The Fourth Book of Virgil's Aeneid and the Ninth Book of Voltaire's Henriad

In Short

This volume serves as a bridge between the classical Roman epic and the French Enlightenment. It presents the fourth book of Virgil's Aeneid and the ninth book of Voltaire's Henriade in side-by-side English verse translations. By pairing the heart-wrenching, divinely ordained separation of Dido and Aeneas with the story of Henry IV’s dalliance with his mistress Gabrielle d’Estrées, the work explores how different cultures and eras express the tension between private passion and public duty. It remains a fascinating relic for those interested in the craft of translation and the evolution of poetic sentiment.

The Story

The narrative begins with Dido, the Queen of Carthage, consumed by a secret, burning love for the Trojan exile Aeneas. As she struggles with the memory of her late husband and her own royal honor, she confides in her sister, Anna. Meanwhile, the gods engage in their own schemes; Venus, hoping to protect her son Aeneas, and Juno, seeking to entangle the lovers, orchestrate a hunt. During a sudden, violent storm, Dido and Aeneas take refuge in a cave, where their mutual desire is finally consummated.

The idyll is short-lived. Jupiter, reminding Aeneas of his destiny to found the Roman race, dispatches Mercury to compel the hero’s departure. Aeneas, though torn by his lingering feelings, prepares his fleet in secret. When Dido discovers the betrayal, she confronts him with a mixture of desperate pleading and searing rage. Aeneas remains unmoved by her entreaties, citing his divine orders as his only justification. Abandoned, Dido descends into madness, eventually constructing a funeral pyre upon which she takes her own life with Aeneas’s sword. As she dies, her sister Anna frantically tries to reach her, and the goddess Iris is sent by Juno to cut the final thread of life.

The volume then shifts to Voltaire’s Henriade, where the tone moves from the stark tragedy of antiquity to a more allegorical examination of love. Henry IV, engaged in a grueling war, is lured into a luxurious, enchanted retreat by the god of Love. Within this palace of pleasure, he becomes captivated by the beautiful Gabrielle d’Estrées, neglecting his military duties and his responsibilities as a monarch. His camp falls into disarray, and his soldiers despair at the loss of their leader to soft living.

The intervention here is not by a divine messenger of fate, but by a mortal advisor, Mornay. Mornay, representing Reason and Virtue, approaches the king in his gilded confinement. Through his presence alone, he forces Henry to confront the moral decay of his current state. Unlike Aeneas, who leaves Dido under the cold compulsion of the gods, Henry makes a conscious, if agonizing, choice to break his own chains. He bids a tearful farewell to Gabrielle, prioritizing his crown and country over his heart. Gabrielle is left in a state of near-death sorrow, but the god of Love, failing to overcome Mornay’s stoic influence, is eventually forced to abandon his claim on the monarch.

How It Unfolds

The spark of desire Dido suffers in silence, her internal torment growing as she fixates on the "lovely stranger" who has arrived at her court. She attempts to reconcile her vow of loyalty to her dead husband with the overwhelming reality of her new passion.

The divine trap Juno and Venus conspire to force the lovers together, utilizing a tempest to drive them into isolation. This moment of intimacy seals Dido’s fate and sets the stage for the conflict between her personal desires and the demands of the gods.

The call to duty Mercury descends to rebuke Aeneas for his lethargy and his abandonment of his future Roman glory. The hero is forced to reconcile his love for Dido with his obligation to the "pregnant seeds" of a future empire.

The final confrontation Dido’s initial desperation turns to vitriolic scorn as she realizes Aeneas is truly abandoning her. She lashes out with curses, envisioning her ghost haunting him, while Aeneas remains fixed on his departure, viewing his retreat as an act of piety.

The monarch’s detour Voltaire’s narrative introduces a different kind of imprisonment, where Love acts as a seducer rather than a fate. Henry IV finds himself trapped in a sensory paradise that mirrors the distractions Dido once provided for Aeneas.

The return to reason Mornay, the personification of wisdom, challenges the king’s indulgence. Henry’s resolution to return to the battlefield serves as a stark, human-centered contrast to the celestial coercion that dictated the movements of the Trojan hero.

The People

Dido is the emotional center of the first half, a woman defined by her capacity for total devotion. She begins as a capable, proud queen but is stripped of her defenses by a "pleasing flame" that ultimately consumes her. Her transition from a hopeful lover to a "furious" woman standing amidst the ruins of her life is the book’s most piercing arc.

Aeneas is the archetypal hero who must sacrifice his humanity for a greater, divine purpose. He is a figure of "sacred terror," constantly looking over his shoulder toward the future while struggling to justify his coldness to the woman he is abandoning. He does not change so much as he hardens, becoming an instrument of Jove’s will.

Henry IV is a more conflicted figure, a man who actively enjoys his "soft delusion" before being forced to reclaim his identity. He is the master of his own destiny in a way Aeneas is not, making his choice to leave Gabrielle a triumph of willpower.

Mornay serves as the moral anchor. He represents the voice of the state and the intellect. He remains entirely unmoved by the beauty of Gabrielle or the "soft desires" of the palace, acting as a mirror that forces Henry to see his own potential for greatness.

Gabrielle d’Estrées is the object of desire who embodies the "brilliant coloring" of Voltaire’s style. She is passive compared to Dido, existing mostly as a reflection of Henry’s affection and a symbol of the "pleasant" dangers that threaten a leader’s focus.

In Its Own Voice

Describing the intensity of Dido’s internal state after the arrival of Aeneas, the text notes:

The pleasing flame upon her vitals feeds, The silent wound within her bosom bleeds.

Reflecting on the nature of love as a destructive, blind force that affects both the high and the low, the narrator observes:

Cruel and kind by turns, but ever blind, The dear delight, the torment of mankind.

When Henry IV finally chooses his duty over his mistress, he articulates the painful necessity of his departure:

Away the sweets of vile ignoble rest! The soft delusion which my soul possest!

What It's Really About

At its core, this work investigates the conflict between private affection and public destiny. It asks whether a leader can truly belong to themselves, or if their life must be a series of sacrifices made for the sake of the state. Through the lens of these two distinct epics, the text examines the difference between "divine" necessity—where characters are puppets of fate—and "rational" choice, where characters are expected to exercise agency. It interrogates the cost of glory, the nature of betrayal, and the fundamental incompatibility of deep, personal love with the rigid demands of ruling a kingdom or founding a dynasty.

Why Read It Today

This volume is best suited for readers who enjoy the meticulous study of poetic craft and the evolution of literary themes. It offers a rare window into how early 19th-century scholars viewed the relationship between the Latin classics and the French Enlightenment. Reading it feels like sitting in on a formal, intellectual debate; the tone is earnest, scholarly, and deeply respectful of the "great masterpieces of antiquity."

You will find the translation of Virgil to be formal and stately, adhering to the conventions of 19th-century heroic verse. It can be challenging for modern readers accustomed to more fluid, conversational styles, as it frequently employs archaic phrasing and inversion. However, the juxtaposition with Voltaire—whose verse is described as a "light and graceful pencil"—provides a refreshing shift in pace. The book does not shy away from the period’s attitudes regarding the "harshness" of English monosyllables versus the "universality" of French, offering a fascinating look at how translators of the time viewed their own linguistic tools. If you are interested in the history of ideas and the enduring weight of the Dido-Aeneas myth, you will find this comparison a thoughtful, if demanding, companion. It is a work to be savored slowly, as much for its introductory essays on the "mechanism of words" as for the verses themselves.