THERE are two accounts given of the famous Queen Dido. According to the historian Justin, Dido, called also Elissa, was the daughter of Belus II., king of Tyre. Ithobal, king of Tyre, and father of the famous Jezebel, called in Scripture Ethbaal, was said to have been her great-grandfather. Upon the death of Dido’s father, her brother Pygmalion came to the throne. Dido married her maternal uncle, Acerbas, who is also called SichÆus by Virgil. Acerbas was the priest of Hercules, an office next in rank to that of king.

This priest possessed immense treasures which King Pygmalion desired to secure, and thereupon he assassinated Acerbas whilst the priest was officiating at the altar. Dido, who was greatly attached to her husband, was horrified at her brother’s atrocious wickedness, and inconsolable in her great loss. She immediately determined to flee from Tyre, and take with her the treasures of her husband, that they might not fall into the hands of the avaricious murderer. Having secretly collected quite a number of followers, Dido embarked in a fleet, and sailed from Tyre. Pygmalion, fearing that he would lose the coveted treasures, sent messengers to his sister begging her to return. The ships of Pygmalion’s ambassadors having overtaken Dido, they delivered to her the request of the king. Dido apparently assented, but took the precaution when embarking to place in her ship, in the presence of Pygmalion’s messengers, several bales filled with sand, which she informed them contained the treasures. When they were out at sea, Dido commanded her attendants to throw these bales into the sea; and then representing to those who had come from the monarch that only death awaited them, should they return to Pygmalion without the treasure, which they now supposed was buried in the ocean, she induced them to become her companions in her flight. Thereupon large numbers of the chief men joined her party. Dido, with her fleet, sailed first to Cyprus, which island had belonged to the dominions of her father, who had conquered it. Here she was met by the priest of Jupiter, and together with his entire family, he joined her expedition, in obedience to the supposed will of the gods. Dido also took on board her fleet eighty maidens of Cyprus, who afterwards married her Tyrian subjects.

Having been driven by a storm on to the coast of Africa, Dido bargained with the inhabitants for the purchase of some land upon which to make a settlement. The natives, fearful of the power of these new neighbors, would only consent to sell such a portion of land as could be covered by a bull’s hide. But the wily Dido was not to be thus baffled; and conceding to their terms with apparent willingness, she cut the hide of the bull into long and slender thongs, thus being able to enclose with them a large portion of ground. The space thus purchased was hence called Byrsa, from the Greek word, meaning “a hide,” though some writers contend that the name of Byrsa, the citadel of Carthage, was derived from the Punic term Basra, “a fortification.” Around this first settlement the city of Carthage arose, and Byrsa became the citadel of the place.

It is said, that when the foundations were dug, a horse’s head was found, which was thought to be a good omen, and a presage of the future warlike genius of the people. After this Tyrian colony had become established, the fame of their queen, Dido, gained for her many suitors. But she refused all their offers, having made a vow that she would remain faithful to the memory of her husband, Acerbas. At length, Iarbas, king of Mauritania, sought her hand in marriage, and threatened war if his offers were rejected. Justin thus tells the story:—

Iarbas, sending for ten of the principal Carthaginians, demanded Dido in marriage, threatening to declare war against her in case of refusal. The ambassadors, being afraid to deliver the message of Iarbas to their queen, told her with Punic honesty, that he wanted to have some person sent him who was capable of civilizing and polishing himself and his Africans, but that there was no possibility of finding any Carthaginian who would be willing to leave his place and kindred, for the conversation of barbarians, who were as savage as the wildest beasts. Here the queen, with indignation interrupting them, and asking if they were not ashamed to refuse living in any manner which might be beneficial to their country, to which they owed even their lives, they then delivered the king’s message, and bade her set them a pattern, and sacrifice herself to her country’s welfare. Dido being thus ensnared, called on SichÆus with tears and lamentations, and answered that she would go where the fate of her city called her. She demanded three months for consideration. During this interval she caused a large funeral pile to be erected, as if for the purpose of offering a propitiatory sacrifice to the manes of Acerbas. At the expiration of the time allotted she ascended the fatal pile, and with her last breath told the spectators that she was going to her husband, as they had ordered her. She then plunged a dagger into her heart, before they realized her fatal intention.

This action procured for her the name of Dido, a “heroine” or “valiant woman,” her previous name having been Elissa; though some authorities declare that Dido neither denotes the “heroine,” as Servius maintains; nor the “man-slayer,” as Eustathius pretends; nor the “wanderer,” as other writers claim; but the name Dido means nothing more than “the beloved,” whether the reference be to Baal or to her husband. The other appellation, Elissa, is said to mean “the exulting,” or “joyous one,” though Bochart claims that it signifies “the divine maiden.”

Her subjects after her death paid her divine honors.

Thus authorities differ as much over Dido’s name as accounts differ regarding her life. Virgil’s poetical version of the story deviates quite materially from the historical narrative of Justin; but as Virgil’s famous poem of the Æneid has obtained such world-wide fame, and gained a lasting place in classic literature, his story of Dido is too important to pass by unnoticed, and may be thus briefly narrated. According to Virgil’s account, Dido flourished about the time of the Trojan War, whereas historians place her 247 years later in history, or about 937 B.C.

Dunlop, in his History of Roman Literature, says: “Virgil wrote at such a distance of time from the events which formed the groundwork of his poem, and the events themselves were so obscure, that he could depart from history without violating probability. Thus it appears from chronology that Dido lived nearly three hundred years after the Trojan War; but the point was one of obscure antiquity, known perhaps to few readers, and not very precisely ascertained. Hence, so far was the violence offered to chronology from revolting his countrymen, that Ovid, who was so knowing in ancient histories and fables, wrote an heroic epistle as addressed by Dido to Æneas.”

The reason of Dido’s death is also differently stated by Virgil. But, notwithstanding these great and unreconcilable discrepancies, no one can fail to enjoy the charming story of Dido as related by the gifted poet.

After the fall of Troy, as narrated by the Greek poet Homer in the Iliad, the city was taken by the stratagem of the wooden horse. Priam, the old king of Troy, was slain by Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles; Paris, the son of Priam, having previously killed the great Achilles by the shot of an arrow in his heel, as Hector had prophesied at his death. After the death of Paris, Helen married Deiphobus, his brother, and at the taking of Troy betrayed him, in order to reconcile herself to MenelaÜs, her first husband, who received her again into favor. Homer continues the story of Ulysses in the Odyssey, while Virgil, the Latin poet, takes up the history of Æneas after the fall of Troy, and gives account of his many adventures by land and sea. As our sketch has only to do with his visit to Carthage and his meeting with Queen Dido there, we must confine our narration to that part of the Æneid.

While the battle was still raging in the city of Troy, and the old King Priam was slain in his palace by the son of the great Achilles, Æneas, finding the fate of Troy was sealed, hastened to his own home, and taking his old father Anchises upon his shoulders, and leading his little son Ascanius by the hand, followed by his wife CreÜsa, they fled from the city to the temple of Ceres, where they were to meet others, who should accompany them upon their wanderings. But as Æneas hastened to go, CreÜsa, his wife, was severed from him. Leaving Anchises and his son with his comrades who had assembled at the temple of Ceres, Æneas fled back into the city, searching for his wife. But nowhere could he find her, and as he sought her, sorrowing, lo! as he called her name, her image seemed to stand before him; and thus her spirit addressed him:—

“Why art thou vainly troubled? The ruler of Olympus willeth not that CreÜsa should bear thee company in thy journey. Weep not, then, for CreÜsa, whom thou lovest, nor think that I shall be carried away to be a bond-slave to some Grecian woman. Such fate befits not a daughter of Dardanus, and daughter-in-law of Venus. The mighty Mother of the Gods keepeth me in this land to serve her. And now, farewell, and love the young Ascanius, even thy son and mine.” So saying, the spirit vanished from his sight, and Æneas, weeping, returned to his father and son and his comrades, now gathered at the temple of Ceres.

Then Æneas and his companions builded themselves ships, that they might sail over the seas, in obedience to the command of the gods, that they should seek another land; and when a year was wellnigh passed, the work was finished. Whereupon they sailed, taking their gods with them. We have not space to recount their experiences in Thrace, Delos, or Crete; or to tell the story of the dreadful CyclopÉs; nor of the death and burial of old Anchises in Sicily. But scarcely had they sailed from the land of Sicily, when Juno beheld them. Most wrathful was her countenance as she looked down upon these hated Trojans; and she said to herself: “Shall these men of Troy always baffle my august will? Shall I, though wife to mighty Jupiter, avail nothing against these people? Behold, none shall pay me honor and sacrifice if mortals thus withstand the wishes of the Goddess of Olympus.” Thus musing in her heart, she betook herself to the land of Æolia, where King Æolus holdeth the winds within the mountains; and though they roar within the earth with furious mutterings, their king restraineth them according to his will. To him fair Juno spoke: “O Æolus, whom great Jupiter maketh king of the powerful winds, listen to my words. A nation whom I hold in no favor now saileth over the Tuscan seas. Loose now thy storms against them, so that their ships be buried in the deep; and behold, I will reward thee with the fairest maiden of all those lovely nymphs who around me wait my bidding.”

Then King Æolus answered:—

“O Queen of dread Olympus! ’tis thine to order what thou wilt, and mine to obey thine august commands. It was thy gracious gift which bestowed upon me this sovereignty, and by thy favor am I permitted a place at the table of the gods.”

Whereupon he unbarred the doors of the prison of the winds, which straightway rushed forth together in a mighty host, and rolled mountain high the waves of the sea. And thunders muttered, and lightnings flashed across the heavens. Then were Æneas and his companions in great fear, and they called upon the gods in terror. Some of their ships were sunk in the sea, others shattered by the winds. Then was King Neptune roused by the wild commotions which waged in his dominions, and being aware of the wiles of his sister-goddess, he called to the winds with commanding voice:—

“What is this, ye winds, that ye dare to trouble my dominions without my august summons? Begone, and tell your king that the sea is mine to rule, and bid him confine his power to his allotted rocks and caves.”

Then did King Neptune cross the sea in his chariot; and the rebellious waves sank back affrighted at the bidding of their mighty sovereign; and behold, the sea was calm and placid as the summer’s smile. And the gods of the sea drew the ships from the rocks, King Neptune lifting them with his ponderous trident. So Æneas and his companions, being sore wearied with the storm, made for the nearest land in haste, and thus they found a haven in a land, even Africa. Hither came Æneas with seven ships.

Glad indeed were the men of Troy to stand once more upon dry land. Meanwhile, Æneas climbed a cliff to look upon the land whither they had come, and see if haply he might behold his comrades’ ships, which, though he saw not, his labor was not in vain, for on the shore he noted three majestic stags, and, following, a goodly herd. Then did he let his arrows fly till seven of the animals were killed, which furnished ample food for the men upon his seven ships; which event greatly cheered their hearts; and thereupon they made a feast upon the shore, Æneas encouraging them with hopeful words of future peace and happiness.

Meanwhile upon these things great Jupiter looked down. And as he gazed, fair Venus, mother of Æneas, approached the mighty Jove with shining eyes bedimmed with tears. And thus she spoke: “O great Father, Ruler of all things! Didst thou not promise that my son Æneas and the men of Troy should rule o’er land and sea? Why art thou, then, turned back from thy purpose?” To whom Jove answered, whilst at the same moment he bent his awful head and kissed her brow, and his stern features calmed themselves like sunshine breaking through tempestuous clouds: “Fear not, my daughter! the fate of thy children changeth not. Thou shalt see this longed-for city which the Trojan race shall build, and thou shalt receive thy great-hearted Æneas safe on Mount Olympus.

“Æneas shall subdue the people of Italy, and build a city there, and shall reign three years; and after thirty years shall the boy Ascanius, who shall hereafter be called IÜlus, change his throne from Lavinium to Alba, and for three hundred years shall Hector’s kindred rule therein. Then shall twin sons be born, whom a she-wolf shall suckle. The one of whom, even Romulus, shall build a mighty city in honor of Mars, and it shall be called Rome. Juno shall then repent her of her wrath, and join with me in favor of the men of Rome, and they shall bear rule even over Argos and MycenÆ.”

Having thus spoken, the mighty Jupiter called to his presence swift Mercury, who, donning winged sandals and golden helmet, flew shortly to Carthage, and as Jove commanded, turned the heart of Dido and her people to receive with favor these Trojan strangers thus cast upon their shores.

On the next day, Æneas, taking only Achates with him, went forth to view this new land whither they had come. And lo! Venus, his mother, met him in the midst of a thick wood. But the goddess veiled her heavenly features so that he knew her not, for she appeared habited as a Spartan maiden, after the fashion of a huntress.

Then first she spoke: “Have ye seen one of my sisters hereabouts? She is clothed in the skin of a spotted lynx, and girded with a quiver; or perchance she hunts a wild boar with horn and hound.” To whom Æneas answered, wondering at her imperial bearing which her disguise could not entirely conceal: “O Virgin! for what shall I indeed call thee; for surely neither thy mien nor voice betokens mortal woman. Methinks thou art in truth some goddess,—perchance sister of Phoebus, or haply some heavenly nymph. I have not seen thy sister; but I pray, forsooth, that thou wouldst tell us whither we have been driven, and who are the people amongst whom we find ourselves.”

And Venus replied: “It is indeed a Tyrian city that is near by, though the land be Libya. Dido is queen of this great city, having come hither from Tyre, flying from a wicked brother who had killed her husband in avaricious greed.

“This Dido was married to one SichÆus, richest among all the men of Phoenicia, and greatly beloved by his wife, whose brother Pygmalion held the throne of Tyre and thirsted for possession of the vast treasures of his brother-in-law, the priest of Hercules. And even at the altar he slew him, but hid the matter from Dido, hoping to get the coveted gold. But behold, the shade of SichÆus appeared to faithful Dido, showing his wounds by which he had been deprived of mortal life, and told her where he had hidden his treasures in the earth, bidding her secure them straightway and prepare for instant flight from Tyre and Pygmalion’s greed and cruelties.

“Then did Dido gather together many of the Tyrian nobles and men of skill, and with them she fled across the sea, and landed on this coast, where she has reared a mighty city, even brave Carthage; but from whence art thou, and whither do ye go?” To whom Æneas answered: “The long story of our wanderings would require many hours to relate. But suffice it, we are men of Troy, driven by storms to this Libyan shore. Men call me Prince Æneas, and my race is from Jupiter himself. We seek the land of Italy, for thither the gods have bidden us repair. With twenty ships did I set sail, but now scarce seven are left.”

Then Venus said with tender voice and mien of sympathy: “Surely thou art beloved of the gods, whoever thou art, brave stranger! Go show thyself to the queen, even fair Dido; and as for thy ships and thy companions, fear not. Behold yon flock of twenty snow-white swans flying through air. See, e’en though an eagle swoops down from the sky and puts them to confusion for a time, again they move in order and settle safely on the ground. If I have not learned augury in vain, thus shall thy ships come safely in the harbor.”

Then Venus turning, Æneas beheld a rosy light illumine her neck, and from her hair there came an odor sweet of heavenly ambrosia, and her garments grew into goddess-like vestments around her feet, ere she had vanished from the eyes of mortals. Then Æneas cried aloud: “O heavenly mother! why dost thou mock me with vain glimpses of thy much-loved form, nor suffer me to touch thy hand, nor grant me sight of thine immortal face?”

Then went Æneas and Achates towards the walls of the city, and Venus covered them with a thick mist, that thus no man should gaze on them, even though they might themselves behold all men and objects. And having mounted a hill o’erlooking the city, they marvelled much to behold its size and greatness. Some built the walls, rolling therefor great stones, while others reared the citadel, or marked the spot for houses. Others digged harbors or raised the walls of spacious theatres. Now in the midst of the city was a thickly wooded spot where Dido was erecting a noble temple in honor of Juno. Of bronze were gates and door-posts, and stately threshold with many steps thereunto.

And here Æneas wondered much to see painted upon the lofty walls the famous story of the fall of Troy. In order were the battles portrayed, and all the valiant Greeks and valorous Trojans were also there depicted; and Æneas knew himself, fighting amongst the Grecian chiefs.

Much was he moved thereat, and said with tears to Achates, his companion: “Is there any land which the story of our sorrows has not reached? Surely this fame shall profit us!” And lo! while Æneas marvelled at these things, Dido, most beautiful of women, fair as Diana, appeared amidst a throng of lovely maidens and bands of comely youths. Right nobly did she bear herself amongst her subjects, until she sat herself down on gorgeous throne in the gate of the temple, having armed heroes around her. There she dispensed justice, and apportioned to each his task in the building of her grand and stately city. Then suddenly Æneas beheld a company of men arrive with haste where Dido held her court, and quickly he perceived amongst them Antheus, and Cloanthus, and other men of Troy, from whom he had been parted by the storm. Then leave being given Ilioneus, one of them, to address Queen Dido regarding their presence there, he thus began: “O Queen! whom Jupiter permits to rear this spacious city, we are men of Troy whom storms have driven to your midst; we pray thee spare our ships from flames, and save a people serving the gods. There is a land called Italy, whither we journey, as the gods commanded. We had a king, Æneas, but we know not whether he be alive or buried in the sea.”

Then Dido answered: “Fear not, ye men of Troy! Know that I will give you help and protect you. If you will settle in this land, Trojans and Tyrians shall be equal in my sight. Would that your king were here! But I will send messengers throughout this land to seek him, lest haply he be cast upon the shore.”

Then were Æneas and Achates glad to hear this welcome of the fair Queen Dido; and they would fain have shown themselves, but the mist restrained them. But lo! the cloud parted forthwith, and Æneas stood before the queen, with face and breast as of a god; for so his mother had clothed him, and cast about him a purple light, through which he shone with all the beauties of youth. Then spake he to Queen Dido:—

“Lo! I am he you ask for, even Æneas of Troy. So long as the rivers run to the seas, and the shadows fall on the hollows of the hills, so long shall thy name and glory last for this thy kindness to poor strangers cast upon thy shores.”

Then Dido, after a time of silent meditation, graciously replied: “I too have wandered far, even as you, and having suffered much, have learnt to succor them that suffer. Even from the day my father Belus conquered Cyprus have I known the wondrous tale of Troy. Come ye, therefore, to my palace.”

So saying, she led Æneas to her stately palace, sending meanwhile most bountiful provision to his companions in the ships,—even twenty oxen, a hundred swine, and a hundred sheep and lambs. Then in her royal palace a sumptuous feast was spread. The tables were weighted with gold and silver vessels and cups of marvellous workmanship, whereon were engraved great deeds of valor. The rooms were adorned with luxurious couches draped with costly purple, embroidered with cunning skill; while fair Dido was herself most radiant in resplendent robes of shining tissues sparkling with priceless gems.

Then did Æneas send Achates in haste to the ships, that he might bring the young Ascanius to the feast. Also Æneas ordered that the boy should be laden with rare and costly gifts, of such things as they had saved from the ruins of Troy, that they might be presented to fair Dido as a grateful offering for her most courteous reception of himself and followers.

Among these gifts there was a mantle of golden tissue and a veil bordered with yellow acanthus: this had fair Helen brought from her Grecian home, and which her mother Leda had lovingly bestowed. There was a sceptre likewise, having belonged to Ilione, eldest daughter of King Priam; also a necklace of pearls, and a double crown of gold encrusted with dazzling jewels. But ere the boy Ascanius departed from the ships bearing these gifts, Venus contrived a cunning scheme to guard her son Æneas from any coming treachery from the men of Tyre; for Venus pondered well on Juno’s hatred of her son and many wiles. So fair Venus called to her aid her bright son Cupid, even the lovely wingÉd boy known as the god of Love. To him she thus unfolded her well-laid plan:—

“Most beautiful and powerful Cupid! my best-beloved son, who laughest at the dreadful thunders of the mighty Jupiter, and canst even defy the wiles of wrathful Juno, thy aid I seek in guarding Æneas from her treacherous devices. To-day Queen Dido entertains thy brother Æneas in her palace, and showeth him courteous favor; but evil may betide unless her heart is fixed in continued liking for him. List thou, and do my bidding! His son Ascanius even now cometh from the ships, laden with rich gifts for the Carthaginian queen. I would that thou shouldst assume his dress and features and mode of speech and gait; bear thyself these presents to fair Dido, while I, meanwhile, will snatch the boy Ascanius away in a cloud, and bear him to Cythera or Idalium, and hide him there in heavy slumbers, resting on bed of sleep-producing flowers and fanned with gentle zephyrs. Do thou, meanwhile, go to the palace as Ascanius, and when Dido welcomes thee with kiss and fond embrace, breathe into her heart a fire of love, so that she shall forget the grave of SichÆus, and turn her thoughts and glances upon the handsome countenance of Æneas.”

Thus did it come to pass. Ascanius slept in the cool and shady woods of Idalium, lulled by sweet-smelling flowers, and Cupid in the guise of Æneas’s son did bear the costly gifts to the fair queen, which graciously she received with tender welcome and loving embraces of the beautiful boy, who, after greeting Æneas as his father, betook himself to the side of the gentle Dido; and as she toyed with his shining locks of golden hair or pressed fond kiss upon his brow, the wily Cupid did forthwith ensnare her heart; and though he had left wings and darts behind when he put off his godlike mien, his bright eyes sent arrows of fire to her heart, and his childish clasp around her neck did thrill her being. But ’twas of the brave Æneas that she thought, and petted the pretty boy for his supposed father’s sake. Much the Tyrians marvelled at the costly gifts of Prince Æneas, and more they wondered at his beautiful boy, the false Ascanius; and Dido could not satisfy her eyes with looking on this lovely vision of youthful beauty; and little wot she of the trouble that same winning child was preparing for her in the days to come.

Most sumptuous was the feast. Then the queen called for a huge cup of gold, encrusted with gems, from which King Belus, her illustrious father, often drank in his days of power; and having filled it with the sparkling wine, she cried: “Great Jupiter, thou god of feasts and mightiest of all the immortals at the table of the gods, grant joy this day to men of Troy and men of Tyre, and may our friendship endure to future generations.” And having touched the foaming goblet to her lips, she handed it to the highest princes of the realm, and each in order drank. Then did the minstrel Iopas, famed for striking wondrous music from the harp, give charming entertainment to the guests, singing of sun and moon and stars; of Arcturus and Hyades, and why the winter sun hastens to dip his shining head in ocean, and why the winter nights are long and dreary; and also of men and beasts he sang; of valiant deeds and adventures of the chase. Then Queen Dido asked Æneas much of Troy and the wondrous story of its direful fall; nor was she satisfied until he had recounted all things that had befallen him, both during that famous contest and since, even till he landed on her shores. And many days were spent in telling this most fascinating tale; for still again each day the queen begged he would renew the marvellous account of heroes slain or battles won. Much was Queen Dido moved in spirit by this story, and still with greater favor did she esteem the teller of this wondrous tale, and scarce could sleep for thinking of him.

Then thus she spake to her sister Anna: “O my sister, I have been greatly troubled this night with evil dreams. Who can be this wondrous stranger who hath come to our coasts? Surely his noble mien and brave valor betokens that he is one of the sons of the gods! Were I not steadfastly purposed that I would not yoke myself again in marriage, to this man only might I yield.”

Then Anna answered: “Why wilt thou waste thy youth in useless sorrow for the dead? Think also of the dangers which surround thy throne, and to what greatness may the strength of Carthage grow through such alliance. Seek counsel of the gods, who, methinks, direct thy heart.”

Thus did her sister offer comforting advice, the which, forsooth, fair Dido was not loath to take.

Then was a royal hunt prepared. The princes of Carthage waited for their queen at the palace door, where her proud steed stood champing his golden bit, caparisoned with royal trappings of gold and purple. Beauteous indeed was fair Dido, as she appeared adorned with Sidonian mantle with embroideries of divers colors. Her quiver was of gold, and of the same the rich clasp of her mantle, while her hair was caught in knot of gold. Æneas came to meet her, beautiful as Apollo himself; and forth the hunters went with goodly escort, and coming to the hills, found many goats and stags, which they chased; Ascanius scorning such easy hunting, wishing for wild boar or lion for his prey.

Then did a terrible storm arise; and seeking shelter, the guests were separated from one another, and the Tyrian princes also lost sight of their queen. By order of the gods, fair Dido and brave Æneas fled both to the same sheltering cave. Here was their troth plighted; and when the nuptial knot was tied by Hymen, god of marriage, straightway the goddess Rumor reported this event throughout all Libya, how that fair Dido was wedded to Æneas of Troy. Then was Iarbas, her former suitor, very wroth, and vowed swift vengeance, and made haste to the temple of Jupiter and spread his grief before the great ruler of Olympus. Whereupon great Jove despatched swift-footed Mercury to Æneas with this message:—

“Thus saith the king of gods and men: Is this what thy mother promised of thee, twice saving thee from the spear of the Greeks? Art thou he that shall rule Italy, and its mighty men of war, and spread thy dominions to the end of the world? What doest thou here? Why lookest thou not to Italy? Depart, and tarry not.”

This message swift Mercury brought to Æneas, where he stood, with yellow jasper in his sword-hilt, and wrapped in cloak of purple, gold embroidered—Queen Dido’s gifts. Having delivered the commands of mighty Jupiter to the trembling Trojan hero, the god Mercury vanished, and Æneas was left with troubled thoughts to ponder on these weighty words. At last he joined his companions, having resolved to fly from alluring Carthage; and he bid them secretly prepare their fleet for sailing. Meanwhile he sought some fitting opportunity to take a last farewell of the beautiful queen, who by her loving devotion made his going grievous.

But Dido, with jealous love, which is most keen of sight, divined his purpose ere he had revealed it to her; and quickly seeking Æneas, she exclaimed in mingled love and anger: “Thoughtest thou to hide thy purpose and to depart in silence from this land? Carest thou not for her whom thou leavest to die? And hast thou no fear of winter storms upon the sea? Repent thee of this cruel resolve.”

But Æneas, fearing the words of Jupiter, stood with averted eyes and looks which relented not. At last he spake:—

“I deny not, O Queen, the benefits thou hast done to me, nor while I live shall I forget Dido. But the gods command that I should seek Italy. Thou hast thy Carthage; why dost thou grudge Italy to us? Nor may I tarry. Even now the messenger of Jupiter came to me and bade me depart.”

Then was Queen Dido very wroth; and her eyes blazed with jealous love and anger, which waged within her heart a mighty contest. At last she cried: “As for thee, I keep thee not. Go, seek thy Italy across the seas; only if there is any vengeance in heaven, thou wilt pay the penalty for this wrong. Then wilt thou call on Dido in vain. Ay, and wherever thou shalt go, I will haunt thee, and rejoice in the dwellings below to hear thy doom.”

Having said which, the afflicted queen hasted to depart to her palace. But her grief o’ercame her powerful spirit, so that she fell like to one dead, and was laid by her maidens upon her bed.

Though Æneas would fain comfort the sorrowing queen, the word of Jove o’ermastered his inclination, so that he hasted to his ships and speedily prepared for flight. But when the spirit returned to fainting Dido, she cried out in heart, and bade her sister note the treacherous Trojans who thus so poorly repaid her generous treatment. And Dido sought once more to move the mind of Æneas, even sending Anna to him to beg that if he must depart indeed, he yet would stay his going for a space of time. But stern Æneas relented not; whereupon fair Dido grew weary of her life, and as she offered sacrifice she perceived many ill omens of coming woe. Then she bethought herself of a plan to avenge her heart, though it should cost her life. But she hid the matter from her sister, and said to her that a noted prophetess had declared there was a remedy which should bring her Trojan hero back or free her of him.

Thus she deceived her trusting sister, who little imagined her direful purpose. And Queen Dido bade her sister build a funeral pile—for so the priestess had commanded—and put thereon the sword which Æneas had left behind; also the garments he wore, and the couch on which he lay, even all that was his, that they might perish together. Also an image of Æneas was laid upon the pile, and the priestess, with hair unbound, sprinkled thereon water, said to be drawn from the lake of Avernus, while she scattered evil herbs that had been cut at the full moon with a sickle of bronze. Dido herself, meanwhile, with loosened garments and bare feet, threw meal upon the fire, and called upon the gods for vengeance. Thus did the queen hide her dread purpose ’neath spell of witchery and sacrifice to the gods.

In the meantime, Æneas lay asleep in his ship, and in a dream again Mercury appeared and warned him of Dido, telling him to fly and tarry not.

Æneas, waking in great fear, called his companions, and they straightway loosed the sails and sped o’er the sea.

And in the morning, lo! Dido, from her watch-tower, perceived the Trojan fleet had fled. Then did she smite upon her breast, and tore her hair in anguish. But still she kept her real intent from all around her; and calling to old BarcÉ, who had been nurse to SichÆus, she did dissemble her great grief, and bade her call her sister Anna, that she might now prepare the sacrifice; and Dido also bade old BarcÉ to bind a garland round her head, for she was now minded to finish the sacrifice, and to burn the image of the man of Troy. Then when the old woman hasted to do her bidding, Dido herself ran to the funeral pile, made for the burning, and drew the sword of Æneas from the scabbard, and having mounted the pile, she threw herself upon Æneas’s couch, and wept and kissed his image, and cried: “Shall I die unavenged? Nevertheless, let me die. The man of Troy shall see this fire from the sea, whereon he journeys, and carry with him an augury of death.”

And when her sister and her maidens, coming in haste, looked upon the pile, lo! she had fallen upon the sword, and the blood was upon her hands. Then a great cry arose throughout the palace, and Anna, rushing through the midst, called upon her name: “O my sister, was this thy purpose? Were the pile and the sword and the fire for this?” Then she climbed upon the pile and took her sister in her arms and sought to stanch the flowing blood. Three times did Dido strive to raise her eyes; three times did her spirit leave her. Then Juno, looking down from heaven and perceiving that her pain was long, in pity sent down Iris, her messenger, that she might loose the soul that struggled to be free. For, seeing that she died not by nature, nor yet by the hand of man, but before her time and by her own madness. Queen Proserpine had not shred the ringlet from her head which she shreds from them who die. Wherefore, Iris, flying down with dewy wings from heaven, with a thousand colors about her from the light of the sun, stood above her head and said, “I give thee to death, even as I am bidden, and loose thee from thy body.” Then she shred the lock, and Queen Dido yielded up her mortal spirit.

Once more Æneas met Queen Dido when he was permitted by the gods to descend into the land of shadows, where dwelt the shades of the dead.

When Æneas and the Sibyl, who conducted him thither, came to the river Styx, then was the Boatman Charon persuaded to ferry them over, for the Sibyl showed him the marvellous bough of gold, a gift intended for the Queen of Hades; and the huge, terrible watch-dog Cerberus, which guards the portals to the Land of Shadows, was tamed by eating of the cake the Sibyl gave, made of honey and poppy-seed, causing sleep.

Thus did they come within the Mourning Fields, where dwell the souls of those who have died of love. Among these shades was Dido, fresh from the wound wherewith she slew herself. And when Æneas saw her darkly through the shadows, he wept and cried: “O Dido! it was truth, then, that they told me,—that thou hadst slain thyself with the sword? Loath was I, O Queen,—I swear it,—to leave thy land. But the gods constrained me; nor did I think that thou wouldst take such sorrow from my departure. But stay! depart not; for never again may I speak to thee, but this time only.”

But Dido cast her eyes upon the ground, and her heart was hard against him, even as a rock. His tears and groans and sighs and friendly words moved not her spirit, nor could appease her wrath. Silent and scornful she departed to the grove that was hard by, where dwelt her first husband, SichÆus, who gave her love, even as he was loved by her.

Thus was the love of Dido, which Æneas had slighted, avenged. And herewith endeth the poet’s story of the famous Queen Dido, in which he telleth of her fame and beauty and unhappy love and direful death.