and she found no relief in
                sleep. Her eyes and mind would not accept the night, but her
                torment redoubled and her raging love came again and again in
                great surging tides of anger. These are the thoughts she dwelt
                upon, this is what she kept turning over in her heart: ‘So then,
                what am I to do? Shall I go back to those who once wooed me
                and see if they will have me? I would be a laughing stock. Shall
                I beg a husband from the Numidians after I have so often
                scorned their offers of marriage? Shall I then go with the Trojan
                fleet and do whatever the Trojans ask? I suppose they would be
                delighted to take me after all the help I have given them! They
                are sure to remember what I have done and be properly grateful!
540         No: even if I were willing to go with them, they will never allow
                a woman they hate to come aboard their proud ships. There is
                nothing left for you, Dido. Do you not know, have you not yet
                noticed, the treacheries of the race of Laomedon? But if they did
                agree to take me, what then? Shall I go alone into exile with a
                fleet of jubilant sailors? Or shall I go in force with all my Tyrian
                bands crowding at my side? It was not easy for me to uproot
                them from their homes in the city of Sidon. How can I make
                them take to the sea again and order them to hoist sail into the
                
winds? No, you must die. That is what you have deserved. Let
                the sword be the cure for your suffering. You could not bear,
                Anna, to see your sister weeping. When the madness was taking
                me, you were the first to lay this load upon my back and put me
550         at the mercy of my enemy. I was not allowed to live my life
                without marriage, in innocence, like a wild creature, and be
                untouched by such anguish as this – I have not kept faith with
                the ashes of Sychaeus.’

                While these words of grief were bursting from Dido’s heart,
                Aeneas was now resolved to leave and was taking his rest on the
                high stern of his ship with everything ready for sailing. There,
                as he slept, appeared before him the shape of the god, coming
                to him with the same features as before and once again giving
                advice, in every way like Mercury, the voice, the radiance, the
560         golden hair, the youthful beauty of his body: ‘Son of the goddess,
                how can you lie there sleeping at a time like this? Do you not
                see danger all around you at this moment? Have you lost your
                wits? Do you not hear the west wind blowing off the shore?
                Having decided to die, she is turning her schemes over in her
                mind and planning some desperate act, stirring up the storm
                tides of her anger. Why do you not go now with all speed
                while speed you may? If morning comes and finds you loitering
                here, you will soon see her ships churning the sea and deadly
                torches blazing and the shore seething with flames. Come
                then! No more delay! Women are unstable creatures, always
                changing.’

570         When he had spoken he melted into the blackness of night
                and Aeneas was immediately awake, terrified by the sudden
                apparition. There was no more rest for his men, as he roused
                them to instant action: ‘Wake up and sit to your benches,’ he
                shouted. ‘Let out the sails and quick about it. A god has been
                sent down again from the heights of heaven – I have just seen
                him – spurring us on to cut our plaited ropes and run from here.
                We are following you, O blessed god, whoever you are. Once
                again we obey your commands and rejoice. Stand beside us and
                graciously help us. Put favouring stars in the sky for us.’

580         As he spoke he drew his sword from its scabbard like a flash
                of lightning and struck the mooring cables with the naked steel.

                
In that instant they were all seized by the same ardour and set
                to, hauling and hustling. The shore was emptied. The sea could
                not be seen for ships. Bending to the oars they whipped up the
                foam and swept the blue surface of the sea.

                Aurora was soon leaving the saffron bed of Tithonus and
                beginning to sprinkle new light upon the earth. The queen saw
                from her high tower the first light whitening and the fleet moving
                out to sea with its sails square to the following winds. She saw
                the deserted shore and harbour and not an oarsman in sight.
590         Three times and more she beat her lovely breasts and tore her
                golden hair, crying, ‘O Jupiter! Will this intruder just go, and
                make a mockery of our kingdom? Why are they not running to
                arms and coming from all over the city to pursue him? And
                others should be rushing ships out of the docks. Move! Bring
                fire and quick about it! Give out the weapons! Heave on the
                oars! – What am I saying? Where am I? What madness is this
                that changes my resolve? Poor Dido, you have done wrong and
                it is only now coming home to you. You should have thought
                of this when you were offering him your sceptre. So much for
                his right hand! So much for his pledge, the man who is supposed
                to be carrying with him the gods of his native land and to have
600         lifted his weary old father up on to his shoulders! Could I not
                have taken him and torn him limb from limb and scattered the
                pieces in the sea? Could I not have put his men to the sword,
                and Ascanius, too, and served his flesh at his father’s table? I
                know the outcome of a battle would have been in doubt. So it
                would have been in doubt! Was I, who am about to die, afraid
                of anyone? I would have taken torches to his camp and filled
                the decks of his ships with fire, destroying the son and the father
                and the whole Trojan people before throwing myself on the
                flames. O heavenly Sun whose fires pass in review all the works
                of this earth, and you, Juno, who have been witness and party
                to all the anguish of this love, and Hecate whose name is heard
                in nightly howling at crossroads all over our cities, and the
610         avenging Furies and you, the gods of dying Dido, listen to these
                words, give a hearing to my sufferings, for they are great, and
                heed my prayers. If that monster of wickedness must reach
                harbour, if he must come to shore and that is what the Fates of
                
Jupiter demand, if the boundary stone is set and may not be
                moved, then let him be harried in war by a people bold in arms;
                may he be driven from his own land and torn from the embrace
                of Iulus; may he have to beg for help and see his innocent people
                dying. Then, after he has submitted to the terms of an unjust
                peace, let him not enjoy the kingdom he longs for or the life he
620         longs to lead, but let him fall before his time and lie unburied
                on the broad sand. This is my prayer. With these last words I
                pour out my life’s blood. As for you, my Tyrians, you must
                pursue with hatred the whole line of his descendants in time to
                come. Make that your offering to my shade. Let there be no
                love between our peoples and no treaties. Arise from my dead
                bones, O my unknown avenger, and harry the race of Dardanus
                with fire and sword wherever they may settle, now and in the
                future, whenever our strength allows it. I pray that we may
                stand opposed, shore against shore, sea against sea and sword
                against sword. Let there be war between the nations and between
                their sons for ever.’