By Meghan Reedy
The last time we heard Dido and Aeneas speak to each other was at that very first dinner they had together, where they talked all night—and in particular, Aeneas talked for hours about the Trojan war and his journey at sea. That conversation began in 1.723-56, and Aeneas tale took all of Books 2 and 3.
Since that night, we haven’t heard them talk to each other, even though events in their relationship have been moving very fast. They were ‘married’ in that cave in the middle of a storm, while they were just out hunting together (160–72), and all the action from then until now has been the flying of rumors, people hearing things about people from other people. By the end of the passing of rumors about them together, Aeneas and Dido are driven apart; in the second of their two conversations, Aeneas is leaving.
Dido’s speech to Aeneas is extraordinary and uses arguments from every possible angle in an effort to convince Aeneas that his leaving is unnecessary and unfair. Aeneas’ speech in return is defensive and cool. Both repay careful reading, and they are rewarding to compare and contrast. However, how we understand what they say, which is inevitably linked to the emotional state and frame of mind of each speaker, is substantially determined before either one opens their mouths to say their first word. Thus I aim here to do preparatory work—to explore the way Dido and Aeneas each come to the conversation—in hope that it will enrich your own reading of the speeches themselves.
We hear about Aeneas first, then about Dido, but Dido speaks first, then Aeneas, so there is a chiastic order to the scene.
When Mercury has finished speaking to Aeneas and vanished into thin air before his very eyes (in tenuem ex oculis evanuit auram, 278), Aeneas is stunned and horrified: At … Aeneas obmutuit amens, arrectaeque horrore comae et vox faucibus haesit (279–80). He goes a little crazy, amens, and his entire focus, his whole desire, is radically shifted by the encounter: ardet abire fuga dulces relinquere terras, attonitus tanto monitu imperioque deorum (281–82). Similar to what we saw when Dido (whom he didn’t notice) and his fellow Trojans (whom he emphatically did notice) both came into the temple while he was looking at the pictures of the Trojan war, Aeneas’ most intense emotion is directed towards his own journey to Italy. We have seen too that Dido’s intense emotion was directed first towards Sychaeus and later on towards Aeneas. Where Dido felt a fire in her veins for Aeneas (caeco carpiture igni, 2), Aeneas now burns to get away (ardet abire, 281).
For the rest of the scene, when Aeneas casts about in a frenzy about what he can do (heu quid agat? 283), a major concern is how to tell Dido, but it is ultimately parallel to his other logistical concern, which is getting his men and ships ready to leave. He phrases it in distinctly political terms: quo nunc reginam ambire furentem audeat adfatu? (283–84). What he needs to do, ambire, is surround her, get her vote, canvas her; his means for doing so, adfatu, is an address to her—not at all a conversation with her. Indeed, it is worth noting that adfator is commonly used when people address their farewells to the dead—a markedly one sided business.
Other aspects of this question he asks himself are also suggestive of how he expects his farewell to her to go. He is going to have to work up his courage to do it, audeat, and he expects her to be upset and unreasonable, furentem. Or, perhaps he is remembering now the stereotype of Phoenicians as fierce that surfaced in 1.302, when Jupiter sent Mercury to make sure the Trojans would be welcomed: ponunt ferocia Poeni corda volente deo (302–3). Thus, not only does he anticipate an announcement rather than a reciprocal exchange, but he also speaks as though she is already losing her individuality in his eyes and reverting to type: the fierce/furious Phoenician queen who needs to be talked to.
Thus, after he runs through all sorts of possibilities (varias perque omnia versat, 286) and decides on what seems his best option (haec alternanti potior sententia visa est, 287), the strategy he settles on is to divide the work in half. His men will secretly start preparing to leave (288–91) while he deals with Dido. He does acknowledge that it has been a landmark affair and knows that she is not expecting the break (tantos rumpi non speret amores, 292), so he will look for the easiest time to speak, mollissima fandi tempora, and the most skillful way to manage things, quis rebus dexter modus (291–94). Tasks are divided and synchronized in order to further the thing he is now burning to do—which is to leave.
Therefore, when he goes into his conversation with Dido, Aeneas is feeling a strong emotional pull away from Dido, a feeling fueled by a direct interaction with Mercury and a direct order from Jupiter. While he can acknowledge that there has been strong fellow feeling (tantos amores, 292) between himself and Dido, it is clear that he is planning to interact with her with the diplomatic aim of leaving on decent terms. He seems to expect that she will be upset (furentem, 283), and there may be a tiny hint that he sees how harmful his leaving will be to her (adfatu, 284), but these are vague obstacles he plans to overcome with skill (quis rebus dexter modus (294). Also, he expects to be able to frame the matter himself, to have the advantage of surprise, since Dido doesn’t know (quando Dido nesciat, 291–92).
But of course Dido knows! At regina dolos (quis fallere possit amantem?) praesensit … (296–97).
The nature of Dido’s knowing, however, is complicated. The parenthesis in 296, ‘who could ever fool a lover?’, offers a truism that suggests Dido can ‘just tell’ when her lover is planning to leave. Next, we are given a little more: she was the first to catch wind of the ructions there were going to be, fearing when everything was safe, motusque excepit prima futuros omnia tuta timens (297–98). It would seem that the participial phrase is causal: because she was fearful even when everything was safe, she was the first to find out. On the one hand, this might be seen to corroborate the truism about lovers: a lover is worried about betrayal even when it isn’t happening. On the other hand, watchfulness when all appears safe might also suggest prudent political awareness.
Then, doubt comes in: she heard an unholy rumor that the navy was being armed, and a course was being plotted: eadem impia fama furenti detulit armari classem cursumque parari (298–99). By now we are primed to recognize how fama is truth spiked with poison—and to ask, what here is true? Where is the poison? Or is it that in this case the truth is poisonous, and the poison is the truth?
This recursive reiteration of the route or routes by which Dido found out at second or third hand about Aeneas’ leaving is in clear contrast to the powerful directness of Aeneas’ interaction with Mercury. That visit from the messenger shaped Aeneas’ response to the message. Right away, it fueled his burning eagerness to leave (281–82), and just before he speaks in response to Dido, it again shapes his response. He keeps his eyes still and his anxiety hidden (immota tenebat lumina et obnixus curam sub corde premebat, 331–32) specifically because he is mindful of Jove’s warnings, Iovis monitis (331). As we will see, hearing this important news via the rumor mill likewise shapes Dido’s response.
Aeneas went a little crazy when he first heard Mercury’s message, amens (279), but then he had work to do to honor the mandate and achieve his desire, to leave. On hearing the rumor that Aeneas is leaving, Dido too goes a little crazy—only there is nothing she can really do to address the problem of Aeneas leaving. It makes her mad with rage: incensed, she savages around the city (301–2). In a three-line simile she is compared to a bacchant––a woman worshipper of the wine-god, wild-drunk and in a violent, ecstatic, frenzied trance.
Thus, when Dido goes into this conversation with Aeneas, she has learned something of great importance to her both personally and politically (namely, that her lover and co-ruler Aeneas is suddenly leaving) in a manner that befits neither her personal nor her political standing (namely, through the grapevine and not from the man himself) – and she is extremely angry and upset. If Aeneas’ strongest emotional commitment when they talk is directed away from Dido, Dido’s most intense emotion is now directed against Aeneas. If Aeneas entertained vague hope of finding an effective diplomatic solution, Dido is simply outraged.
And in line 104, finally (tandem), on her own initiative (ultro), Dido forces (compellat) Aeneas into a conversation. Aeneas has no advantage of surprise. He didn’t ‘dare’ (audeat, 284) to do anything. On the contrary, the secrecy and delay he hoped to use strategically for finding the right time to talk (mollisima fandi tempora, 292–93) have hopelessly backfired. Before they speak at all, it is deeply unlikely that there can be a diplomatic solution.
Further Reading
Feeney, D.C. ‘The Taciturnity of Aeneas’ Classical Quarterly 33 (1983) 204-29, reprinted in Oxford Readings in Virgil’s Aeneid, ed. S.J. Harrison (Oxford, 1990) 167-90
Feeney, D. ‘The Appearance(s) of Mercury and the Motivation of Aeneas’ in A Woman Scorn’d. Responses to the Dido Myth, ed. M. Burden (London, 1998) 105-30
Gibson, R.K. ‘Aeneas as Hospes in Virgil, Aeneid 1 and 4’ Classical Quarterly 49 (1999) 184-202
Hinds, S. ‘Essential epic: genre and gender from Macer to Statius’ in Matrices of Genre: Authors, Canons, and Society, eds. M. Depew and D. Obbink (Cambridge, MA, 2000) 221-44
Hughes, L. ‘Aeneas and Dido, an Homeric Homilia?’ Latomus 61 (2002) 339-51
Nelis, D. Vergil’s Aeneid and Apollonius’ Argonautica (Leeds, 2001) 148-52
O’Hara, J.J. ‘Medicine for the Madness of Dido and Gallus: Tentative Suggestions on Aeneid 4’ Vergilius 39 (1993) 12-24
Perkell, C. ‘On Creusa, Dido, and the Quality of Victory in virgil’s Aeneid’ Women’s Studies 8 (1981) 201-23, reprinted in Reflections of Women in Antiquity, ed. H. Foley (New York, 1981) 335-77
Rudd, N. ‘Dido’s Culpa’ in Lines of Enquiry: Studies in Latin Poetry (Cambridge University Press, 1976) 32-53, reprinted in Oxford Readings in Virgil’s Aeneid, ed. S.J. Harrison (Oxford, 1990) 145-90
Schiesaro, A. ‘Furthest Voices in Virgil’s Dido’ Studi Italiani di Filologia Classica n.s. 6 (2008) 60-109, 194-245