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TWO DRAMATIZATIONS

FROM VERGIL

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY

NEW YORK

THE CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

LONDON

THE MARUZEN-KABUSHIKI-KAISHA

TOKYO, OSAKA, KYOTO, FUKUOKA, SENDAI

THE MISSION BOOK COMPANY

SHANGHAI

TWO DRAMATIZATIONS
FROM VERGIL
[I. DIDO—The Phœnician Queen]
[II. THE FALL OF TROY]

ARRANGED AND TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE

BY

FRANK JUSTUS MILLER

Author of The Tragedies of Seneca, Translated into English Verse

The Stage Directions and Music for the Dido Are Contributed By

J. RALEIGH NELSON

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

Copyright 1908 By

Frank Justus Miller

All Rights Reserved

Published September 1908

Second Impression April 1913

Third Impression March 1917

Fourth Impression January 1920

Fifth Impression August 1924

Composed and Printed By

The University of Chicago Press

Chicago, Illinois U.S.A.

PREFACE

The epic is a drama on gigantic scale; its acts are years or centuries; its actors, heroes; its stage, the world of life; its events, those mighty cycles of activity that leave their deep impress on human history. Homer’s epics reënact the stirring scenes of the ten years’ siege of Troy, and the perilous, long wanderings of Ulysses before he reached his home; Vergil’s epic action embraces the fall of Troy and the never-ending struggles of Æneas and his band of exiles till Troy should rise again in the western world; Tasso pictures the heroic war of Godfrey and his crusaders, who strove to free the holy city of Jerusalem; and Milton, ignoring all bounds of time and space, fills his triple stage of heaven, earth, and hell with angels, men, and devils, all working out the most stupendous problems of human destiny.

Such gigantic dramas could be presented on no human stage. But in them all are lesser actions of marked dramatic possibility. Notable among these are the events culminating in the death of Hector, the home coming of Ulysses and his destruction of the suitors, Satan’s rebellion and expulsion from heaven, and the temptation and fall of man. All these furnish abundant material for the tragic stage; but all leave much to be supplied of speech and action before the full-rounded drama could take form. In the Æneid alone is found, among the minor parts which make up the epic whole, a dramatic action well-nigh complete—the love story of Æneas and Dido.

The ordinary student of Vergil is too much engrossed with an intensive study of the text, and has too near a view of the poem, to appreciate how fully this story is worked out in detail; how its speech, action, and events all lead to a dramatic climax. There is need only here and there of an interpolated lyric upon some suggested theme, a bit of Vergil’s description of action or feeling expressed in the actor’s words, an interjected line to relieve the strain of too long speech—all else is Vergil’s own, ready to be lifted out of its larger epic setting and portrayed upon the stage.

In arranging and translating this epic tragedy, the authors have made only such minor additions and alterations of the original as seemed necessary from the dramatic point of view. Prominent among these are the introduction of lyrics at certain points, the obviously necessary curtailing of the banquet scene by the omission of the long narrative of Æneas, and the removal behind the scenes of the final tragedy of Dido’s suicide. The lyrical parts have been set to original music in sympathy with the themes; stage action and scenery are suggested by outline drawings of the different settings; and idealized figures and costumes are reproduced from ancient vases and bas-reliefs. These figures have, in some cases, been assigned by scholars to other subjects; but they may be taken, for the purposes of the present work, as illustrative of the characters designated.

With full consciousness of the shortcomings of the work, but with the hope also of assisting the student in school and home to a fuller appreciation of the power and beauty of Vergil, this volume is respectfully presented to the public.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

The first edition of this volume, containing only the Dido: An Epic Tragedy, a dramatization of the love story of Æneas and Dido, was published in 1900, and met with a gratifying success. Teachers of Vergil have found the book an interesting supplement to their study and presentation of the text; and in numerous instances high-school and college classes have staged the play with most excellent results.

The book has been out of print for several years; but the continued demand from teachers who desire to use it has made a second edition desirable. This is accordingly offered in the present volume, under a new title, and containing a second dramatization from Vergil—this from the second Æneid, the story of the Fall of Troy.

F. J. M.

Chicago, 1908

I
Dido—The Phœnician Queen

THE ARGUMENT

For ten years the Greeks had besieged Troy, and on the tenth they took and utterly destroyed that ancient city. The inhabitants who had escaped captivity and the sword, wandered in exile to many quarters of the earth. Now the chief band of exiles was led by Æneas, son of Venus and Anchises, and son-in-law of Priam, king of Troy.

After many adventures on land and sea, Æneas came, in the sixth year, to Sicily, where he was kindly entertained by Acestes, king of that land, and where his aged father died and was buried. Thence setting sail in the summer of the seventh year, he approached the shores of Africa. Here a violent storm arose which scattered and all but destroyed the Trojan ships. Æneas, with a number of his companions, was cast upon a desert coast, where they passed the night in gloomy forebodings. In the early morning, Æneas and Achates set forth to explore the land, and came to the newly founded city of Carthage.

Now Phœnician Dido, also, with a band of exiles, had fled from her native Tyre, to escape the persecutions of her brother, Pygmalion, who had already slain Sychæus, her husband. And to the land of Africa had she come, and built her a city, even the city of Carthage.

And so these two, Æneas, prince of Troy, and Dido, fugitive from Tyre, now meet in distant Africa and live the tragedy which fate has held in store.

THE PERSONS OF THE DRAMA

ÆNEAS, prince of Troy, and leader of the Trojan exiles.

Achates, confidential friend of Æneas.

Ilioneus, a Trojan noble.

DIDO, the queen of Carthage.

Anna, sister of Dido.

Barce, nurse of Dido.

Iopas, a Carthaginian minstrel.

Iarbas, a Moorish prince, suitor for the hand of Dido.

Juno, queen of Jupiter and protectress of the Carthaginians, hostile to Troy.

Venus, the goddess of love, mother of Æneas, and protectress of the Trojans.

Cupid, son of Venus, god of love.

Mercury, the messenger of Jupiter.

Maidens, Courtiers, Soldiers, Attendants, Servants, etc., in Dido’s train.

Nobles, Sailors, etc., in the band of Æneas.

THE PRELUDE

[For music, see p. [57]]

Arma virumque cano, Troiæ qui primus ab oris

Italiam, fato profugus, Lavinaque venit

Litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto

Vi superum, sævæ memorem Iunonis ob iram,

Multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem,

Inferretque deos Latio: genus unde Latinum

Albanique patres atque altæ mœnia Romæ.

Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine læso,

Quidve dolens, regina deum tot volvere casus

Insignem pietate virum, tot adire labores

Impulerit. Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ?

ACT I

Dido—The Phœnician Queen

Act I. Scene 1

Early morning; the open square before the temple of Juno on a height near Carthage. In the distance (see cut, 1, 2, 3) appear mountains, and at their foot lies the city, clustered about the harbor where ships are riding at anchor. The effect of elevation is increased by the unfinished columns and the tree-tops just showing above the low marble wall which encloses the square. This scene (4) is set nearer than 1, 2, 3, to increase the perspective.

At the first wing on the right (5), a colonnade, leading to a flight of steps, forms the entrance from the city below. On the same side, along the wall, is a broad marble seat (6), shaded by a wild crab tree, pink with bloom. The dark rug on the step before it is strewn with fallen petals. On the left is the front of the temple (7). Two large columns of white marble flank three broad steps leading to the platform. Above these columns, the architrave bears a frieze representing scenes from the Trojan war. Before the temple door is an altar on which fire is burning.

At the rise of the curtain, a chorus of Carthaginian maidens, clad in white, are seen kneeling before the altar on the temple steps; they sing a greeting to the dawn.

Hymn to the Dawn

[For music, see p. [61]]

Wake, Aurora, Wake!

Come, rosy-fingered goddess of the dawn,

The saffron couch of old Tithonus scorning;

Fling wide the golden portals of the morning,

And bid the gloomy mists of night be gone.

Hail, Aurora, Hail!

The dewy stars have sped their silent flight,

The fuller glories of thy rays expecting;

With rosy beauty from afar reflecting,

Thy Orient steeds come panting into sight.

Rise, Apollo, Rise!

Send forth thy healing rays to greet the world,

Upon the lands thy blessed radiance streaming;

Arise, and fling afar, in splendor gleaming,

The banners of thy golden light unfurled.

Enter Æneas and Achates, on their way into the city, evidently attracted hither by the singing. Æneas is resplendent in full armor. Achates wears the Phrygian costume: long trousers of brown, a tunic of deep old blue, ornate with embroidered patterns in gold and purple thread; over this a traveling cloak of brown. He carries two spears. The maidens withdraw and as their voices grow fainter Æneas and Achates kneel before the altar. The light brightens. A bugle call in the distance rouses them from their devotion. They arise. Enter Venus, dressed as a huntress.

Venus (Æneid, I. 321-324):

I crave your grace, good sirs. If my attendant maids

Have chanced to wander hither, quiver-girt, and clad

In tawny robes of fur, the trophies of the chase,

Or with triumphant shouts close pressing in pursuit

The foaming boar,—I fain would know their course.

Æneas (326-334):

Fair maid,

No huntress of thy train have we beheld, nor heard

The clamor of their chase.—But oh, no mortal maid

Art thou! Th’ immortal beauty of thy face and voice

Proclaim thee goddess. Art thou Phœbus’ sister then?

Or some fair nymph? Whoe’er thou art, we crave thy grace:

Be merciful and tell beneath what sky at length,

Upon what shores we ‘re tossed. For ignorant of men

And land we wander, driven on by wind and wave

In vast conspiracy.

Full many a victim slain

Upon thine altars shall repay thine aid.

Venus (335-350):

For me,

I claim no homage due the gods. Behold a maid

Of ancient Tyre, with quiver girt and feet high shod

With purple buskin—such our country’s garb. Thou seest

Before thee Punic realms; the city and its men

Are both alike Phœnician; but around them lie

The borders of the Libyans, hardy race, unmatched

In war. The city owns the sway of Dido, late

Escaped from Tyre and from her brother’s threat’nings. Long

The story of her wrongs, and devious its way;

But here I ‘ll trace the outline of her history.

Her husband was Sychæus, of his countrymen

The richest far in wide possessions; well beloved

By his ill-fated bride was he, whose virgin hand

In wedlock’s primal rite her sire had given him.

But Tyre’s domain Pygmalion her brother held,

Surpassing all in crime. Between these Tyrian lords

A deadly feud arose. With impious hand and blind

With love of gold, Pygmalion, at the altar-side,

With stealthy, unsuspected stroke Sychæus slew;

And little recked he of his sister’s doting love.

Æneas (III. 56, 57):

O awful, quenchless thirst of gold! ‘T was ever thus

That thou hast spurred the hearts of men to deeds of blood.

Venus (I. 351-370):

He long concealed the deed with wanton, feigned excuse,

And mocked his sister, sick at heart, with empty hopes.

In vain: for in the visions of the night the shade,

The pallid shade of her unburied husband came;

The cruel altar and his piercèd breast he showed,

And all the hidden guilt of that proud house revealed.

He bade her speed her flight and leave her fatherland,

And showed, to aid her cause, deep buried in the earth,

An ancient treasure, store of silver and of gold

Uncounted.

Thus forewarned the queen prepared her flight

And bade her comrades join her enterprise. They came,

Whom hatred or consuming terror of the prince

Inspired. A fleet of ships at anchor chanced to lie

In waiting. These they seized and quickly filled with gold;

Pygmalion’s treasure, heaped with greedy care, was reft

Away upon the sea, a woman leading all.

They reached at last the place where now the mighty walls

And newly rising citadel of Carthage stand.

But who and whence are ye? and whither do ye fare?

Æneas (372-385):

O goddess, if beginning at the first the tale

Of direful woes on land and deep I should relate,

The day, before my story’s end, would sink to rest.

From Troy (perchance the name of Troy has reached your ears)

Borne over many seas, the fitful tempest’s will

Has brought us to these shores.

Æneas am I called,

The Pious, for that in my ships I ever bear

My country’s gods, snatched from our burning Troy. My fame

O’erleaps the stars. My quest is Italy, a land

And race that mighty Jove hath promised me. For this,

With score of vessels staunch I braved the Phrygian sea,

By Venus’ star directed and by fate impelled.

But oh, alas for Venus’ star, alas for fate!

Scarce seven shattered barks survive the waves, and I—

And I, a beggared stranger, wander helpless here,

A fugitive from all the world.

Venus (387-401):

Whoe’er thou art,

Full sure am I the gods must love thee well, since thou

Through dangers manifold hast reached this Tyrian realm.

But haste thee and with heart of cheer seek out the queen.

For lo, thy friends are rescued and thy fleet restored,

Unless in vain my parents taught me augury.

For see, those joyous swans are fluttering to the earth,

Which, swooping from the sky, but now the bird of Jove

Was harrying. As they, with fluttering wings and cries

Of joy regain the earth, so, by this token know,

Thy ships and comrades even now are safe in port,

Or with full sails the harbor’s mouth are entering.

Then fare thee on, and follow where the path of fate

May lead.

As Venus vanishes from the temple steps she is illumined in rosy light.

Æneas (402-409):

Achates, see the bright refulgent glow

Upon her face! ‘T is light divine! And from her locks

Ambrosial, heavenly odors breathe! Her garments sweep

In stately folds, and she doth walk, a goddess all,

With tread majestic!

Lo, ‘t is Venus’ self! O stay,

My heavenly mother, stay! Why dost thou, cruel too,

So often mock thy son with borrowed semblances?

Why may we not join hands, each in his proper self,

And speak the words of truth? Ah me! She’s vanished quite,

And I am left forlorn!—

Deeply moved, he follows her vanishing figure.

Achates, seeking to divert Æneas, leads him to the parapet and points out to him the life awakening in the city below (422-429).

Behold this city with its gates and mighty walls,

And well-paved streets, where even now the Tyrians

With eager zeal press on their various toil. See there,

Some build the citadel and heave up massive stones

With straining hands; while some a humbler task essay,

And trace the furrow round their future homes. Behold,

Within the harbor others toil, and here thou seest

The deep foundations of the theater, where soon

Shall rise huge columns, stately set, to deck the scene.

Æneas(430-437):

Yea all, like busy bees throughout the flowery mead,

Are all astir with eager toil. O blessed toil!

O happy ye, whose walls already rise! But I,—

When shall I see my city and my city’s walls?

He remains in deep dejection.

Achates, observing the pediment of the temple itself (456-458):

But here, O friend, behold, in carvèd imagery,

Our Trojan battles one by one, that mighty strife

Whose fame has filled the world. Here see Achilles fierce,

The sons of Atreus,—and, alas, our fallen king!

Æneas, deeply affected (459-463):

What place, Achates, what far corner of the world

Is not o’erburdened with our woes? O fallen King,

E’en here our glorious struggle wins its meed of praise,

And those our mortal hopes defeated and o’erthrown,

Are mourned by human tears.

Therefore our present cares

Let us dismiss. This fame shall bring us safety too.

Achates, continuing to examine the pediment (467, 468):

See how the Greeks are fleeing, pressed by Trojan youth!

While here, alas, our warriors flee Achilles’ might.

Æneas (469-478):

And here behold the ill-starred Rhesus’ white-winged tents,

Where fierce Tydides slays his sleeping foe; and drives

Those snowy steeds to join the Grecian camp, before

They graze in Trojan meadows or the Xanthus drink.

Alas poor Troilus, I see thee too, ill-matched

With great Achilles. Prone thou liest within thy car,

While in the dust thy comely locks and valiant spear

Are basely trailed.

Achates (479-482):

Here to Minerva’s temple come

Our Trojan dames with suppliant mien and votive gifts;

With locks dishevelled, self-inflicted blows, and tears;

But all for naught. All unappeased the goddess stands

With stern averted face, nor will she heed their prayers.

Æneas (483-487):

Thrice round the walls of Troy the fell Achilles drags

The body of my friend.—O Hector, Hector! Here

He sells thy lifeless body for accursed gold,

While aged Priam stretches forth his helpless hands.

Achates (488-497):

And here behold thyself amid the Grecian chiefs

In combat raging. See the swarthy Memnon’s arms,

And that fierce maid, who, clad in gleaming armor, dares

To lead her Amazons and mingle in the fray.

Music is heard in the distance, flutes and zithers leading a chorus.

But hark! The distant strains of music greet my ear,

As of some stately progress fitly timed with flute

And zither.

See, it is the queen, who with her band

Of chosen youths and maidens hither takes her way.

Æneas (498-501):

How like Diana when she leads her bands by swift

Eurotas, or on Cynthus green, while round her press

A thousand graceful creatures of the wood; but she,

With shoulder quiver-girt, a very goddess moves

With stately tread among the lesser beings of

Her train. To such an one I liken yonder queen.

They conceal themselves in the foreground behind the columns of the temple. Dido, accompanied by her bands of courtiers, crosses the stage and ascends the temple steps. She seats herself on the throne which has been placed for her at the temple door.

Dido throughout this act is dressed in white, the symbol of her widowhood. Her dress, worn without himation, is of light filmy stuff draped in the Greek style, and unornamented save for a border of gold thread. Anna wears a dress of delicate blue, elaborately embroidered about the edges with a Greek pattern in gold thread. Her himation, wrapped gracefully about her, is a tender shade of rose pink.

In Dido’s train all classes are represented, gayly dressed courtiers, soldiers, and peasants. The men wear cloaks of dark blue and of rich brown over their tunics. The women are clad in dresses of cream color, pink, and faint green.

When all are on the stage, the general effect should be a mingling of pink, blue, brown, green, and white, which harmonize with the tints of the marble, of the flowering crab tree, the blue sky, and the purple mountains.

Suddenly Ilioneus and his following of Trojans appear. They wear the Phrygian costume, but over it the long brown traveling cloak. The singing ceases, the guards lower their spears, and great excitement reigns.

Æneas, aside (509, 510):

Achates, can it be? What! Antheus, and our brave

Cloanthus and Sergestus too?

Achates, aside (511-514):

Yea, all our friends

Whose ships the raging storm hath parted from our fleet