Eugene Schlanger wrote: Too bad Dido did not snub him before the pyre!

Over 56 years ago (at which time I had never even read a plot summary of
the _Aeneid), while loafing in the school library (high school) I picked
up a copy of the Virginia Quarterly (I think), and opened it to an
article by Robert Graves, absolutely raving at the dirty trick Aeneas
pulled in the underworld. His interpretation of the scene was that Dido
and her husband together in the world of the dead, that her husband did
not know of her affir with Aeneas, and that by speaking to her Aeneas
was intentionally intending to cause friction between the ghostly pair.
Clearly my memory is not to be trusted over this span of time.

If I am remembering correctly, the tone of the article was that Aeneas
and Dido and their meeting in hell was historical fact. Graves seemed
really, personally, angry at Aeneas.


P.S. I've never read a lot of Graves, but the following poem is a joy

                Warning to Children

        Children, if you dare to think
        Of the greatness, rareness, muchness,
        Fewness of this precious only
        Endless world  in which you say
        You live, you think of things like this:
        Blocks of slate enclosing dappled
        Red and green, enclosing tawny
        Yellow nets, enclosing white
        And black acres of dominoes,
        Where a neat brown paper parcel
        Tempts you to untie the string.
        In the parcel a small island,
        On the island a large tree,
        On the tree a husky fruit.
        Strip the husk and pare the rind off:
        In the kernel you will see
        Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled
        Red and green, enclosed in tawny
        Yellow nets, enclosed by white
        And black acres of dominoes,
        Where the same brown paper parcel--
        Children, leave the string alone!
        For who dares undo the parcel
        Finds himself at once inside it,
        On the island, in the fruit,
        Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled
        Green and red, enclosed by yellow
        Tawny nets, enclosed by black
        And white acres of dominoes,
        With the same brown paper parcel
        Still untied upon his knee.
        And, if he then should dare to think
        Of the fewness, muchness, rareness,
        Greatness of this endless only
        Precious world in which he says
        He lives -- he then unties the string.