The Aeneid

by Virgil

All three obstacles were variations on the theme of Homer versus Virgil, using the father to club the son, coupled at times with some variations on the theme of Dante versus Virgil, using the son to club the father. Whichever way one turned in the line of affiliation (Homer-Virgil-Dante)—toward parricide or filicide—the middleman Virgil lost.

One aspect of Dante’s Virgil is not too distant from Tennyson’s “Wielder of the stateliest measure ever moulded by the lips of man"; this is the Virgil of “lo bello stile,” “the beautiful style,” in Canto I of the Inferno. But Dante was able to learn from Virgil not only the beautiful style, but the styles of Virgil. Virgil cannot compare with Dante in the range of his lexis, in the range of the real he comprehends. His words are fewer than Dante’s; and he and Dante belong to separate classes in the two types of poets distinguished by Donald Davie in Purity of Diction in English Verse: “One feels that Hopkins could have found a place for every word in the language if only he could have written enough poems. One feels the same about Shakespeare. But there are other poets, I find, with whom I feel the other thing—that a selection has been made and is continually being made, that words are thrusting at the poem and being fended off from it, that however many poems these poets wrote certain words would never be allowed into the poems, except as a disastrous oversight.”

But now the god himself takes up his trident 205 to lift the galleys, and he clears a channel across the vast sandbank. He stills the sea and glides along the waters on light wheels. And just as, often, when a crowd of people is rocked by a rebellion, and the rabble 210 rage in their minds, and firebrands and stones fly fast—for fury finds its weapons—if, by chance, they see a man remarkable for righteousness and service, they are silent and stand attentively; and he controls 215 their passion by his words and cools their spirits: so all the clamor of the sea subsided after the Father, gazing on the waters and riding under cloudless skies, had guided his horses, let his willing chariot run.

But then the boy Ascanius, who now is carrying Iülus as his surname (while the state of Ilium held fast, he still 375 was known as Ilus), with his rule shall fill the wheeling months of thirty mighty years. He shall remove his kingdom from Lavinium and, powerful, build Alba Longa’s walls. For full three hundred years, the capital 380 and rule of Hector’s race shall be at Alba, until a royal priestess, Ilia, with child by Mars, has brought to birth twin sons. And then, rejoicing in the tawny hide of his nursemaid, the she-wolf, Romulus 385 shall take the rulership and build the walls of Mars’ own city. Romulus shall call that people ‘Romans,’ after his own name. I set no limits to their fortunes and no time; I give them empire without end.

He sees the wars of Troy set out in order: the battles famous now through all the world, the sons of Atreus and of Priam, and Achilles, savage enemy to both. 650 He halted. As he wept, he cried: “Achates, where on this earth is there a land, a place that does not know our sorrows? Look! There is Priam! Here, too, the honorable finds its due and there are tears for passing things; here, too, 655 things mortal touch the mind. Forget your fears; this fame will bring you some deliverance.” He speaks. With many tears and sighs he feeds his soul on what is nothing but a picture.

“By blood and by the slaying of a virgin, Grecians, you stilled the winds when you first came 165 to Troy; by blood seek out your homeward way. The only offering that is suitable: an Argive life.” And when the army heard this oracle, they were amazed; within the Grecians’ deepest marrow cold fear shuddered. 170

For if your hands should harm Minerva’s gift, then vast destruction (may the gods turn this their prophecy against the priest’s own lips!) 270 would fall on Priam’s kingdom and the Phrygians; but if it climbed by your hands into Troy, then Asia would repel the Greeks and, more, advance in war as far as Pelops’ walls; this is the doom that waits for our descendants.’ 275 “Such was the art of perjured Sinon, so insidious, we trusted what he told. So we were taken in by snares, forced tears— yes, we, whom neither Diomedes nor Achilles of Larissa could defeat, 280 nor ten long years, a thousand-galleyed fleet.

His beard unkempt, his hair was thick with blood, he bore the many wounds he had received around his homeland’s walls. And I myself seemed then to weep, to greet him with sad words: 385 ‘O light of Troy, o Trojans’ trusted hope! What long delay has held you back? From what seashores, awaited Hector, have you come? For, weary with the many deaths of friends, the sorrows of your men, your city, how 390 our eyes hold fast to you! What shameful cause defaced your tranquil image? Why these wounds?’ “He wastes no words, no time on useless questions— but drawing heavy sighs from deep within, ‘Ah, goddess-born, take flight,’ he cries, ‘and snatch 395 yourself out of these flames. The enemy has gained the walls; Troy falls from her high peak. Our home, our Priam—these have had their due: could Pergamus be saved by any prowess, then my hand would have served. But Troy entrusts 400 her holy things and household gods to you;

There is a place the Greeks have named Hesperia— an ancient land with strong arms and fat soil. The men who lived there were Oenotrians; but now it is said that their descendants call 220 the country “Italy” after their leader. That is the home for us. Iasius— our father, founder of the Trojan race— and Dardanus were both born there. Rise up and bring to old Anchises these sure words: 225 to seek out Corythus, Ausonia; for Jupiter denies you Dicte’s fields.’

What the all-able Father foretold to Phoebus, Phoebus unto me, now I, the Furies’ chief, reveal to you. The place you seek is Italy, and you will go to Italy with winds that you 330 invoke; you will not be denied its harbors. But you will not wall in your promised city until an awful hunger and your wrong in slaughtering my sisters has compelled your jaws to gnaw as food your very tables.’ 335 She spoke and then flew back into the forest.

These were the words Aeneas spoke to them: 400 “Now let your hearts hear this, pay glad attention. Not one of you shall leave without a gift. At race’s end, each one of you shall have two Gnosian shafts that gleam with polished steel, together with an ax embossed with silver. 405 Each one of you who runs shall have these prizes. Three will be given even more rewards and pale-green olive garlands on their heads. The first, as victor, is to have a horse with splendid trappings; and the second takes 410 an Amazonian quiver, full of Thracian arrows and girdled by a broad gold belt— the clasp that holds it fast, a polished gem; the third will be content with this Greek helmet.”

“O you who are done, at last, with those great dangers that lie upon the sea—worse wait on land— the sons of Dardanus will reach Lavinium’s kingdom (for you can now be sure of this) 120 and yet shall wish that they had never come. I see wars, horrid wars, the Tiber foaming with much blood. You shall have your Simois, your Xanthus, and your Doric camp; already there is in Latium a new Achilles— 125 he, too, son of a goddess. Nor will Juno fail anywhere to hound the Teucrians, while you, a beggar in your need, implore the towns, the tribes through all of Italy! The cause of so much Trojan misery: 130 again, a foreign bride, a foreign wedding. Do not relent before distress, but be far bolder than your fortune would permit. The first path to your safety, though it seem unlikely, shall yet be a Grecian city.” 135

And so Aeneas prayed, clasping the altar; the prophetess began: “Born of the blood of gods and son of Troy’s Anchises, easy— 175 the way that leads into Avernus: day and night the door of darkest Dis is open. But to recall your steps, to rise again into the upper air: that is the labor; that is the task. A few, whom Jupiter 180 has loved in kindness or whom blazing worth has raised to heaven as gods’ sons, returned. Through all the central region runs a forest encircled by the black curves of Cocytus. But if your mind is moved by such a love, 185 so great a longing, twice to swim the lake of Styx and twice to see black Tartarus, and you are pleased to try this mad attempt, then, Trojan, hear what you must first accomplish.

And here a multitude was rushing, swarming shoreward, with men and mothers, bodies of high-hearted heroes stripped of life, and boys and unwed girls, and young men set upon 405 the pyre of death before their fathers’ eyes: thick as the leaves that with the early frost of autumn drop and fall within the forest, or as the birds that flock along the beaches, in flight from frenzied seas when the chill season 410 drives them across the waves to lands of sun. They stand; each pleads to be the first to cross the stream; their hands reach out in longing for the farther shore. But Charon, sullen boatman, now takes these souls, now those; the rest he leaves; 415 thrusting them back, he keeps them from the beach.

I beg you, therefore, by the gentle light and winds of heaven, undefeated one, and by your father, by your growing son, Iülus, save me from these evils: either cast earth upon my body—for you can— 480 and seek again the port of Velia; or if there be any way, if you are given such power by your goddess mother (for I cannot think that you are now prepared to cross such mighty rivers and the marsh 485 of Styx without the gods’ protection), give your own right hand to wretched Palinurus and take me with you past the waters, that at least in death I find a place of rest.”

You are that Maximus, the only man who, by delaying, gave us back our fortunes. For other peoples will, I do not doubt, still cast their bronze to breathe with softer features, 1130 or draw out of the marble living lines, plead causes better, trace the ways of heaven with wands and tell the rising constellations; but yours will be the rulership of nations, remember, Roman, these will be your arts: 1135 to teach the ways of peace to those you conquer, to spare defeated peoples, tame the proud.”

Now, Erato, be with me, let me sing 45 of kings and times and of the state of things in ancient Latium when the invaders first beached their boats upon Ausonia’s coasts, and how it was that they began to battle. O goddess, help your poet. I shall tell 50 of dreadful wars, of men who struggle, tell of chieftains goaded to the grave by passion, of Tuscan troops and all Hesperia in arms. A greater theme is born for me; I try a greater labor.

And then the kinsmen of those women who, when driven wild by Bacchus, leaped across the pathless groves in dances (and the name 765 of Queen Amata is not without effect) join in from every side and cry “War! War!”

But when no power is granted him to check their blind resolve, when all moves at the will of savage Juno, then—again, again— 780 father Latinus calls upon the gods and on the empty air; he cries: “The fates have crushed us, we are carried by the storm. Unhappy men! The penalty for this will yet be paid with your profaning blood. 785 O Turnus, vengeance, bitter punishment for this unholy act will wait for you; too late your prayers will venerate the gods. My rest is near, my harbor is in view; a happy burial is all I lose.” 790 He said no more but shut himself within the palace, let the reins of rule fall slack.

And handsome Virbius also came to war: son of Hippolytus, sent by his mother, 1000 Aricia, he was wearing splendid armor. He had been raised along the marshy shores within Egeria’s grove, where—rich and peaceful— the altar of Diana stands. They tell how when he fell by his stepmother’s guile 1005 and paid a father’s vengeance with his blood, torn into pieces by his panicked horses, Hippolytus had risen toward the stars, called back into the air of upper earth by the Healer’s herbs and by Diana’s love. 1010 Then the all-able Father, in his anger at any mortal’s rising from infernal shadows up to the light of life, cast down the son of Phoebus, Aesculapius, the finder of such medicines, such arts, 1015 into the Stygian waves. But generous Diana hid Hippolytus in secret, then sent him to the nymph Egeria, the grove where all alone, unhonored, he lived out his life among Italian forests 1020 and changed his name to Virbius. For this, no horn-hoofed horse can ever trespass in the sacred grove and temple of Diana; because when they were panicked by sea monsters, they spilled the youth and chariot on the shore. 1025 Nevertheless, along the level fields his son was driving glowing stallions and racing in his chariot to

With these, Camilla of the Volscian tribe 1055 leads on her band of horsemen, squadrons bright with brazen armor. She is a warrior; her woman’s hands have never grown accustomed to distaffs or the baskets of Minerva; a virgin, she was trained to face hard battle 1060 and to outrace the wind with speeding feet. Across the tallest blades of standing grain she flies—and never mars the tender ears; or poised upon the swelling wave, she skims the sea—her swift soles never touch the water. 1065 And as Camilla passes, all the young pour out from field and house; the matrons crowd and marvel, staring, in astonishment at how proud royal purple veils Camilla’s smooth shoulders, how a clasp of gold entwines 1070 her hair, at how she bears her Lycian quiver, her shepherd’s pike of myrtle tipped with steel.

Aeneas marvels at his mother’s gift, the scenes on Vulcan’s shield; and he is glad for all these images, though he does not know what they mean. Upon his shoulder he lifts up the fame and fate of his sons’ sons.

“Hercules, I pray you by my father’s welcome to you, the board that you, a stranger, shared with him, 640 to help my great attempt! Let dying Turnus see me strip off his bloody weapons, let his dying eyes see me a conqueror.” And Hercules heard Pallas; he pressed back a great groan deep within his chest; he shed 645 tears that were useless. Father Jupiter then spoke kind words to Hercules, his son: “Each has his day; there is, for all, a short, irreparable time of life; the task of courage: to prolong one’s fame by acts. 650 For under Troy’s high walls so many sons of gods have fallen; even great Sarpedon, my own child, lost his life together with them. And Turnus, too, is called by his own fates; he has reached the border given to his years.” 655 He speaks, then turns his eyes from Latin fields.

He grips Aeneas’ knees and, suppliant, he begs him: “By your father’s Shade and by your hopes in rising Iülus, I entreat, do spare this life for my own son and father. I have a splendid house; there, hidden deep, 725 are many talents of chased silver; I have heaps of wrought and unwrought gold; the victory of Trojans cannot turn on me; one life will not make such a difference"—so Magus. Aeneas answered him: “Those heaps of talents, 730 the gold and silver that you tell of, Magus, save them for your own sons; such bargaining in war was set aside by Turnus first, just now when he killed Pallas. This is what Anchises’ Shade decides, and so says Iülus.” 735 With this he grips the Latin’s helmet crest in his left hand; his right drives on the sword hilt-high into that bent, beseeching neck.

Beneath that summit, sheltered by a thick ilex, there stood a mound of earth, the massive tomb of Dercennus, one of the Laurentians’ most ancient kings. Here first the lovely goddess 1130 descends with speed; then, halting, she spies Arruns from that high barrow. As she saw him, bright in armor and puffed up with pointless pride, she cries: “Why are you running off? Come here, come here to claim your death, to take the prize 1135 we owe you for Camilla! Shall one like you, even you, die by Diana’s arrows?” At this the Thracian virgin drew a swift shaft from her gilded quiver; and she stretched her leveled bow, long, taut, drawing it back 1140 until the curved points met; with even hands she pulled the bow until her left could touch the arrow’s iron tip, until her right could feel the bowstring and her breast. At once he heard the hissing shaft, the whirring air; 1145 and in that very instant iron drove deep in his chest. But Arruns’ heedless comrades desert him as he gasps, groans out his last along the battlefield’s unknowing dust. And Opis wings her way to high Olympus. 1150

Aeneas stood, ferocious in his armor; his eyes were restless and he stayed his hand; and as he hesitated, Turnus’ words began to move him more and more—until 1255 high on the Latin’s shoulder he made out the luckless belt of Pallas, of the boy whom Turnus had defeated, wounded, stretched upon the battlefield, from whom he took this fatal sign to wear upon his back, 1260 this girdle glittering with familiar studs. And when his eyes drank in this plunder, this memorial of brutal grief, Aeneas, aflame with rage—his wrath was terrible— cried: “How can you who wear the spoils of my 1265 dear comrade now escape me? It is Pallas who strikes, who sacrifices you, who takes this payment from your shameless blood.” Relentless, he sinks his sword into the chest of Turnus. His limbs fell slack with chill; and with a moan 1270 his life, resentful, fled to Shades below.

Virgil: A Collection of Critical Essays(Englewood Cliffs, N.J. 1966), extremely convenient for the essays it reprints by C. M. Bowra, C. S. Lewis, Wendell Clausen, Brooks Otis, Adam Parry, Bernard Knox, R. A. Brooks, and Viktor Pöschl—and, therefore a fine starting place for the general reader;

At the end of any book list on Virgil, one should remember these words of Heyne: “difficile est Virgilium et sine interprete recte legere, et cum interprete";“it is hard to read Virgil right without an interpreter—and with one.”

An industrious, meticulous writer, Virgil was not prolific. In addition to the ten Eclogues, which apparently took at least five years to publish, Virgil wrote the four Georgics, which took seven years (37–30 B.C.), and the Aeneid, his great masterwork. Virgil worked on the Aeneid for eleven years, until his death in 19 B.C. Feeling, apparently, that the epic was still unfinished, he directed in his will that the manuscript be destroyed. To the great fortune of succeeding generations, the emperor, Virgil’s most prominent friend and admirer, intervened to countermand this provision. He turned the manuscript over to two of Virgil’s friends, Varius and Tucca, to edit only obvious errors and repetitions without adding to the text. The result of their work is the beautiful and brilliant Aeneid we have today.

THE AENEID OF HOMER A Bantam Book First Bantam edition published June 1961 New Bantam edition / October 1972 Bantam Classic edition / October 1981 Bantam Classic reissue / August 2003