ly divided between his mistress and empire.
Thus we have the figure of Dido set out in high relief. Marlowe was fond
of experiments in characterization, but he never diverged more
completely from the path marked out by his previous steps than when he
decided to give the first place in a tragedy to a woman. Hitherto his
women have not impressed us: Abigail is probably the best of a shadowy
group. Suddenly, in the Queen of Carthage, womankind towers up in
majesty, to hold our attention fixed in wonder and pity as she walks
with strong, unsuspecting tread the steep descent to death. She is
sister to Shakespeare's Cleopatra, yet with marked individual
differences. Her feelings startle us with their fierce heat and swift
transitions. The fire of love flames up abruptly, driving her speech
immediately into wild contradictions. She herself is amazed at the
change within her. Burning to tell Aeneas her secret, yet withheld by
womanly modesty, she endeavours to betray it indirectly by heaping
extravagant gifts upon him. She counts over the list of her former
suitors before him that he may see from the shrug of her shoulders that
her affections are not placed elsewhere. Like Portia to Bassanio before
he chooses the casket, she throws out hints, calls them back hastily,
half lets fall the word, then breaks off the sentence, laying bare her
heart to the most ordinary observer, yet despairing of his understanding
her. When at last, from the tempest of desire and uncertainty, she
passes into the harbour of his assured love, a rapture of content, such
as the divinest music brings, fills her soul. Then the shadows begin to
fall. At first the sincerity of Aeneas's love unites with her startled
and clinging constancy to dispel the gathering gloom. With splendid
gifts she dims the alluring brightness that draws him from her. A little
longer Jove holds his hand; Aeneas's promise is till death.

_Aeneas._ O Dido, patroness of all our lives,
When I leave thee, death be my punishment!
Swell, raging seas! frown, wayward Destinies!
Blow, winds! threaten, ye rocks and sandy shelves!
This is the harbour that Aeneas seeks:
Let's see what tempests can annoy me now.

_Dido._ Not all the world can take thee from mine arms.

But the second call is imperative. With constraining pathos Dido
implores him not to go. When that cannot melt his resolution the
resentment of thwarted love breaks out in passionate reproach. Th