How not to dump someone

“It’s not you, it’s me.” Gentlemen, how many times have you found yourself uttering this line by way of ending a relationship?

Probably each time you say it, you think you’re being sensitive, gallant, and most of all, original. I’m afraid I have bad news for you: You’re not.

But you’re wired to think so: in Ancient Rome, 2,500 years ago, men said the same thing. Would you believe it? It seems that since the dawn of time, men have been pretty much predictable.

I stumbled upon this little theory by lucky chance. In case you hadn’t noticed, I am of late going through a ‘classics craze’ – catching up on what I should have done half a lifetime ago for my Systems of Knowledge, instead of skiving.

Anyway, by sheer serendipity, I came across this little book called Love Lessons in Latin by Charlotte Higgins. This brilliant book shows us how much 2,000-year-old poems can teach us about love.

It had never crossed my mind, for example, that Virgil’s famous epic, The Aeneid, is a classic tale in how not to break up with a girlfriend.

Virgil, born in 70 BC, was a Roman poet. But he was also the son of a farmer and not a namby-pamby fruit-eating, wine-drinking aristocrat, so he must have known all about hardship.

Most importantly, he seems to have been familiar with a crucial fact of life: there is no good way to break up with someone, but there are some ways worse than others.

Happily, Virgil scribbled it all down and all we have to do is follow the trials and tribulations of his hero – Trojan Prince Aeneas – and his mates as they set sail through the Mediterranean and finally end up in Italy.

The crucial point of the story is that, years later, Aeneas’ descendant, Romulus (the guy who was brought up by that she-wolf), would unveil the plaque and lay the very first stone of the city of Rome.

That’s the story in a nutshell. But what concerns us really and truly is one of his adventures en route to Italy. At a certain point, the Trojans find themselves on the coast of modern Tunisia – then still known as the resplendent Carthage and not as everyone’s worst nightmare holiday in tourist apartment blocks.

Carthage was ruled by Queen Dido (a chorus of wolf whistles here, please!) Think Lady Di but more stylish, beautiful, clever and stunning. You get the picture.

The minute Aeneas set eyes on her – ah! – he was besotted. And they embarked on a sizzling love affair which would have made the front cover of Grazia and Heat magazines.

But, but, but: we reckoned without the gods, who cringed and winced every time they witnessed the ‘amor flagrante’ from up the skies. Because if Aeneas stayed put in Africa, he would never get to Italy, and: “Ergo, Rome shall never be founded. Woe! Calamitas!” they thundered at each other.

So they put pressure on him. Lots of it. Inevitably, despite having a pair of eyes in the shape of hearts, Aeneas succumbed to their plots.

And how did our hero break the news to the queen?

Surely the most graceful way would have been to confront Dido and kindly but sadly inform her that he’s been abruptly called away to lay the foundations of the world’s greatest empire. Easy: the truth and nothing but the truth.

Yes, she would have cried her heart out, but would she have stood in the way of an international hero in the making? No, she would have let her lover go with a lingering kiss on his lips.

Alas. Aeneas didn’t do anything. He didn’t have the courage to spit it out. He took the advice of his mates instead, and decided that he’d start packing and tell his girlfriend when the time was ‘right’. Does this sound familiar?

Of course, Dido put two and two together and she was cross. Make that furious; fulminous: “So, you traitor, you really believe you’d keep this a secret, this great outrage? Steal away in silence from my shores? Pah.” (Er, sorry, that ‘pah’ is mine).

What did Aeneas reply? You guessed it: “It’s not about you, it’s about me, and the will of the gods, and I never really asked you to marry me, etcetera.”

Wrong answer if ever there was one, Aeneas dear. Especially when in reality his “heart was shattered by his great love”. For (Roman) gods’ sake man, get a grip on your male inarticulacy.

In short, here’s the moral of the story:

Lads, your dumping techniques, tried and tested over the centuries, are woeful.

Ladies, when you’re told “It’s not you, it’s me,” look down at their crotch and nod in agreement.

krischetcuti@gmail.com