Ancient Witches VI: The Witches of the Aeneid Part I
The Hellenistic
kingdoms bound the Mediterranean world together more closely than at any time
since the Bronze Age. Rome eventually absorbed these kingdoms into its own
empire and added new areas such as Gaul and Briton. As travel and communication
became easier than ever before, a new koine
emerged: not merely a common Greek language, but a set of common practices and
beliefs as well. Magic and witches were not immune from this mass Mediterranean
syncretization. The Greeks of the classical age had already begun to work out
an organized system of magical practices and practitioners.* The Hellenistic
kingdoms and the Roman Empire added to this system, with the Romans formally outlawing
certain magical practices.** The literary tradition followed these trends, with
Apollonius of Rhodes’ Medea serving as a template for later Greek and
especially Roman writers.*** Keeping a watchful, if friendly, eye over the
first of the new cohort of Roman writers was Augustus Caesar’s personal
taste-maker and zealous proponent of anti-magical legislation, Maecenas.° Thus,
the portrayal of witches and magical practice in Vergil, Horace, Ovid, Statius,
Valerius Flaccus, and Lucan became standardized, as official and popular
expectations of what a witch and her magic should be became settled.°°
We should therefore
not be surprised, when we come to Vergil’s Aeneid,
to find that witchcraft is linked with Dido, the founding queen of Rome’s
arch-enemy Carthage. While Dido herself is not a witch, she does have recourse
to a priestess who helps her perform some very familiar baneful magic when
Aeneas deserts her:
But now the queen, as soon as the pyre was built
beneath the open sky … she drapes the court with … wreaths of death, and to top
it off she lays his arms and the sword he left and an effigy of Aeneas, all on
the bed they’d shared … Altars ring the pyre. Hair loose in the wind, the
priestess thunders out the names of her three hundred gods, Erebus, Chaos, and
triple Hecate, Diana the three faced virgin. She’d sprinkled water, simulating
the springs of hell, and gathered potent herbs, reaped with bronze sickles
under the moonlight … And Dido herself, standing before the altar … with one
foot free of its sandal, robes unbound—sworn to die, she calls on the gods to
witness, calls on the stars who know her approaching fate.°°°
Dido sacrifices
herself to the gods of the Underworld in order to bind her people to perpetual
war against Aeneas and his heirs. All the witchy elements we know and love from
the Argonautica are here: pharmaka, pacts with Underworld gods,
Hecate, Diana the night huntress, astrology, a blood sacrifice, and malicious
intent.
As
self-described witch Pam Grossman reminds us, however:
[The witch’s] is a slippery spirit: try to pin her
down, and she’ll only recede further into the deep, dark wood.◊
Following
Euripides and Apollonius’ Medea, Dido is a woman wronged who resorts to
witchcraft in a last-ditch effort to even the score with a powerful man. Aeneas
has dallied with the poor queen, allowing her to believe that he intends to be
her husband and then abandoning her the moment his Destiny calls. He cuts and
runs, leaving the armor and weapons that are the symbol of his virtue (or a
more literal translation: manhood) behind for Dido to use as a conduit for her
hex.◊◊ However, like Apollonius’ Medea, Dido is intended to be a sympathetic
character. Saint Augustine, a fellow North African, famously remarked in the
opening of his Confessions that
reading about Dido as a young man moved him to tears.◊◊◊ Thus, with firm
folklore beliefs about “The Witch” established, Vergil is able to deftly give
his audience the “witch” they expect, and the sympathetic enemy they didn’t.
*Pam Grossman, Waking the Witch: Reflections on Women,
Magic, and Power. New York: Gallery Books, 2019. p. 72.
**Ibid., p.73.
***see Helene P. Foley, Women in Ancient Epic in A Companion to Ancient Epic, Miles Foley
ed. Malden: Blackwell Publishing Ltd., 2009. p. 115.
°Charles
Williams, Witchcraft. Berkley:
Apocryphile Press: 2005. pp.17-19. I am indebted to a friend in Classics for
pointing out the tight connections between the depiction of nefas, maleficium, and the underworld Maecenas’ literary friends/clients
Horace (ode 2.12, 2.17) and Vergil (Georgics
IV and Aeneid IV and VI).
°°For an example
of how this streamlining process works in modern folklore, such as the
“vampire” tradition in New England, see: Michael E. Bell, Food for the Dead: On the Trail of New England’s Vampires.
Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 2011. pp. 148, 287-292.
°°°Virgil, Aeneid. Robert Fagles trans. New York:
Penguin Group, 2006. p. 145. translating for lines IV.498-525
◊Pam Grossman,
pp. 2-3.
◊◊As Grossman
says: “Sexing and hexing become entwined, as they so often do when it comes to
depictions of witches.” Pam Grossman, p. 50.
◊◊◊Jennifer S.
Oberst “The Use of Vergil’s Aeneid in St. Augustine’s Confessions,” Anthós
(1990-1996): Vol. I, article 10. Again, I also owe my classics friend for this
insight delivered in one of the best Socratic discussions with a group of 9th
graders that I’ve ever seen.
Nota Bene: This post first appeared on Eidos at Patheos. All rights reserved by the author.
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