The Girls' Book of Famous Queens. Farmer Lydia Hoyt
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.
CLEOPATRA.
69-30 B.C
“She moves a goddess and she looks a queen.”
“Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety.” – Shakespeare.
THE river shone like burnished silver, resplendent in the rays of the midday sun, as Osiris drove his shining chariot of day across high heaven’s arch. The city lay along its banks in calm repose and beauty. Its palaces and villas were shaded with palms and groves of olives and clusters of stately pomegranate-trees, while flowers and fountains adorned its many stately avenues.
In his costly palace the great Roman Triumvir gave public audience to some important tribunal of state.
But now, above the noise of city sounds, arose the strains of distant music. So faint and yet so sweet it was wafted on the air, that all who heard must needs, perforce, be led to seek its source, as though directed by some secret spell which could not be resisted. The notes seemed floating o’er the river’s shining waves; and all the people crowded on its banks, with wistful curiosity, striving to catch the first glimpse of the mysterious cause of such unwonted melody.
Then flashes, with sudden glory, before their eyes a wondrous sight, which holds them spellbound in o’erwhelming admiration. From round a curve in the undulating bank, glides swiftly before their vision a gorgeous barge, the poop of which was beaten gold. The silken sails were royal purple, embroidered with silver lotus-blossoms; and as they swelled in the light breeze, a fragrance floated from their perfumed folds so exquisitely delicious, that the winds seemed love-sick with their odorous sweetness. The silver oars, gleaming in the sunshine, kept stroke with tune of flutes and lyres and cymbals; and the limpid water, parted by their glistening blades, followed each stroke with amorous touch and sweet caressing, as though loath to break away in rainbow-tinted