BkI:1-11 Invocation to the Muse

I sing of arms and the man, he who, exiled by fate, first came from the coast of Troy to Italy, and to Lavinian shores – hurled about endlessly by land and sea, by the will of the gods, by cruel Juno’s remorseless anger, long suffering also in war, until he founded a city and brought his gods to Latium: from that the Latin people came, the lords of Alba Longa, the walls of noble Rome. Muse, tell me the cause: how was she offended in her divinity, how was she grieved, the Queen of Heaven, to drive a man, noted for virtue, to endure such dangers, to face so many trials? Can there be such anger in the minds of the gods?

BkI:12-49 The Anger of Juno

There was an ancient city, Carthage (held by colonists from Tyre), opposite Italy, and the far-off mouths of the Tiber, rich in wealth, and very savage in pursuit of war.

They say Juno loved this one land above all others, even neglecting Samos: here were her weapons and her chariot, even then the goddess worked at, and cherished, the idea that it should have supremacy over the nations, if only the fates allowed. Yet she’d heard of offspring, derived from Trojan blood, that would one day overthrow the Tyrian stronghold: that from them a people would come, wide-ruling, and proud in war, to Libya’s ruin: so the Fates ordained. Fearing this, and remembering the ancient war she had fought before, at Troy, for her dear Argos, (and the cause of her anger and bitter sorrows had not yet passed from her mind: the distant judgement of Paris stayed deep in her heart, the injury to her scorned beauty, her hatred of the race, and abducted Ganymede’s honours) the daughter of Saturn, incited further by this, hurled the Trojans, the Greeks and pitiless Achilles had left, round the whole ocean, keeping them far from Latium: they wandered for many years, driven by fate over all the seas.

Such an effort it was to found the Roman people.

Juno arranges for a storm that threatens to destroy the Trojans; Venus appeals to Jupiter for help and is given this assurance in a prophecy about the future of Rome:
BkI:257-296 Jupiter’s Prophecy

‘Don’t be afraid, Cytherea [Venus], your child’s fate remains unaltered: You’ll see the city of Lavinium, and the walls I promised, and you’ll raise great-hearted Aeneas high, to the starry sky: No thought has changed my mind. This son of yours (since this trouble gnaws at my heart, I’ll speak, and unroll the secret scroll of destiny) will wage a mighty war in Italy, destroy proud peoples, and establish laws, and city walls, for his warriors, until a third summer sees his reign in Latium, and three winter camps pass since the Rutulians were beaten.

But the boy Ascanius, surnamed Iulus now (He was Ilus while the Ilian kingdom was a reality) will imperially complete thirty great circles of the turning months, and transfer his throne from its site at Lavinium, and mighty in power, will build the walls of Alba Longa. Here kings of Hector’s race will reign now for three hundred years complete, until a royal priestess, Ilia, heavy with child, shall bear Mars twins.

Then Romulus will further the race, proud in his nurse the she-wolf’s tawny pelt, and found the walls of Mars, and call the people Romans, from his own name. I’ve fixed no limits or duration to their possessions: I’ve given them empire without end. Why, harsh Juno who now torments land, and sea and sky with fear, will respond to better judgement, and favour the Romans, masters of the world, and people of the toga, with me.

So it is decreed. A time will come, as the years glide by, when the Trojan house of Assaracus will force Phthia into slavery, and be lords of beaten Argos. From this glorious source a Trojan Caesar will be born, who will bound the empire with Ocean, his fame with the stars, Augustus, a Julius, his name descended from the great Iulus. You, no longer anxious, will receive him one day in heaven, burdened with Eastern spoils: he’ll be called to in prayer. Then with wars abandoned, the harsh ages will grow mild: White haired Trust, and Vesta, Quirinus with his brother Remus will make the laws: the gates of War, grim with iron, and narrowed by bars, will be closed: inside impious Rage will roar frighteningly from blood-stained mouth, seated on savage weapons, hands tied behind his back, with a hundred knots of bronze.’

Venus takes the disguise of a human and tells her son to go to Carthage where he will meet his old friends and see the new city...
BkI:418-463 The Temple of Juno

Meanwhile they’ve tackled the route the path revealed. And soon they climbed the hill that looms high over the city, and looks down from above on the towers that face it.

Aeneas marvels at the mass of buildings, once huts, marvels at the gates, the noise, the paved roads. The eager Tyrians are busy, some building walls, and raising the citadel, rolling up stones by hand, some choosing the site for a house, and marking a furrow: they make magistrates and laws, and a sacred senate: here some are digging a harbour: others lay down the deep foundations of a theatre, and carve huge columns from the cliff, tall adornments for the future stage. Just as bees in early summer carry out their tasks among the flowery fields, in the sun, when they lead out the adolescent young of their race, or cram the cells with liquid honey, and swell them with sweet nectar, or receive the incoming burdens, or forming lines drive the lazy herd of drones from their hives: the work glows, and the fragrant honey’s sweet with thyme.

‘O fortunate those whose walls already rise!’ Aeneas cries, and admires the summits of the city. He enters among them, veiled in mist (marvellous to tell) and mingles with the people seen by no one. There was a grove in the centre of the city, delightful with shade, where the wave and storm-tossed Phoenicians first uncovered the head of a fierce horse, that regal Juno showed them: so the race would be noted in war, and rich in substance throughout the ages. Here Sidonian Dido was establishing a great temple to Juno, rich with gifts and divine presence, with bronze entrances rising from stairways, and beams jointed with bronze, and hinges creaking on bronze doors.

Here in the grove something new appeared that calmed his fears for the first time, here for the first time Aeneas dared to hope for safety, and to put greater trust in his afflicted fortunes. While, waiting for the queen, in the vast temple, he looks at each thing: while he marvels at the city’s wealth, the skill of their artistry, and the products of their labours, he sees the battles at Troy in their correct order, the War, known through its fame to the whole world, the sons of Atreus, of Priam, and Achilles angered with both.

He halted, and said, with tears: ‘What place is there, Achates, what region of earth not full of our hardships? See, Priam! Here too virtue has its rewards, here too there are tears for events, and mortal things touch the heart. Lose your fears: this fame will bring you benefit.’

BkI:561-585 Dido Welcomes the Trojans in Carthage

Then, Dido, spoke briefly, with lowered eyes: ‘Trojans, free your hearts of fear: dispel your cares. Harsh events and the newness of the kingdom force me to effect such things, and protect my borders with guards on all sides. Who doesn’t know of Aeneas’s race, and the city of Troy, the bravery, the men, or so great a blaze of warfare, indeed, we Phoenicians don’t possess unfeeling hearts, the sun doesn’t harness his horses that far from this Tyrian city.

Whether you opt for mighty Hesperia, and Saturn’s fields, or the summit of Eryx, and Acestes for king, I’ll see you safely escorted, and help you with my wealth. Or do you wish to settle here with me, as equals in my kingdom? The city I build is yours: beach your ships: Trojans and Tyrians will be treated by me without distinction. I wish your king Aeneas himself were here, driven by that same storm! Indeed, I’ll send reliable men along the coast, and order them to travel the length of Libya, in case he’s driven aground, and wandering the woods and towns.’

Brave Achetes, and our forefather Aeneas, their spirits raised by these words, had been burning to break free of the mist. Achates was first to speak, saying to Aeneas: ‘Son of the goddess, what intention springs to your mind? You see all’s safe, the fleet and our friends have been restored to us. Only one is missing, whom we saw plunged in the waves: all else is in accord with your mother’s words.’

BkI:586-612 Aeneas Makes Himself Known

He’d scarcely spoken when the mist surrounding them suddenly parted, and vanished in the clear air. Aeneas stood there, shining in the bright daylight, like a god in shoulders and face: since his mother had herself imparted to her son beauty to his hair, a glow of youth, and a joyful charm to his eyes: like the glory art can give to ivory, or as when silver, or Parian marble, is surrounded by gold. Then he addressed the queen, suddenly, surprising them all, saying: ‘I am here in person, Aeneas the Trojan, him whom you seek, saved from the Libyan waves. O Dido, it is not in our power, nor those of our Trojan race, wherever they may be, scattered through the wide world, to pay you sufficient thanks, you who alone have pitied Troy’s unspeakable miseries, and share your city and home with us, the remnant left by the Greeks, wearied by every mischance, on land and sea, and lacking everything. May the gods, and the mind itself conscious of right, bring you a just reward, if the gods respect the virtuous, if there is justice anywhere. What happy age gave birth to you? What parents produced such a child? Your honour, name and praise will endure forever, whatever lands may summon me, while rivers run to the sea, while shadows cross mountain slopes, while the sky nourishes the stars.’ So saying he grasps his friend Iloneus by the right hand, Serestus with the left, then others, brave Gyus and brave Cloanthus.

BkI:613-656 Dido Receives Aeneas

Sidonian Dido was first amazed at the hero’s looks then at his great misfortunes, and she spoke, saying: ‘Son of a goddess, what fate pursues you through all these dangers? What force drives you to these barbarous shores? Are you truly that Aeneas whom kindly Venus bore to Trojan Anchises, by the waters of Phrygian Simois? Indeed, I myself remember Teucer coming to Sidon, exiled from his country’s borders, seeking a new kingdom with Belus’s help: Belus, my father, was laying waste rich Cyprus, and, as victor, held it by his authority.

Since then the fall of the Trojan city is known to me, and your name, and those of the Greek kings. Even their enemy granted the Teucrians high praise, maintaining they were born of the ancient Teucrian stock. So come, young lords, and enter our palace. Fortune, pursuing me too, through many similar troubles, willed that I would find peace at last in this land. Not being unknown to evil, I’ve learned to aid the unhappy.’ So she speaks, and leads Aeneas into the royal house, and proclaims, as well, offerings at the god’s temples. She sends no less than twenty bulls to his friends on the shore, and a hundred of her largest pigs with bristling backs, a hundred fat lambs with the ewes, and joyful gifts of wine, but the interior of the palace is laid out with royal luxury, and they prepare a feast in the centre of the palace: covers worked skilfully in princely purple, massive silverware on the tables, and her forefathers’ heroic deeds engraved in gold, a long series of exploits traced through many heroes, since the ancient origins of her people.

Aeneas quickly sends Achates to the ships to carry the news to Ascanius (since a father’s love won’t let his mind rest) and bring him to the city: on Ascanius all the care of a fond parent is fixed. He commands him to bring gifts too, snatched from the ruins of Troy, a figured robe stiff with gold, and a cloak fringed with yellow acanthus, worn by Helen of Argos, brought from Mycenae when she sailed to Troy and her unlawful marriage, a wonderful gift from her mother Leda: and the sceptre that Ilione, Priam’s eldest daughter, once carried, and a necklace of pearls, and a double-coronet of jewels and gold. Achates, hastening to fulfil these commands, took his way towards the ships.

BkI:657-694 Cupid Impersonates Ascanius

But Venus was planning new wiles and stratagems in her heart: how Cupid, altered in looks, might arrive in place of sweet Ascanius, and arouse the passionate queen by his gifts, and entwine the fire in her bones: truly she fears the unreliability of this house, and the duplicitous Tyrians: unyielding Juno angers her, and her worries increase with nightfall. So she speaks these words to winged Cupid: ‘My son, you who alone are my great strength, my power, a son who scorns mighty Jupiter’s Typhoean thunderbolts, I ask your help, and humbly call on your divine will. It’s known to you how Aeneas, your brother, is driven over the sea, round all the shores, by bitter Juno’s hatred, and you have often grieved with my grief.

Phoenician Dido holds him there, delaying him with flattery, and I fear what may come of Juno’s hospitality: at such a critical turn of events she’ll not be idle. So I intend to deceive the queen with guile, and encircle her with passion, so that no divine will can rescue her, but she’ll be seized, with me, by deep love for Aeneas. Now listen to my thoughts on how you can achieve this. Summoned by his dear father, the royal child, my greatest concern, prepares to go to the Sidonian city, carrying gifts that survived the sea, and the flames of Troy. I’ll lull him to sleep and hide him in my sacred shrine on the heights of Cythera or Idalium, so he can know nothing of my deceptions, or interrupt them mid-way. For no more than a single night imitate his looks by art, and, a boy yourself, take on the known face of a boy, so that when Dido takes you to her breast, joyfully, amongst the royal feast, and the flowing wine, when she embraces you, and plants sweet kisses on you, you’ll breathe hidden fire into her, deceive her with your poison.’ Cupid obeys his dear mother’s words, sets aside his wings, and laughingly trips along with Iulus’s step. But Venus pours gentle sleep over Ascanius’s limbs, and warming him in her breast, carries him, with divine power, to Idalia’s high groves, where soft marjoram smothers him in flowers, and the breath of its sweet shade.

BkI:695-722 Cupid Deceives Dido

Now, obedient to her orders, delighting in Achetes as guide, Cupid goes off carrying royal gifts for the Tyrians. When he arrives the queen has already settled herself in the centre, on her golden couch under royal canopies. Now our forefather Aeneas and the youth of Troy gather there, and recline on cloths of purple. Servants pour water over their hands: serve bread from baskets: and bring napkins of smooth cloth. Inside there are fifty female servants, in a long line, whose task it is to prepare the meal, and tend the hearth fires: a hundred more, and as many pages of like age, to load the tables with food, and fill the cups. And the Tyrians too are gathered in crowds through the festive halls, summoned to recline on the embroidered couches. They marvel at Aeneas’s gifts, marvel at Iulus, the god’s brilliant appearance, and deceptive words, at the robe, and the cloak embroidered with yellow acanthus. The unfortunate Phoenician above all, doomed to future ruin, cannot pacify her feelings, and catches fire with gazing, stirred equally by the child and by the gifts. He, having hung in an embrace round Aeneas’s neck, and sated the deceived father’s great love, seeks out the queen. Dido, clings to him with her eyes and with her heart, taking him now and then on her lap, unaware how great a god is entering her, to her sorrow. But he, remembering his Cyprian mother’s wishes, begins gradually to erase all thought of Sychaeus, and works at seducing her mind, so long unstirred, and her heart unused to love, with living passion.

BkI:723-756 Dido Asks for Aeneas’s Story

At the first lull in the feasting, the tables were cleared, and they set out vast bowls, and wreathed the wine with garlands. Noise filled the palace, and voices rolled out across the wide halls: bright lamps hung from the golden ceilings, and blazing candles dispelled the night. Then the queen asked for a drinking-cup, heavy with gold and jewels, that Belus and all Belus’s line were accustomed to use, and filled it with wine. Then the halls were silent. She spoke: ‘Jupiter, since they say you’re the one who creates the laws of hospitality, let this be a happy day for the Tyrians and those from Troy, and let it be remembered by our children. Let Bacchus, the joy-bringer, and kind Juno be present, and you, O Phoenicians, make this gathering festive.’ She spoke and poured an offering of wine onto the table, and after the libation was the first to touch the bowl to her lips, then she gave it to Bitias, challenging him: he briskly drained the brimming cup, drenching himself in its golden fullness, then other princes drank. Iolas, the long-haired, made his golden lyre resound, he whom great Atlas taught.

He sang of the wandering moon and the sun’s labours, where men and beasts came from, and rain and fire, of Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, the two Bears: why the winter suns rush to dip themselves in the sea, and what delay makes the slow nights linger. The Tyrians redoubled their applause, the Trojans too. And unfortunate Dido, she too spent the night in conversation, and drank deep of her passion, asking endlessly about Priam and Hector: now about the armour that Memnon, son of the Dawn, came with to Troy, what kind were Diomed’s horses, how great was Achilles. ‘But come, my guest, tell us from the start all the Greek trickery, your men’s mishaps, and your wanderings: since it’s the seventh summer now that brings you here, in your journey, over every land and sea.’

End of Book I