Considerable mystery surrounds the circumstance of the composition and first performance of one of the earliest and greatest of English operas, Dido and Aeneas with libretto by Nahum Tate and music by Henry Purcell. For many years scholars were convinced that it had originated specifically as a piece for the young ladies of Josiah Priests's boarding school in Chelsea, probably in 1689. New evidence seems to indicate that the performances which took place there were reviving a work created several years earlier, probably for a professional troupe, possibly for the entertainment of King Charles II.

Whatever its history, it is clearly a masterpiece of musical theatre which succeeds in both entertaining and moving us, for, like all great works of art, this one speaks to us on many levels - from cautionary moralising for young ladies to symbolic mythology which touches deep chords in all of us.

In writing the libretto, Tate drew on the story as told by Virgil in the Aeneid: Aeneas leaves the destroyed city of Troy with a band of devoted followers, aiming for Italy; after seven storm-tossed years they take harbour at the city of Carthage, where the widowed queen Dido welcomes them with warm hospitality. Although Dido and Aeneas fall in love, she resists her emotions because of the vow of chastity she swore after her husband's death, and her fears about Aeneas's fidelity. Their relationship, however, develops with the aid of supportive goddesses - Dido has Juno, and Aeneas, his mother, Venus. The goddesses put aside their differences for long enough to hasten the union, Venus sending Cupid to Dido, disguised in the form of Ascanius, Aeneas’ young son, who stays with Dido in the palace, and Juno conjures up a storm during a hunting party so that the couple must take shelter in a cave, and there consummate their love. Thereafter Aeneas devotes himself to his mistress, but Jove, discovering his dalliance, sends Mercury to remind the hero of his destiny to found a renewed Trojan kingdom in Rome. Always pious in his obedience to the will of the gods, Aeneas, although stunned by this message, accepts it without delay, his sorrow at leaving Dido matched by his resolve to go. Dido pleads, threatens, and begs to no avail. After Aeneas departs, she kills herself on his sword.

Tate's libretto makes some changes to this outline, which considerably alter the interpretation of the characters. The goddesses are replaced by witches who successfully plot Dido's downfall; she however is not tricked into her relationship with Aeneas but goes in with her eyes open, already feeling the guilt of her broken vows, and she dies a natural, not violent, death, that guilt adding to her broken-hearted grief.

Dido, pressured by her friends with pro-Aeneas propaganda (‘when monarchs unite, how happy their fate’), and pursued by Aeneas (promising release from the ‘cares of love and state’), is finally seduced against her better judgement. Here there are no meddling goddesses to plot and prepare the union, Dido alone must take responsibility for her fall from chastity. This she does, for if her passions have tormented her and made her weak, Aeneas's infidelity gives her strength.

On the other hand, Aeneas receives no heaven-sent messenger, but instead a conjured illusion. He has pleaded with Dido for her love and sworn to forego his destiny (‘let Dido smile and I'll defy the feeble stroke of destiny’), but faced with an ephemera he instantly recants and blames the gods. Dido chides him for it (‘thus hypocrites that murder act, make heaven and gods the author of the fact’), and only then does he offer to stay; but it is too late. Aeneas leaves a broken man and Dido suffers a spiritually induced death (no sword, no suicide). Her last words do not mention Aeneas, only her ‘wrongs’ and her ‘fate’.

How different are Virgil's couple - essentially the puppets of the gods, no questions arise as to their responsibility. Dido's submission only takes place through manipulation by two goddesses, and Aeneas is truly visited by Mercury. The hero never swears to defy his destiny, and thus never breaks his promise.

This altered characterisation can be seen as pointing to a simple moral: that girls should never accept the advances of young men (especially sailors!) however ardent their wooing. Dido suffers for a single indiscretion, losing her reputation, her love and her life, as the sorceress had predicted. She is not a seductress who delays Aeneas’ greater mission, rather it is he who is the villain, causing Dido's death through being thoughtless and irresponsible.

While this moral may satisfy, the insights into human character shown both by Tate and Purcell also offer other parallel interpretations, where the characters represent sides of our common human personalities- Dido the instinctive, emotional side, Aeneas the worldly, achieving, sometimes hypocritical persona, and the Sorceress the repressed ‘shadow’ side, the feelings we prefer not to acknowledge, which can turn back and destroy us. ‘Great minds against themselves conspire’ may turn out to be the deeper moral.

Dido is a classic heroine seduced and abandoned, and as Aeneas sails off to follow his destiny, our hearts share her grief and desolation. Certainly, 17th century women could take these myths as cautionary tales, for abandonment was a real danger for their kind. Yet on a deeper level, there is something in the myth which stirs more than pity or fear in us, for Dido symbolises something in all of us that dies when Duty triumphs over Love, and fatalistic obedience to plans and conventions overrules personal choice and responsibility - dramas that we all face both inwardly and outwardly in our lives.

with acknowledgements to Ellen T. Harris for paraphrased sections of her book: 'Henry Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas'