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Book 1 explained

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Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube.

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the Vergil project
Resources for Students, Teachers, and Readers of Vergil

Aeneid - Vergil (view)

(linked to the following textual resources)

Grammar/Syntax Reading Assistance

Concordance

Commentary - Conington/Nettleship

Commentary - Maurus Servius Honoratus

Commentary, Farrell

Connington Section Headings

Homeric correspondences (after Knauer)

Modern Punctuation

Natural vowel quantities

Textual Variants

Translation - John Dryden, Ed.

Translation - Theodore C. Williams, Ed.

Word for Word Translation

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the Vergil project Resources for Students, Teachers, and Readers of Vergil (linked to the following textual resources) Grammar/Syntax Reading Assistance Concordance Commentary - Conington/Nettleship Commentary - Maurus Servius Honoratus Commentary, Farrell Connington Section Headings Homeric correspondences (after Knauer) Modern Punctuation Natural vowel quantities Textual Variants Translation - John Dryden, Ed.

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from the folks behind Latintutorial (subscr)

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Book 1: An African Landing Book 2: The Burning of Troy Book 3: Wanderings Book 4: The Tragedy of Dido Book 5: Funeral Games Book 6: Descent to the Underworld Book 7: Arrival in Italy Book 8: The Future Site of Rome Book 9: The Trojans Resist Book 10: Battles and Plunder Book 11: Camilla, Warrior Queen Book 12: The Final Battle

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All of the Aeneid and more

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Vergil Aeneid 1 1-7 in Latin, with adjustable running vocabulary

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arma uirumque cano troiae qui primus ab oris italiam fato profugus lauiniaque uenit litora multum ille et terris iactatus et alto ui superum saeuae memorem iunonis ob iram multa quoque et bello passus dum conderet urbem inferretque deos latio genus unde latinum albanique patres atque altae moenia romae

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Introduction, texts, notes

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This edition of selections from Vergil's Aeneid is intended for readers of Latin. All content is free and available for re-use under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike license. At the time initial release (fall 2016) the commentary covers parts of Books 1, 2, 4, and 6 (1.1-578, 2.1-317, 506-623; 4.1-53, 160-361, 584-705; 6.295-336, 384-476, 788-901), a total of 1633 lines. Included are:

Audio recordings of the Latin read aloud, and video that combines Latin audio with illustrations

Original maps, made with GIS base layers and annotated to make clear how they relate to the text, with links to Pleiades and Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Geography

A new introduction to the work as a whole by distinguished scholar of Greco-Roman epic Thomas Van Nortwick

Original scholarship on Renaissance musical settings of texts from the Aeneid by distinguished musicologist Blake Wilson, with scores and audio recordings

Fresh close readings of sections of the text, by Meghan Reedy

Images of the most significant medieval manuscripts on which the text is based

A new presentation of the illustrations of Sebastian Brant (1502) and C.G. Eimmart (1688), annotated to make clear how they relate to the text

Running vocabulary lists that include all words not in the DCC Core Latin Vocabulary, based on the hand-parsed Aeneid of the Laboratoire d'Analyse Statistique des Langues Anciennes (LASLA), with definitions from Henry Frieze's Vergilian Dictionary (1902)

New research on Vergilian vocabulary based on LASLA data, with visualizations

A Latin text conforming to that of the Oxford Classical Text of Mynors, except in certain matters of capitalization and orthography (macrons are included over all long vowels, words that begin sentences are capitalized, third declension accusative plurals end in -ēs rather than -īs, and consonantal u is spelled v)

Notes keyed to the Latin, drawn mostly from older school editions, elucidating the language and the context

Links to Allen & Greenough's Latin Grammar as digitized at DCC, and to other reference works such as Pleiades and Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Geography

All content will be maintained on Dickinson's servers for the foreseeable future.

Support comes from the Roberts Fund for Classical Studies and the Mellon Fund for Digital Humanities at Dickinson College.
Background
Digital annotation of classical texts has many potential advantages. In theory it could provide easy access to all comments written on a specific passage (the "digital variorum," Helsin 2016). It could also provide a new freedom from space restrictions imposed by the print medium ("infinitely large margins," Fowler 1999), and multiple-audience commentaries, with the ability of users to choose the level of notes they want. Digital annotation could also open up authorship through wikis and user comment features (Carlisle et al. 2016), and allow for machine-generated comments that would parse word forms and disambiguate geographical and proper names based on automatic language processing tools or voting features (Crane 2009).

In practice, however, various problematic issues-partly technical and partly related to scholarly culture-have emerged. A machine-readable form of citation that would enable aggregation of comments on a single passage is still under development (Rebillard 2009, Blackwell and Smith 2013). A usable TEI syntax for linked annotations is not yet available (Schmidt 2014). Design issues make it difficult to include all relevant information on limited screen space, and the dividing lines between different "levels" or audiences of classical commentary are not as clear cut as initially thought (Anderson 2016). "Open" commentaries on classic works have not been very productive so far, and readers of such texts typically value scholarly expertise and are reticent about adding their own notes. Automatic parsing tools, while they are being continually improved by dedicated scholars, are not yet up to the standard of accuracy demanded by the traditions of classical philology.

In this turbulent and developing context there are no routines and little likelihood of adequately serving all audiences. Our edition of selections from Vergil's Aeneid is a collaborative effort intended to provide humanistic and scholarly annotation for readers of Latin. It focuses on the needs of non-professional students of the Aeneid, and prioritizes accurate scholarship, pedagogical utility, and effective design, while attempting to remain mindful of issues of infrastructure and networked data. While the annotations are not XML-encoded, there is no obstacle to doing so when the resources and a standard syntax become available. We tried to furnish guidance while avoiding the pitfall of providing too much information. The emphasis throughout is on the humanistic learning and intellectual skills to be cultivated by reading the Aeneid in Latin: precise appreciation of poetic language, close reading, cultural literacy, and skill in translation. We also tried to take good advantage of the digital medium by including audio recordings and other multimedia enhancements that we hope will enrich and enliven the reading experience, rather than distract from it.

Our edition is built in Drupal, in the traditional DCC format of two columns, one for the Latin text on the left, and another with three tabs (for notes, vocabulary, and media) on the right. Parts of the infrastructure for the whole poem are already finished, and a complete edition is the longer term goal.
Acknowledgments
I am deeply grateful to all who have contributed to this project so far, both to those formally recognized in the contributors page, and to others with whom I have met and corresponded over recent years about this project and who have given their time, thoughts, and and support in many ways, especially Sarah Dawson, Melinda Schlitt, Gillian Pinkham, Connor Ford, Paul Perrot, Richard Davis, Sarah Buhidma, Laurie Duncan, Jacqueline Lopata, Dan Cummings, Jennider Larson, Hugh McElroy, Wells Hansen, Will Harvard, and Ashley Leonard. If you have an idea about how to make the site better, please contact me directly ( francese@dickinson.edu), or at the DCC email address ( dickinsoncommentaries@gmail.com). Happy reading!

Christopher Francese
Carleoli apud Pennsylvanos
August 12, 2016
References
Anderson, Peter J. "Heracles' Choice: Thoughts on the Virtues of Print and Digital Commentary." In Kraus and Stray (2016), pp. 483-493.

Blackwell, Christopher and Neel Smith, "The CITE Architecture." Last modified May 19, 2013. http://www.homermultitext.org/hmt-doc/cite/

Carlisle, David et al. "Cyrus' Paradise: The World's First Online Collaborative Commentary to an Ancient Text." Accessed March 10, 2016. http://www.cyropaedia.org/

Crane, Gregory. "Cyberinfrastructure for Classical Philology." Digital Humanities Quarterly 3.1 (2009). Url: http://www.digitalhumanities.org/dhq/vol/3/1/000023/000023.html

Fowler, Don. "Criticism as Commentary and Commentary as Criticism in the Age of Electronic Media." In Glenn W. Most, ed. Commentaries/Kommentare (Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 1999), pp. 426-442.

Heslin, Peter. "The Dream of a Universal Variorum: Digitizing the Commentary Tradition." In Kraus and Stray (2016), pp. 494-511.

Kraus, Christina S. and Christopher Stray. Classical Commentaries: Explorations in a Scholarly Genre. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016.

Perseus. Gregory Crane, Project Director. "P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid, J. B. Greenough, Ed." (n.d., orig. 1900) http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus:text:1999.02.0055

Rebillard, Eric. "Canonical Citation Linking and OpenURL." Project Description. Last modified May 26, 2009. http://cwkb.org/pubs/report-20090526.pdf

Schmidt, Desmond. "Towards an Interoperable Digital Scholarly Edition." Journal of the Text Encoding Initiative 7 (November 2014): 1-20. DOI: 10.4000/jtei.979 URL: https://jtei.revues.org/979

Smith, Neel. "Citation in Classical Studies." Digital Humanities Quarterly 3.1 (2009). URL: http://www.digitalhumanities.org/dhq/vol/3/1/000028/000028.html

Vergil Project. Joseph Farrell, Project Director. 1995-pres. http://vergil.classics.upenn.edu/

Cover image: Anonymous, Suicide of Queen Dido ( De zelfmoord van koningin Dido) (detail), ca. 1800. Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum. Source: Europeana

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This edition of selections from Vergil's Aeneid is intended for readers of Latin. All content is free and available for re-use under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike license. At the time initial release (fall 2016) the commentary covers parts of Books 1, 2, 4, and 6 (1.1-578, 2.1-317, 506-623; 4.1-53, 160-361, 584-705; 6.295-336, 384-476, 788-901), a total of 1633 lines.

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Huge site for all your needs

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P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid, Book 1, line 1

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Why are you should read the Aeneid (5:35)

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Why are you should read the Aeneid (5:35)

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intro from TedEd

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Why should you read Virgil's "Aeneid"? - Mark Robinson

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A Summary from Course Hero

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The Aeneid by Virgil | Summary & Analysis

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Frederick Ahl (trans.)

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Sarah Ruden (trans.)

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Comprehensive resources for grammar, notes, and translations

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P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid, Book 1, line 1

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This is the home of our passage vocabularies, plus rhetoric and translations as well.

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Quizlet is a lightning-fast way to learn vocabulary.

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translated by Robert Fagles

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Virgil - The Aeneid - Book 1 (tr. Fagles)

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AP Latin Exam description

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AP Latin, Vergil's Aeneid, 1

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AP Latin Free-Response Questions 2019

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AP Latin Free-Response Questions 2018

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Robert Fitzgerald (trans.)

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Allen Mandelbaum (trans.)

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2007

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2006

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2005

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2004

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I. Introduction to Classical Roman Literature

Originally, the Romans had their own way of naming and worshiping the gods different from those of the Greeks. Though the equation of Greek and Roman deities is often presented as if it rests on strict, clear equivalencies-a list asserting that Jupiter is Zeus, Hera is Juno and so on begins many a modern textbook on classical mythology-the correspondence of Hellenic and native Italian gods, in fact, hardly does justice to either religious system. For instance, more than one Roman divinity was never given a Greek counterpart because nothing even vaguely similar existed in the Olympian system. For many other Latin deities, the Hellenistic counterparts assigned to them constituted a poor fit. Thus, in general, these equations all too frequently fell far short of science.

But despite their imprecision and the violence they perpetrated on native traditions, the equivalencies thrived and their impact is visible across much of ancient literature and religion. In particular, when matched with Greek gods, Roman deities often underwent dramatic and substantive changes, taking on the attributes of their foreign cousins and leaving behind the impression of congruity, when in origin there was little or none. The native traits of Latin divinities-that is, what they originally looked and acted like, and what tradition of myths surrounded them in their homeland Italy-were often recast, and in some cases entirely reworked, to force them into harmony with their imported Hellenic counterparts.

On the other side of the Adriatic Sea, however, the damage seems to have been far less because of the Greeks' cultural domination of their Roman overlords-it makes sense that the process of pairing and linking foreign deities would have made less of an impact on the more developed country-so in general, the Greek gods exerted themselves over their Roman partners to a much greater degree than the converse. Moreover, what few changes were foisted upon the Olympians can be counted as nominal. That is, even if Zeus now had to wear a Roman toga and a name-tag that said Jupiter, he was still at heart the sky-god Homer described and worshiped.

It's important to add that in antiquity the practice of comparing and equating gods was hardly restricted to Greco-Roman interaction. The ancients as a whole-and the Greeks, in particular-were fond of identifying the divinities of one culture with those of another. The Greek historian Herodotus, for instance, regularly equates the Egyptian goddess Isis and the Greek Demeter or the gods Osiris and Dionysus, often on tenuous grounds, such as that they share some attribute like horns or have similar myths such as dying and being reborn. Identifications like these almost always rested on simplifying and, in some cases, completely misconstruing one of the cultures being merged, as wrong-headed a notion as likening the Christian God to the Islamic Allah or the Hindu Brahma.

Although the equation of Greek and Roman gods has its roots in early Rome, this system of celestial similes-truly Homeric in both grandeur and accuracy-gained momentum after 240 B.CE with the evolution of Greek-based Latin literature. Ennius, an important Roman poet of the day, is largely responsible for standardizing the equivalencies handed down to us, which need to be learned in order to understand classical Latin literature.

To these may be added another half dozen or so which became popular later on:

In actuality, only two of these equations are strictly valid: Apollo/Apollo and Heracles/Hercules, both of whom were imported wholesale from Greece to Rome, with their names essentially unaltered. Two others find some merit in the gods' names which are related linguistically-that is, they're derived from the same word-roots in Indo-European-Zeus and Jupiter come from the same verbal base "day(-father)," and Hestia and Vesta both derive from the Indo-European term for "hearth." In each case, however, the name is virtually all that the deities share, since their powers, attributes and relative importance in Greek and Roman society hardly coincide.

The rest of the equations are even worse. It's not that Ennius was incompetent, only that ancient Roman and Greek religion, their societies and outlook on life, were so fundamentally different they didn't naturally produce similar-looking or -acting gods. Furthermore, the problem is compounded by the early Romans' habit of worshiping non-anthropomorphic deities-that is, divinities which don't necessarily have human form but instead exist as abstract principles-when all the Greek Olympians can and do resemble human beings. The inherent complications are readily apparent when one reviews them, god by god.

Jupiter (also spelled Juppiter) resembled his Greek equivalent Zeus in that both were originally sky-gods associated with thunder, lightning and weather in general. Before the Hellenization of Rome, however, the Latin god was rather colorless-more of an Anu than an Enlil-but after contact with the Greeks, Jupiter became associated with Hera's equivalent Juno, originally an Italian goddess of women in all aspects of life (especially childbirth and marriage), and through this connection his stock rose precipitously. In the native Italian tradition, these gods had little, if any, connection to each other, but their forced association as Hellenism proceeded brought both to the forefront of Roman myth.

Another god whose fortunes declined upon the arrival of the Greeks was Vulcan. In origin a prominent Italian deity, he began to fade from public view after being linked to the comparatively inconsequential Hephaestus. Unlike his equivalent whom the Greeks imagined spent most of his time working at forges underground, Vulcan represented fire of all sorts, especially the kind which destroys. To a society as martial as the Romans, destructive fire was a major component of the universe and so Vulcan commanded great respect in early Rome, but not so much after he was associated with the comical, ugly cuckold of Greek myth.

Finally, war encompasses the most consequential change forced upon the Roman gods in the wake of the Greeks' cultural invasion. To wit, Mars, the Latin god of war, was originally the Romans' principal deity, not Jupiter. This is well-evidenced in the calendrical system we've inherited from Rome, in which March, the month named after this god, was once the first month of the year-counting backward from September ("the seventh month"), October ("the eighth month"), November ("the ninth month") and December ("the tenth month") shows that March at one time in history stood at the start of the Roman calendar year-but his pairing with Ares proved a disaster for Mars, since the Greek god was unpopular and scarcely seen in myth. The Roman divinity never recovered from this insult.

While Vesta, Vulcan and Mars declined in importance, other Roman deities thrived, gaining importance when aligned with certain Greek gods. Originally a god of sweet waters and worshiped mainly during the dry months of summer, Neptune was linked to the Greek Poseidon-the early Romans were land-locked and had no real need for a sea-god-and inherited mythological wealth. Likewise, a minor fertility goddess of the Italians, Venus, stepped into the spotlight through her equation with Aphrodite. The Roman goddess' original function is hard to define, associated as she was with luck, the favor of the gods and well-managed gardens, which is to say fertility as much as beauty. It's hard to imagine why the Romans drew a connection between Venus and Aphrodite, except perhaps out of the desperate need to create some Roman counterpart for Aphrodite who is so pervasive in Greek literature.

Likewise, Athena's pre-eminence in Athenian religion and lore was carried over to her Roman counterpart Minerva who was subsequently thrust into the forefront of mythology. While the equation of Minerva and Athena is not nearly as far-fetched as that of Venus and Aphrodite-like Athena, Minerva was originally a goddess of war and arts and crafts and both deities were typically depicted wearing arms-as a whole, their likeness is superficial. Beneath these shared features, Athena is at heart the embodiment of Athens, and Minerva is hardly the divine personification of Rome.

In other cases, the connection between Greek and Roman deities was more than strained, requiring the all-but-complete reworking of the Roman deity to forge a correspondence with some Greek counterpart. Mercury was originally the Roman god of trade and gain, and to that extent he resembled the Greek Hermes. But the latter's role as psychopompos (escorter of the dead to the Underworld), musician and messenger were subsequently appended onto Mercury after their association. Similarly, Diana may have been in origin a goddess of the moon and childbirth like Artemis, but Artemis' principal aspects as goddess of the hunt and magic were forcibly affixed onto Diana through this association.

In sum, the importation of new gods and the equation of local and foreign deities put considerable stress on Roman social and religious institutions. With every generation, it seemed, the traditional gods were once again recast, reinvented or, worse, rejected as new cults and myths intruded into Rome. The early Roman playwright Plautus touches on this issue humorously in his comedy The Bacchises, when a lovesick young man confronts his old teacher with a list of the gods he prefers to worship:

Love, Desire, Venus, Grace, Joy, Joke, Fun, Gab, Blissfulkissifiction*!

If those are gods, you should not have anything to do with them.

(obviously quoting his tutor's own words) "Evil the man who evil of good men does speak." Your answer is not correct. (shaking his finger) That's two points off.

Oh, so you've never heard of her, have you? Well, I used to think you were an educated man. But this proves you are a barbarian, Mr. Greek. And not even a senior barbarian but a freshman! To think, at your age, someone can't even name the gods!

*literally in Latin, Suavisaviatio [SWAH-wee-SAH-wee-AH-tee-oh], literally "Sweet-Kiss-Making"

B. The Myths of Early Rome

Like Greece, Italy already had a well-established, native population when the Indo-Europeans began to invade in the second millennium BCE. And as in Greece, these wide-ranging conquerors entered Italy in discrete waves displacing a resident population of non-Indo-European peoples and, later, peoples from earlier Indo-European migrations. One branch of these invaders became the Romans, a people who spoke a dialect of the Indo-European language which would eventually evolve into the Latin tongue.

The proto-Romans founded several settlements in Latium-the name is the basis for the adjective Latin-an area of western central Italy along the Tiber River. We today know little about the era of early Roman settlement and expansion, and neither, it seems, did the classical Romans whose own accounts of the period preceding the rise of their state as a world power amount to little more than myth and legend-the Romans of the Classical Age had no idea that the Indo-Europeans had ever existed, much less that they were their ancestors-indeed, until the third century BCE, there was no serious comprehensive record kept of the Romans' civilization or how it rose to power prior to their conflict with the Carthaginians in the Punic Wars. Nor did it help the situation much that literacy spread through Rome relatively late as compared to the cultures around them.

Thus, the first centuries of Roman history are less fact than fable, but as with most invented history -"invented history" is a collective term for historical fictions which stand in place of fact, usually in the absence of hard data-there is some truth haloing the lies. And the great truth which emerges from the myths of early Rome is the powerful attraction of Greek culture in the ancient Mediterranean world. Indeed, most early tales about the Romans either attempt to tie them to Hellenic literary traditions or were concocted from story types borrowed out of Greek myth, nothing of historical merit.

But the appearance of truth is all that invented histories require to grow and thrive, especially when no real history exists to confront and contradict them. Thus, the Romans were able to claim descent from Troy, specifically the Trojan hero Aeneas, one of the few such heroes whose death is not recorded in Homer. And as with so many of the mythological heroes of this age, a later Greek author composed a saga about Aeneas' wanderings subsequent to the war, in this case, from Troy to a new homeland in Latium. He took with him his young son Ascanius who was also called Julus, a name which sounded to the Romans enough like Julius that he could later be designated the founder of the Julian gens, the family of the Caesars. Even if it's a complete fabrication, Aeneas' story had a pleasing ring of truth to it and, without anything else to put in its place, it became the foundation myth of the Roman people, though not of Rome itself.

The founding of the city required an entirely different story, one set many centuries after Aeneas' day, since the earliest anyone in antiquity could even imagine the establishment of the city was the eighth century BCE. Because the ancients recognized that, if the Trojan War ever actually happened, it must have taken place at some time around the twelfth century (ca. 1200 BCE), there was clearly a significant gap in time between the establishment of the proto-Roman presence in Latium (before 1100) and the founding of Rome itself (after 800). Thus, even though it would have simplified things considerably, Roman myth-makers in antiquity couldn't cast Aeneas as the man who built their capital city, only as the father of their race.

When Amulius discovered them, he ordered that the babies be put in a basket and drowned in the Tiber River but instead they floated to safety and, when they washed up on the banks, their cries of hunger attracted a she-wolf. Normally, such a beast would have killed and eaten the children, but the Romans believed the she-wolf to be an animal sacred to Mars and, sensing that these were his divine offspring, it nursed the children instead of devouring them. Thus, the infants were fed literally on the milk of war, a symbol of the martial culture which Rome would later embrace. [It's worth noting that not only does this detail point up the myth's fictional nature but it also dates its creation to the later centuries of the first millennium BCE, when the Romans had at last achieved military supremacy over Italy. That is, no one would have concocted such a myth for the early Romans until they'd achieved their many triumphs on the battlefield.]

Eventually shepherds found and raised the boys who, when grown, overthrew the malevolent Amulius and restored the throne to their kindly grandfather Numitor. But restless as young men often are, they decided to set out from home and found their own city. Having settled on a location, what was to be the site of Rome, they quarreled over the auspices (omens) for their new city-or, in some stories, Remus insulted his brother-whatever the reason, in the end Romulus killed Remus and named the new city for himself, Rome.

Thus, bloodied-handed, super-patriot, god-born scions snatched from a virgin priestess of the hearth fire and suckled on wolf's milk and war became the symbolic founders of Rome, by all appearances a thoroughly Roman conception. But in fact, it isn't. While on the surface this story may look fundamentally Roman because it alludes to the geography of Latium and Latin customs, close investigation shows that it is, in fact, as Greek an invention as Aeneas or anything in Homer-and, no doubt, just as historical.

For one thing, there is no historical evidence that the myth of Romulus and Remus existed much before the fourth century BCE, the very period in which direct interaction between Greeks and Romans was beginning to build. Moreover, the birth of the twins from the union of a mortal and a god and the habit of naming a founding father after his city or race are conceits which the ancient Greeks were particularly fond of. In Greek mythology, for instance, the Ionians are said to stem from a character named Ion and the Persians from a person called Perses and, of course, neither individual has any historical validity.

Thus, except for a few nominal changes and a whitewash coating of Roman institutions such as the Vestal Virgins, it's hard to see anything original at all about the Romulus and Remus story, strong evidence that it's invented history. That, in sum, made early Rome a field better suited for artists to plow than ancient historians who, for the most part, avoided it. But it proved, indeed, very fertile soil for Latin poets, among them the best Rome would ever produce, Vergil.

A. An Introduction to Vergil: His Early Life and Works

We know more about Vergil than practically any other ancient poet, in large part because his Roman contemporaries held his poetry in such high esteem that reliable biographical information was collected and preserved along with his works. Indeed, Vergil's masterpiece The Aeneid was accorded that greatest of dubious literary awards, instant translation into textbook status-in other words, almost immediately upon its publication The Aeneid became required reading for Roman schoolboys-and as such, its cult status also worked to preserve data about the author. Moreover, because there were many still alive who knew and remembered Vergil personally, the biographical information about him seems uniquely reliable. To seal the case, Vergil's poetry has never fallen out of general favor since his lifetime, even during the Middle Ages when classical literature was often denounced as promoting the worship of pagan deities, a tribute to his enduring appeal and the extraordinary quality of his verse. All in all, if Western civilization has a superstar, it's Vergil.

Publius Vergilius Maro, a name with Etruscan overtones, was born in the small village of Andes near Mantua on October 15, 70 BCE. Though, like Catullus, he came from humble and provincial origins, Vergil's father had risen far enough up the Roman social ladder to give his son the best possible education. If parents today need a reason to invest well in their children's schooling, Vergil provides an incontestable argument for doing so. The fine academic training he received paid enormous dividends, indeed, the very paradigm of money well-spent.

After considering briefly a career in rhetoric and law, the young Vergil turned his talents to where they naturally lay, poetry. Even if he had stayed with the legal profession, he probably wouldn't have been able to remain a lawyer for long. When he was still in his early twenties, civil war broke out between Julius Caesar and Gnaeus Pompey, culminating in the Battle of Pharsalus in 49 BCE, a confrontation which turned out to be the Rome's version of Leuctra, the graveyard of the Roman aristocracy.

For the next two decades, chaos and internal dissension swept the Roman world, making politics or law too dangerous a career path for most people's liking. When the crisis at last abated, the Republic lay dying in its own blood. Rome had metamorphosed into an empire, leaving it now pointless to pursue a life in public service, but this time for a different reason. With the democratic foundation of the state lying in ruins, prominent figures in government like attorneys and senators had become merely the hirelings and hangers-on of the emperor. In a nascent tyranny such as this, there can be only one star in the firmament, the man at the top.

While he would surely have made an excellent lawyer, Vergil also had a natural genius for poetry, so the proper choice of vocations must have seemed fairly clear to him. And of the various poetic genres active in the day he was attracted, in particular, to neoteric verse like Catullus', the Hellenistic mode of writing in short poems with great emotional intensity. His first important publication was a collection of pastoral idylls entitled The Eclogues ("Selections"), smooth and well-crafted musings on the pleasures and perils of country life. Short though it was, this body of poetry achieved enough renown to secure its author the patronage of rich and well-connected people and, more important, the time necessary to write another work.

Vergil's second published tome was a longer work called The Georgics ("Farming"), consisting of four books of poetry but still relatively short and solidly Alexandrian in the obscurity of its subject matter and density of expression. This proved to be an even greater hit than The Eclogues. In spite of its pseudo-scientific premise and the allusive and erudite tone which the genre called for, Roman readers avidly embraced The Georgics, naturally attracted as they were to the subject of agriculture. Indeed, it was an ideal topic for Vergil to have chosen inasmuch as it blended Roman and Greek tastes perfectly. The grand multicultural experiment of Latin literature which had begun with Livius Andronicus two centuries earlier was now bearing its richest fruit, not that any of this had come quickly or easily, especially Vergil's efforts.

The man of Mantua would not be rushed, so it seems, but produced poetry at a painfully slow pace. That is, in spite of their relative brevity, both his early works were the harvest of intensely meticulous spadework, each syllable of the Latin carefully groomed and shaped before being entrusted to the public eye. A notorious perfectionist and inveterate workaholic, Vergil composed The Eclogues and The Georgics at the rate of less than one line a day, a fact he himself seems to have recognized. In his own words it is said, he "licked his poems into shape like a mother bear"-the Romans believed mother bears gave shape to their new-born cubs by licking them over and over-the importance of revision needs no other testament than this, the polished perfection of Vergil's early verse.

Moreover, to judge from his biography, he did little else in life but study and read and write-we hear of no marriages, no love affairs with anyone in particular, no government or military service-rather, his life was, by all appearances, completely invested in poetry, an effort well-spent, to say the least, since few books in any language are worth examining in the detail Vergil's are. Thus, in the much the same way Homer had made ancient Greek worth learning, Vergil took Latin to new and unimagined heights. Chaucer, Dante, Milton, Shakespeare, Ezra Pound and countless millions of others over the last twenty centuries will concur: learn Latin, read Vergil and you will have one of the most fulfilling and meaningful experiences life offers.

It must also be remembered that Vergil did all of this as the world was exploding in violence around him. Julius Caesar's assassination in 44 BCE brought the faction which had supported and deified Caesar and the one which had hated and murdered him into direct conflict. His former lieutenant and right-hand man Mark Antony drew up Caesar's loyal legions against those of his Republican assassins Brutus and Cassius, and when the dust had settled after their battle at Philippi, the pro-Caesarians held up the victors' trophy. The Republic was now a de facto corpse, as yet still breathing but brain-dead.

Antony had virtually no chance to enjoy this triumph, however. When Caesar's will was published after his death, it named as heir his great-nephew, Octavian, at the time still a teenage boy-there's some evidence the will was tampered with, perhaps even forged-and as the only adult male surviving from the entire Julian gens in the day, this man-child stepped unexpectedly into the foreground of Roman politics before Antony could secure control over the freshly dead-and-deified Caesar's former dominion. In the next few years, through sheer political savvy and opportunistic glad-handing, Octavian forced Antony from the capital city and ultimately into the arms of Caesar's ex-mistress, Cleopatra, the reigning queen of Egypt, a distant descendant of Alexander's general Ptolemy.

The conflict between Octavian and Antony slowly escalated into full-scale war, capped by a climactic naval battle in 31 BCE near the city of Actium along the western shore of Greece. There, Caesar's heir and his generals defeated the combined forces of Caesar's lieutenant and his mistress. In what seemed to many the final whiplash of Caesar's vengeful Fury, both Antony and Cleopatra were subsequently driven to suicide. Soon thereafter dubbed Augustus ("Holy One"), Octavian consolidated his hold over the Roman state and imposed a peace that was to last two hundred years, the famous (31 BCE-180 CE)-the empire he inaugurated would endure even longer, over half a millennium-and Vergil spent this entire decade, we must never forget, all the years between Philippi and Actium, sitting at his desk writing exquisite, polished Latin verse.

After the victory at Actium, Augustus tried to conscript several of the more famous and respected Roman poets at work in the day to compose an epic based on patriotic themes, a propagandistic anthem which would make the Romans feel proud of their history, their state, and especially their current regime-new rulers have a strong need for positive publicity-but all the major working poets politely demurred, proffering various excuses for why they weren't the right bard for the job. Beneath their courteous denials, the real reason they refused isn't hard to fathom. None wanted to be seen as a puppet of an untested government in an age which had recently seen many leaders come and go. Besides that, political poetry is usually tedious beyond belief.

But Augustus persisted, and finally coincidence worked in his behalf-and ours!-since Vergil, it turned out, had recently published The Georgics and in 30 BCE was free to embark on a new project. The young emperor convinced the as-yet-exclusively-pastoral poet to make a stab at heroic epic, though how we'll never know. The step from country-western-singer to epic-press-secretary is hardly a small or direct move.

Slow and careful worker that he was, Vergil spent the better part of the next decade (the 20's BCE) composing, revising and polishing The Aeneid. Only when most of the work had been outlined and some of it even transferred from wax to papyrus, did the mother bear of Roman poetry consent to recite her cubs in public. By then it had been something on the order of seven years since Augustus had started paying for Vergil's services, and so it was not without some justification that the emperor insisted on hearing the verse he'd commissioned.

Thus, at last in 23 BCE the epic debuted before Augustus and his court, and was greeted, of course, with the great acclaim it deserves. Vergil, however, had his eye on a higher prize, more than the proverbial fifteen minutes of fame and immediately went back to work revising it. With a first draft of sorts in hand-a hundredth draft by anyone's else standard! -he headed off for Greece in 19 BCE to pursue further research in the great libraries of the East. Unfortunately, shortly upon his return to Italy and before he could complete the revisions, he died leaving The Aeneid done but not finished.

As evidence of its imperfection, about fifty lines scattered across the poem are incomplete-that is, they don't constitute whole metrical lines-moreover, in several places the plot seems to jump abruptly, suggesting there may be even larger gaps not immediately visible in the verse. Because the prospect of seeing his work go into publication pocked with such inconsistencies galled the assiduous Vergil, he asked on his deathbed that the manuscript of The Aeneid be burned. Augustus, however, rescinded this last wish and had it published, flaws and all. It was, of course, an instant literary triumph, the greatest in all of Roman history, and immediately vaulted Vergil into the ranks of Western Civilization's premier poets, a well-earned renown but one he never knew and, were he alive today, would probably bridle at, based as it is on an unpolished masterpiece.

Among the more remarkable achievements entailed in the work itself is what has to count as the principal challenge facing Vergil in writing The Aeneid, the character of the title figure himself, Aeneas. According to Homer and Greek literature, he was not the sort of hero with which the Romans naturally identified-if given a choice of forefathers, the Romans would probably have picked someone more like one of the great fighters seen in Homer, for instance, Ajax the sturdy, laconic "bulwark" of the Greek army-Aeneas was, instead, the offspring of the goddess Venus (Aphrodite) and a Trojan mortal Anchises. To the ancient Romans, descent from divinity was all very well, but far too frequently for their tastes the Greek traditions surrounding this child of divinity had Venus meddling in her son's affairs, certainly more often than a good Roman mother should. Worse yet, Homer's Aeneas spent relatively little time on the battlefield, a trait as foreign to the Romans' self-image as could be.

For instance, in The Iliad 20.75-352, Apollo appears to the Trojan "hero" in the form of his friend Lycaon and recalls how the mighty Aeneas once bragged over drink that he wasn't scared to face Achilles in battle. Now, however, that Achilles is advancing on Troy, Apollo-Lycaon notes that Aeneas seems less than eager for a fight and reminds his "friend" of the one encounter he's already had with Achilles and the way he saved himself, by running away-this could, of course, be interpreted as wise discretion, but then again perhaps as cowardice-and in this way shamed into battle, Aeneas goes forward to meet Achilles. In their subsequent confrontation, the tough-talking Trojan puts on a brave front but, once the real fighting starts, shows quickly that he's no match for his mighty Greek foe in strength or spirit. In the end, Poseidon appears out of nowhere and saves his Trojan pet, with a stern warning not to fight again until Achilles has died.

Handed a mythological tradition inflexible in this regard-the founder of the Roman line had to be a Trojan and that Trojan had to be Aeneas!-Vergil could not have forged a typical Homeric hero even if he'd wanted to. Fortunately, such a thing was likely not on his mind since, to judge from his earlier works which featured none of the standard combat or battle-scarred characters seen so often in Greek epic, he wasn't interested in writing anything centering around the usual early Hellenic fare of blood and guts. And besides, the Homeric Aeneas brought something else, something very intriguing to the tablet, something which might serve Alexandrian-style poetry well.

The Greek traditions surrounding Aeneas could be interpreted as saying that the proto-Roman hero was a very different sort of man from swashbuckling brigands like Achilles: a person not quick to rush into a fight, the type the gods clearly favored not with prowess in battle but thoughtful temperance and a natural reluctance to kill. Focusing on these aspects of the character freed Vergil to explore a new species of protagonist, a pious and peaceable man who hated war and felt for others in ways the implacable characters of Greek myth and epic all too infrequently do, that is, the sort of anti-hero with whom we today are very familiar. In other words, from this experiment in resurrecting Homer, Vergil mothered nothing less than the modern psychological novel.

The plot of The Aeneid covers the period of Aeneas' life from the destruction of Troy to his establishment of a Trojan presence in Italy, but it doesn't move chronologically through the material. Like Homer, Vergil begins his work by leaping in medias res, jump-starting the story by casting the reader into a storm at sea off the coast of North Africa. Seeing an opportunity to avenge herself on the Trojans whom she hates because of Paris and his mis-Judgment, Juno (Hera) conspires with Aeolus, the king of the winds, to sink Aeneas' fleet. In a scene clearly inspired by the Dios Apate passage of The Iliad ( see above, Chapter 4.III.C), Juno bribes her breezy vassal with a nymph in marriage. It's a needless offer in this case because, unlike his Homeric counterpart Sleep who balks and at first refuses to help the Greek Hera, Aeolus plays the good Roman provincial governor and does what his superior Juno orders without the incentive of bribery. That's what bureaucracy does to epic.

Dispatched by the obedient Aeolus, an enormous whirlwind rains hail and ruin onto the Trojan fleet as it's sailing at sea, and in this midst Vergil gives his readers their initial glimpse of the hero. The first words to come from Aeneas' mouth are a prayer for respite from the gods-"O three and four times blessed are they who died at Troy! How I wish I'd been killed there, too!"-this plea for death is important and telling, in more ways than one. First, Vergil's Homer-reading public would have recognized immediately the god-born and -bound man as Homer's Aeneas, a warrior with strong divine connections. Second, they surely also saw a reflection of themselves in this sea-sick traveler, since all too often the Romans, who were never a people as collectively comfortable on shipboard as the Greeks, had found themselves in Aeneas' position, retching overboard and wishing, no doubt, they were dead. Finally, just as in Book 20 of The Iliad, the storm ends with Poseidon coming to Aeneas' rescue and calming the winds. All in all, Vergil's comparison is pointed and blatant. He has taken the Aeneas he expects his reader to know from Homer and set him in a scene which reflects Greek epic but has strong Roman overtones, too.

After the storm subsides, Aeneas and his surviving men are cast up on the beaches of Carthage (modern Tunisia), where the hero gathers his forces and offers them surprisingly cold consolation, revealing a philosophical bent that his Homeric counterpart never would or could have owned: "Even these things some day it will be pleasure to remember." That their near-death in the gales at sea will one day make a great story-clearly, Vergil is referring to his own epic-cannot have been very soothing for Aeneas' men to hear at that particular moment. The poet seems to be suggesting that Aeneas has as yet some distance to go before he becomes a true Roman, a military leader who can inspire his men and drive them boldly forward into battle, carnage and uncertainty.

Into the city of Carthage Aeneas walks hidden under a cloud of invisibility, the protection Venus provides to shelter her boy from harm, yet another reflection of The Iliad, Book 20, where Poseidon casts a blinding mist over the battlefield and whisks Aeneas away magically from the threat of Achilles' sword. In Carthage, the Trojan sees etched on a temple under construction scenes depicting the Trojan War. Here Vergil is deploying a form of exposition called ("description"), again clearly inspired by passages from Homeric epic like the forging of the Shield of Achilles in Book 18 of The Iliad. That is, instead of narrating the background of the story, the poem reminds the audience about it by describing pictures which recapitulate the Trojan War.

At this point for the first time Aeneas meets the ruler and founder of Carthage, a woman named Dido. When his mother Venus suddenly strips away his invisibility and endows him with radiant beauty, he seems to have appeared from heaven, in more ways than one. A lonely widow, she's instantly intoxicated and falls hopelessly in love with the handsome Trojan-shades of Helen and Paris!-so she invites him and his whole company to her palace for a banquet that evening.

When the dinner is done, she asks her noble guest to tell his story, how Troy fell and how he ended up shipwrecked on her shore. Aeneas' narration of these events, including the Fall of Troy and the seven years of wandering which have brought him to Carthage, takes up the entirety of Books 2 and 3 of The Aeneid.

Now begin reading Vergil's Aeneid, Book 2, with one eye on the notes below.

1-2 Like Homer, Vergil is a master of oxymoron. He begins what is surely the noisiest book in the epic with "The room fell silent."

3-39 After a perfunctory sigh of reluctance, Aeneas begins the tale of the Fall of Troy, passing quickly over the death of Achilles and going immediately to the Trojan Horse. For all his superficial Homeric quality, Vergil's Aeneas is, in fact, an Alexandrian narrator who drives straight for the scene which he wishes to expand upon and doesn't first impose long books before getting to the heart of the story. This way, he can focus on the pathos and skirt the unnecessary and lengthy narrative that some might see as characterizing Homer's works.

Many wonderful details from Vergil's fertile imagination garnish Aeneas' tale: the fall of Tenedos after Priam's day, the Trojans sightseeing at the Greek camp-"Here cruel Achilles lodged," as if they were listening to a tour guide taking them around the famous sites-and especially the arrival of Laocoon.

40-56 The short speech by the pious and wise-if somewhat gruff-priest Laocoon prepares the way for the next scene in which a lying Greek named Sinon convinces the naive Trojans to take the horse inside the city. That they have heard the truth, the reality that there are, no doubt, armed warriors inside the horse, and still the Trojans are dissuaded from acting on this all-but-certain knowledge because some skilled story-teller convinces them not to, makes the progression of events which follow quite believable, indeed all the more tragic because the doomed Trojans were exposed to the truth but deaf to it.

Moreover, the irony inherent in all this, the fact that, according to Vergil, it's less the Trojan Horse than Sinon's poetic fiction which brings the city to ruin points to the dangerous power of narrative in a society. Vergil, it seems, is justifying his own line of work.

There are two things to note about Laocoon's first appearance in the poem. First, the memorable line, "I fear Greeks even bearing gifts" (2.49), is a clear reflection of the Romans' distrust of the Greek world and its dazzling pleasures, an ironic comment coming as it does from Vergil, a highly Hellenized poet. Moreover, Laocoon's distrust of the Greeks surely hit home with the Roman audience, many of whom saw their captive teachers as bringing a dangerous proclivity for double-talk along with the cultural treasures they bestowed, as well as a tendency to over-complicate simple matters of justice and ethics. It was around this very issue that the controversy of Hellenism swirled. Second is the moment when Laocoon throws a spear at the horse which reverberates, proving the structure is hollow and thus could have something inside it.

All in all, Laocoon's short, simple, direct and honest speech forms a strong contrast with Sinon's long, complicated, roundabout web of prevarication. Again, it's ironic that the winning argument in this agon is the Greek lie. Thus, Vergil appears to be commenting on the human preference for elaborate dramatic fictions over simple, unadorned truths, Hellenized fictions like the Latin epic he's writing.

57-198 Vergil takes the Romans' prejudice against the Greeks and creates what to his countrymen would have been a quintessential Greek, the masterful liar Sinon. Ironically, he's also Vergil's most Euripidean character, especially in terms of his eloquence and cynicism. To wit, this groveling fraud could come straight out of Orestes, in particular, that moment when Orestes intending to kill Helen first throws himself at her mercy ( see above, Chapter 6.III). As a seemingly humble gift-giver, Sinon might have been borrowed from Euripides' Medea, especially the scene where the title character gives her husband Jason a robe which will burn up his new wife, Medea's rival. Vergil could have taken the picture of the orator-in-rags-and-chains from Euripides, too, either his Telephus or Alexander. To cap it off, the very story Sinon tells may itself be based on Euripides' Palamedes, a play about how Odysseus treacherously destroys one of his own comrades of whom he's jealous. However it's added up, the Sinon scene is clearly modeled on Euripidean drama.

The made-up story about the Greeks' attempt to sail away (2.81-144) is also modeled on Greek myth, the tale of the Greeks' departure from Aulis, which Aeschylus refers to in the parodos of Agamemnon ( see above, Chapter 7.II.B) and which Euripides also dramatized in his play Iphigenia in Aulis. The fabrication gains strength from the fact it feeds off the expectation of the Trojans who presumably already knew about the contrary winds at Aulis and Agamemnon's sacrifice of his daughter Iphigenia there. Sinon now retells largely the same story but with himself as "Iphigenia"-a male actor playing a young virgin, hardly an unexpected mask for a Greek hypocrites to don!-and he becomes the sacrifice demanded by the gods for the Greeks' safe nostos, their passage back to Greece. And, of course, this primordial liar-playwright Sinon casts himself in the lead role of his own dramatic concoction, a ham before there was theatre.

The Palladium is a statue of Athena which was said to protect the Trojans from capture as long as they kept it inside their city walls. In Greek myth, Odysseus sneaks into Troy and steals it, clearing the way for the siege to take place. Ingeniously, Sinon has recast this essential element in the sack of Troy as the beginning of the Greeks' downfall, not the Trojans' (2.162ff.). That is, according to the lying Greek, Odysseus committed a grave sacrilege when he stole it because he had blood on his hands, and therefore the Greeks' fortunes have fallen severely. They, then, decided to retreat and re-start the whole expedition, to try to do it all over again with new omens, which, according to Sinon, is why they've gone away and left the Trojan Horse.

It's important to note that this part of Sinon's great lie-that is, the Greeks' sudden decision to return home-is modeled on Roman custom, not Greek. In other words, it's all a falsehood cooked up by a Greek using ingredients from Rome. As a people innately superstitious, the Romans were naturally attentive to all details concerning religious ceremonies. If, for instance, during a Roman festival a bad omen of some sort appeared or anything went significantly awry, the Romans often declared an instauratio, the practice of stopping the festival and beginning it anew the next day so that it could be re-done right from the start.

Maliciously appropriating this habit, Vergil's Sinon suggests that the Greeks' inability to capture Troy after ten years of siege combined with the bad omen of the Palladium coming to life and moving around in a threatening fashion convinced the Greeks to go back and begin the expedition to Troy all over again, in an attempt to seek the gods' favor. Ironically, then, the cheating Hellene imports into his prevarication the custom of instauratio -not a feature seen in Greek religion-and thus uses their own belief system against the proto-Romans he's trying to deceive.

199-249 The second Laocoon scene is Vergil at his best. Two hideous, huge snakes rise out of the sea and devour the priest and his helpless sons. The scene climaxes with a brilliant simile. Laocoon falls "like a slashed bull escaping from an altar, the fumbled axe shrugged off." (2.223-4) The sacrifice that misfires forms an ingenious analogy to the false omen of the sweating Palladium and the Greeks' imaginary nostos. Simply and effectively, Vergil shows that the Trojans' universe and religion are falling apart, with omens upside down, their very world turning inside out.

To stumble while going over a threshold constituted to the Romans a terrible omen. It presaged doom at the outset of some enterprise. Thus, the horse catching in the gate of Troy (2.242-3) should have spelled imminent disaster, something they ought to have seen, but the gods have blinded their better judgment. Incidentally, this superstition is the basis of our custom that a groom carries his bride over the threshold. As standard practice, a new husband in ancient Rome carried his wife over the threshold so she couldn't trip and start their marriage off on a bad footing.

Note Vergil's tendency to write less rather than more. For instance, at the point where Cassandra enters (2.246-7), Homer or Aeschylus would probably have put in her mouth a long speech of foreboding in which she warns the Trojans about the horse. But an Alexandrian poet avoids such excess, and so Vergil passes her by with only a brief mention and not one quoted word.

250-297 The appearance of the bloody and bruised ghost of Hector in Aeneas' dream runs counter to The Iliad, in which Homer makes it clear that in spite of Achilles' abuse the gods preserved Hector's body from damage. Vergil's motivation is clearly to create an eerier scene, and an unbloodied ghost is simply less effective in that regard.

In the dream, Hector entrusts Aeneas with things that would have seemed holiest to a Roman: the fire of the hearth (Vesta) and the images of their ancestors and household gods (Penates and Lares). These are the items that said home to the Romans, who would have known immediately that Aeneas was being entrusted with transporting the very heart of Troy to a new site.

298-437 The simile of a mountain shepherd watching in amazement as a fire blazes below him or a river floods in torrents (2.304-8) is an aptly chosen comparison for Aeneas when he stands on the roof of his house and senses for the first time his city is under siege. Perhaps the image of the shepherd is also intended to hearken back to Vergil's earlier career as pastoral poet.

The Greek warrior Androgeos, realizing that he's surrounded by Trojans and not his Hellenic allies, backs up "like a man who had just stepped on a poisonous snake." (2.379-81), another simile clearly designed to reflect Homer.

438-505 The battle scene is essentially Roman. The "tortoise shell of overlapping shields" (2.441), in particular, refers to an offensive formation the Romans actually used in sieging cities. In this, the attacking soldiers held their shields over their heads to protect themselves from whatever was thrown down on them as they battered the gates of a fortress.

This siege passage is executed as a sort of ecphrasis, inasmuch as it's composed and narrated as if the reader were looking across a mural. That is, Vergil describes the siege like a moment frozen in time. To underscore this, he uses the present tense-modern translators often employ the past tense in accordance with standard English practice, but in Latin many of the verbs in this passage are present tense-for instance, Vergil says at one point literally, "Ladders cling to the wall, and men strive upward" (2.442-3), which creates the effect that the reader's eyes are scanning a poetic picture which is meant to be visualized as much as heard.

506-558 Pyrrhus (also called Neoptolemus) is Achilles' teenage son, the heir of his father's bloodthirstiness, boldness in combat and sense of mission in destroying the Trojans, but not the compassion Achilles learned at the end of The Iliad. In this scene, the young warrior murders the aged Priam with a merciless rage worthy only of the Achilles seen in the first twenty-two books of Homer's epic. In a breath-taking sequence of war crimes, the boy proves himself a heartless butcher.

Hecuba's speech to Priam begging him not to wage battle against Pyrrhus (2.519-524) is an inspired inversion of Homer's scene at the Scaean Gates between Hector and Andromache in Book 6 of The Iliad, the touching moment where the latter begs her husband not to fight ( see above, Chapter 4.II.B). In similar fashion, the plea of Vergil's Hecuba brims with pathos, the very thing one would expect of a neoteric poet like Vergil. There is, of course, one enormous difference between the Roman and Greek epics in this regard. Where in The Iliad Hector answered his wife Andromache with the magnificent "Warrior's Creed" (6.440-465), in the corresponding situation of The Aeneid his father has nothing to say in reply to his wife Hecuba, yet another taciturn response to Homer from a poet schooled in Alexandrian style.

The exchange of speeches between Priam and Pyrrhus (533-550) is a dark reflection of the finale of The Iliad. The Roman Priam even alludes his earlier meeting with Pyrrhus' father Achilles and uses it to draw a contrast to his son's present behavior, uncivilized and sacrilegious. In answer to this, Pyrrhus could hardly be accused of being long-winded. His scant three lines in the Latin poem show well that he's a brutal, unfeeling butcher, a chip off the angry side of his father's block, lacking the decency Achilles eventually learned: "Complain to my father, then. You're about to see him. Tell him what a bad boy I've been. Now, time to die."

For the murder of Priam, Vergil produces an unrelenting series of horrific images, culminating with Pyrrhus dragging Priam to an altar to kill him-by ancient standards, an act of unmitigated and premeditated heresy-the old man even slips in his dead son's blood.

To cap it off, the resolution of the scene is pure poetic genius: "On the distant shore lies a vast and headless trunk, a body without a name" (2.557-8). It's a clear image of the death of Pompey, the Roman general whom Caesar defeated at the end of the Roman Republic. After his loss in battle, Pompey fled to Egypt where he was betrayed and beheaded, his decapitated corpse left floating in the tidal pools outside Alexandria. The demise of this "defender of the Republic" ended all hope of democracy in Rome and produced an image which haunted Romans for generations to come. Thus, Vergil uses Pompey's death to draw a connection between Homeric epic and current political events. Why Augustus who rose to power through the defeat of such Republican forces allowed such a blatant political allusion to stand is unclear.

559-633 Creusa is Aeneas' wife, the mother of his son Ascanius (Julus).

The mention of Creusa forms an excellent transition to the next scene in which Aeneas spots Helen, the bigamist wife of Menelaus, that most treacherous of unfaithful women, hiding in the temple of Vesta, the goddess of the hearth and home. It's hard to miss the irony here, as Vergil again borrows from Euripides' Orestes and briefly raises the possibility that Aeneas will kill Helen before traditional Greek myth says she dies ( see above, Chapter 6.III).

The scene also resolves on a Euripidean minor chord: Venus appears and stops Aeneas' murderous rage, much as Apollo prevents Orestes from killing Helen in the finale of Euripides' tragedy. Notably, Venus no more belongs in the temple of Vesta than Apollo does at the end of Orestes. Nevertheless, she appears there-more evidence that the Trojans' world is turning upside down-and, just like Athena who prevents Achilles from murdering Agamemnon in Book 1 of The Iliad, she keeps Aeneas from murdering Helen.

Here Vergil produces yet another masterful moment, a startling and terrifying image. When Venus rips off the veil of mortality from her son Aeneas so that he can see the gods destroying his city, Vergil seems to suggest that there floats around our mortal world a twilight zone in which supernatural beings rage and thrust their swords at us. Furthermore, Venus treats her son with the same brutality she did Helen when she forces her into bed with Paris in Book 3 of The Iliad. Like Ishtar in The Epic of Gilgamesh, she shows that ancient sex goddesses are vicious and cruel, even to their nearest and dearest.

634-804 The story of the omens which tell Aeneas to leave is quickly followed up by the narration of his wife Creusa's death and her subsequent appearance as a ghost who bids him on to Italy and his Roman destiny. Her farewell speech is beautiful in its pathos and simplicity.

Thus, Aeneas leaves his homeland Troy which sinks in flames behind him as he departs. He carries his father on his shoulders and has his little son Ascanius running by his side-a symbol of the generations rising from the earth-and takes with him, too, the Lares and Penates of Troy, representing both the continuation of his people's spirit and, when Aeneas finally reaches his new home in Latium, the alliance of the past with the future.

Aeneas and his rag-tag band of refugees flee Troy and wander for many years around the Mediterranean, much as Odysseus does in Homer's Odyssey. Ultimately, the Trojans end up in Carthage, a landing site of some significance in Vergil's time since nearly a millennium later the conflict between the Dido's descendants at Carthage and Aeneas' Roman heirs will result in a monumental struggle from which Rome will eventually emerge bloodied but victorious. Thus, Vergil casts Aeneas and Dido as personifications of Roman history-yet-to-come, using his epic to "foreshadow" the Punic Wars.

In Book 4 of The Aeneid, Dido and Aeneas consummate their love, but all too soon the gods call Aeneas away so that he can fulfill his destiny, the divine mission to bring the Trojans to Italy. Though Dido begs and pleads with him to stay and for a brief moment he's torn between love and duty, in the end pius Aeneas ("dutiful Aeneas") is left with no choice but to depart. As she watches her beloved leave, Dido curses him and then kills herself. [If you have time for extra reading, Book 4 tells a beautiful, tragic love story.]

Unaware of Dido's demise, Aeneas sails on to Sicily, where he commemorates his father Anchises' death in funeral games, then continues sailing north. One night, while the Trojans are passing along the western shore of Italy, Aeneas' pilot Palinurus accidentally falls asleep at the helm, rolls off into the ocean and disappears. The next morning, when Aeneas and his men realize their helmsman is missing, they assume he's dead and so proceed on in sadness to Italy. As Book 6 of The Aeneid opens, Aeneas is grieving the pilot he lost at sea.

Now begin reading Vergil's Aeneid, Book 6, with one eye on the notes below.

1-41 "Some struck seeds of fire out of the veins of flint" refers to the belief advanced by Epicurus that "seeds" (atomic bits) of fire were contained in flint which, when struck, released them as sparks.

Hesperia is another name for Italy and means "West-land." The literal implication of the name is, of course, appropriate here, since Aeneas as a native Trojan looks toward Italy from the East.

In many ways the counterpart of the Pythia in Delphi, the Sibyl is the principal prophetess of Apollo in the West. At Cumae along the coast of southwestern Italy, she resided in a temple near a cave believed in antiquity to be an opening to the underworld. Because Cumae is close to the volcano Mount Vesuvius, the general area around it is inhospitable, having many sulphur pits which emit a terrible stench and abet in the myth that it was a gateway leading down to Hades.

Vergil equates the Roman goddess Diana not only with her Greek counterpart Artemis but also Hecate, the divine patroness of black magic. Since one of Hecate's aspects was the "goddess of crossroads," Diana can serve as the same.

After landing in Cumae, Aeneas walks into the woods where he sees the temple Daedalus built after he escaped Crete by air and landed in Italy ( see above, Chapter 9.I.B). The passage culminates in an ecphrasis ( see above, Chapter 11.II.C), as Aeneas and his comrades scan the artwork on the double doors leading into the temple. The panels on these doors present four scenes: (1) the death of Minos' son Androgeos which, according to Vergil, led the Cretan king to impose on the Athenians a fine of children to feed the Minotaur in the Labyrinth; (2) the selection of those children by lot; (3) Pasiphae and the Minotaur; and (4) the Labyrinth. Clearly, then, there are two panels are on each of the doors, the first pair representing Athens and the other designating Crete. Thus, passing through portals signifying civilization (Athens) and the barbarian world (Crete), Aeneas begins his journey to the underworld.

The ecphrasis is notable not only for its visual imagery but also the way it's written. First, in good Alexandrian fashion, Vergil addresses the mythological character Icarus directly, a figure of speech (poetic device) called apostrophe ("turning away," i.e. from the current situation so as to address someone or something far off): "In that high sculpture you, too, would have had your great part, Icarus, had grief allowed." In much the same way, Homer addresses Patroclus as he rages forward to his premature death in Book 16 of The Iliad ( see above, Chapter 4.III.D.2.684-867): "So you sprang, Patroklos, on Kebriones." As if somehow chastising, mocking or consoling, the poet's words in both cases signal the characters' mental instability.

Second, Vergil plays up the pathos of Daedalus by making him so stung with grief over the death of his son that he's unable to sculpt Icarus' image on the temple. It's appropriate that Aeneas who's about to enter Hades and meet his deceased father is reminded of Icarus, Daedalus' dead son. Similarly, at the opening of Book 16 of The Iliad, Achilles assumes from Patroclus' copious tears that he's learned of his father's death, but in the end the lamentation will turn out to be not for a dead father but a dead son, when Patroclus himself dies at the end of Book 16. As is common and to be expected, death prefigures a journey to the underworld.

Vergil underscores Daedalus' role in the myth by crediting him, not Ariadne as was traditional in classical myth, with the invention of the thread-trick which resolved the riddle of the Labyrinth.

Achates is Aeneas' closest friend, as Patroclus is Achilles'.

The Sibyl's demand that Aeneas sacrifice seven young bulls and seven heifers recalls Minos' fine of fourteen Athenian youths and draws a parallel between Theseus' voyage to Crete and Aeneas' upcoming trip through the underworld. That is, the young Theseus sailed across the Aegean sea to an immense labyrinth from which with the help of Ariadne and the wizard Daedalus he emerged a man and a hero. Likewise, the Trojan warrior Aeneas has crossed the Mediterranean Sea and now will journey through the spiritual maze of Hades with the Sibyl and his father guiding him, to emerge a Roman champion. Both death journeys change men into heroes.

42-123 The temple Aeneas promises Apollo (6.69f.) is, no doubt, a reference to the temple Augustus built to Apollo on the Palatine in 28 BCE commemorating his victory at Actium. Vergil adds majesty and epic splendor to Augustus' building program by having Aeneas first promise it to Apollo long ago, as if Augustus in constructing his temple were fulfilling the honorable intentions of his ancestors.

The prophesies mentioned immediately thereafter (6.71f.) are the three books of prediction given to the Romans by the Sibyl outlining the future of their nation. They were actual tomes stored in temples and consulted by priests at times of crisis in Roman history. The leaves that Vergil mentions refer to the Sibyl's practice of arranging her prophesies on leaves so that, if anyone came unexpectedly into her room, the wind from the doors opening would scatter them and thus no one could receive her prophesies without her permission.

The new "Achilles" whom the Sibyl foresees (6.89) is Turnus ( see below, Section C), who will be Aeneas' principal foe when he reaches Latium in the last six books of The Aeneid.

124-235 One of Vergil's most famous lines is "Easy is the descent to Avernus (Hell)" (6.126), that is, "The road down to hell is no effort." The Sibyl means, of course, that the path drops and thus isn't a difficult journey, but a moral implication-"Decadence is no real challenge"-also rings beneath her words.

The Sibyl tells Aeneas that, before he may enter the underworld, he must first retrieve a golden bough which grows on a tree in a dark grove near Cumae. His ability to secure this precious branch represents the gods' acceptance of his mission, essentially a ticket to Hades. Like King Arthur's "sword in the stone," the golden bough is destined to yield only to the hero whom the gods have deemed worthy of taking it. That Vergil, then, describes it as surrendering itself to Aeneas only reluctantly ("delaying," 6.211) makes for a strange moment, hinting that the universe only grants Aeneas' passage into Hades and his vision of Roman glory-yet-to-come with a sigh, presumably because of all the carnage that will be necessary in bringing the Italians to this triumph.

"Juno of the lower world" is Proserpina (Persephone), the queen of the dead.

The dead friend whom the Sibyl orders Aeneas to bury is Misenus. Typical of Hellenistic poets who often gravitate toward the citation of minutiae and obscure characters in myth, Vergil tells Misenus' story in some detail. At the same time, however, the tale has strong Homeric overtones. Like Patroclus who dies wearing Achilles' armor, Misenus serves as a symbolic surrogate for Aeneas, his death allowing the hero to enter the underworld without actually dying.

Vergil's description of the burial of Misenus (6.212-235) has the formulaic flavor of a stock description in Homer, but the literate Vergil, of course, doesn't need or use the traditional phrases and oral formulas so familiar and necessary to Homer. The reason for including this passage in The Aeneid seems to be that it lends gravity and a sense of grandeur to the funeral.

236-425 Aeneas finally embarks on his death journey, in this case a literal trip to the underworld as opposed to Priam's figurative one in the Book 24 of The Iliad ( see above, Chapter 4.IV.C). More than a millennium later, Aeneas' descent into the world of the dead served as inspiration for Dante's The Divine Comedy, a description of the author's passage through the Christian afterlife. Appropriately, then, Dante alludes to his Latin source by casting Vergil as his personal escort through Hell and Purgatory.

In another Homeric gesture, Vergil uses Aeneas' journey to the underworld to recapitulate, not the story he's telling, but the very development of myth and ancient history itself. It's as if Aeneas were returning to the beginning of time and quickly reviewing the progress of life on earth and human evolution, the way it was understood in the ancient world ( see above, Chapter 3.II).

That is, as he descends, the Trojan hero first encounters abstract personifications like Care, Disease, Hunger and Death. These recall the types of deities seen often in early Greek mythology, such as Hesiod's Theogony ("Birth of the Gods"), the Greek equivalent of Genesis ( see above, Chapter 3.II.A). Next come chthonic monsters like Harpies, Centaurs and Gorgons, the sorts of beings which dominate the second generation of life on Earth according to Hesiod. After that, Aeneas begins to see ghosts, that brand of the un-dead most closely related to the Furies, zombies and creatures which haunt the living, another type of spirit found often in early myth. Since Aeneas will ultimately pass through this deep past to a vision of Rome's distant future-at the end of Book 6, his father Anchises will show him a pageant of Roman history-yet-to-come-by beginning Aeneas' death journey with images of the remote past, Vergil gives this part of the epic a sense of recapitulating all myth and history, a panoramic overview of all time as he knew it.

Among the un-dead, Aeneas sees the ghost of his pilot Palinurus (6.337ff.), who can't cross the Styx because he has yet to be buried after he fell overboard and died. Palinurus' ghost explains to Aeneas that, although he lived to reach shore, he was discovered by savages who murdered him.

Alcides ("Alcaeus' descendant") is Hercules, the "grandson of Alcaeus." To fulfill one of his labors, Hercules went to the underworld and abducted Cerberus, the three-headed hellhound. Similarly, Theseus and Pirithous came to hell with the misguided ambition of carrying off Proserpina (Persephone), Hades' wife. Though for a long time stuck to his seat as punishment for such hubris-"he sits and always will sit, unhappy Theseus" ( Aen. 6. 617-8)-eventually Hercules came and cut Theseus loose, returning him to the world above. Pirithous, however, remained in Hades forever.

When Aeneas is crossing the Styx, the river which divides the worlds of the living and the dead, Vergil adds a wonderful detail. The ferryman Charon's boat groans under Aeneas' weight as he steps into it (6.413). The boat, of course, is accustomed only to carrying disembodied spirits, not a living human with real substance.

Vergil borrows a trick from Apollonius' Argonautica ( see above, Chapter 10.I.B.3). Like Medea who drugs the dragon guarding the golden fleece so that Jason can steal it, the Sibyl slips Cerberus a treat steeped in a sleeping potion, which knocks the monstrous watchdog out, allowing her and Aeneas to pass unmolested (6.420ff.).

426-476 As he descends further, Aeneas encounters first the souls of those who died as babies, then the falsely accused, followed by suicides, and finally those who died for love. In particular, he sees Eriphyle, a woman killed by her own son Alcmaeon because she had sent her husband (Alcmaeon's father) on the expedition of the Seven Against Thebes in which he died. There is Evadne, too, the wife of another member of the same septet who also died besieging Thebes. During her husband's funeral Evadne, grief-stricken, threw herself on his pyre and burnt up along with his corpse.

The stories of Laodamia and Caeneus are relatively minor episodes in myth, the very types of tale a neoteric poet like Vergil seeks. Laodamia died of grief after her husband was killed at Troy. Caeneus was born a girl but, after being raped by Poseidon and then accorded one wish from him, asked to be turned into a man so she could never be violated that way again. According to Vergil, when Caeneus died, she reverted to the female gender.

This part of Book 6 comes to a climax, when Aeneas sees Dido among the lovesick dead, leading to one of the most poignant moments in The Aeneid and some of Vergil's best poetry yet. At this point in the story, Aeneas has only heard rumors that Dido committed suicide and that he was the reason behind her abject grief, but now he sees that these stories are true and regrets having left her, but too late. His words and remorse are cold comfort to his beloved now.

The simile comparing Dido's ghost walking through the dark wood of the dead to the moon passing behind clouds (6.452-4) is one of the most beautiful and memorable in all literature, as is the finale of this scene. Without so much as a word, Dido floats off leaving Aeneas behind in tears-the exact converse of their last meeting when he left her pleading and weeping-her bitter silence says it all, everything that's in her heart: contempt, scorn, betrayal, heartbreak, anguish. It's a classic example of where Alexandrian poetry is right to be brief.

477-636 Vergil again refers to minor episodes in Greek myth, in this case the later stages of the Trojan War. After Paris' death, Deiphobus, another son of Priam and Hecuba, was given Helen in marriage. On the night the Greeks sacked Troy, Menelaus murdered him in the savage manner Vergil describes.

Laconian means "Spartan" and refers to Helen, the wife of Menelaus who is the king of Sparta.

Because Aeneas as a good soul cannot enter Tartarus, the "hell" of classical Hades, the Sibyl describes the punishments of the wicked imprisoned there. On its rampart walls stands Tisiphone, one of the Furies, who serves as a sort of prison guard. Inside is Rhadamanthus, the judge of the wicked. Among the damned sequestered within is Salmoneus, a man tried to act like Zeus and rode around in a chariot throwing torches as if they were lightning, for which hubris the sky god set him ablaze with real thunderbolts. Also there is Tityus, a giant who tried to rape Leto, the mother of Apollo and Artemis, and is punished by having a vulture eternally eat out his entrails which grow back continually to ensure his lasting pain. Finally, for attempting to seduce Juno, Ixion is strapped to a wheel on which he spins forever.

637-751 After passing by Tartarus, Aeneas and the Sibyl enter the Elysian Fields, a sort of heaven where the good dead live. They all do in death what they did best in life, be it fighting, dancing or singing.

Like Orpheus, Musaeus is a famous singer-bard in myth. He leads Aeneas and the Sibyl to Anchises, Aeneas' recently deceased father.

Vergil incorporates an admixture of beliefs and precepts drawn from several ancient mystery religions which preached the reincarnation of souls. In order to explain why the living don't then remember their former lives, Anchises points out to Aeneas the Lethe ("Oblivion"), the river of forgetfulness, from which souls must drink before returning to the upper world.

Next, Vergil serves up a smorgasbord of ancient philosophy and science, outlining his views on cosmology and the principles by which his brand of reincarnation works. For instance, the idea that the body impedes true understanding is a notion borrowed from the Greek philosopher Plato whose "Doctrine of Ideas" maintains that the perceptible world is merely a distant reflection of true reality to which only the mind has full access. Conversely, from another philosophical sect, the Pythagoreans, comes the notion of reincarnation. And finally, Epicureanism supplies the idea of "seeds" as the essence of being ( see above, Aen. 6.1-41).

752-892 During the pageant of Roman history-yet-to-come, Anchises reveals to Aeneas the imminent grandeur of Rome and shows him the great men who will lead their people to world domination. By Vergil's day this was, of course, well-known history, making him a sort of "prophet-in-reverse," predicting a past-yet-to-come.

The pageant itself is cast in the form of a triumph, a type of Roman military procession. It's as if Aeneas and Anchises were standing on the sidewalk of the Via Sacra ("The Sacred Way") in Rome, watching future Roman heroes march by and commenting on them as they pass. The highest honor a victorious Roman general could earn was to be accorded such a triumph, but instead of celebrating a single man and just one victory in battle, father and son witness the triumph of all Rome.

At 6.778 Vergil mentions the Vestal Virgin Rhea Silvia, the mother of Romulus and Remus, whom he refers to by an alternate name "Ilia," in order to tie her more closely to Troy (Ilium).

Vergil acknowledges Augustus' domination of the Roman world with a long panegyric (hymn in praise) of Augustus' accomplishments (6.781ff.). This is as close as he gets to overt flattery of the emperor and, as we will see later, he casts a dark, mysterious shadow over Roman greatness at the end of this book-the encomium (laudatory poem) is a far cry from the open adulation served up to Augustus by other poets-actually, Vergil is quite bold in how infrequently he fawns over his benefactor and boss.

The Etruscan (Tarquin) kings listed here (6.808ff.) were those who, according to legend, ruled Rome before Brutus-not the famous assassin of Caesar but one of his distant ancestors-this Brutus was an early Roman who started an uprising that toppled the Etruscan tyranny. In 510 BCE Brutus established the Republic, Rome's form of democracy, and as a symbol betokening the power and unity of his new government, used the , sticks bound together with an axe. This fasces signified to Romans what the flag does for us: freedom, self-sacrifice, and all the things that citizens of the state should stand up for. Brutus, indeed, killed his own sons when he discovered them plotting to overthrow the Republic, an act which represented his highest ideal, putting the good of Rome before all else in life.

Among other early Romans mentioned, Cato (6.841) in the days of Hellenism during the second century BCE championed the anti-Greek faction pushing for a return to simple Roman virtues. The Scipios (6.843) were the generals who led the way to victory against the Carthaginians in the Punic Wars at the end of the third century BCE.

Anchises' description of the triumphal pageant of Roman history comes to a climax with his-really Vergil's-statement of Rome's mission in the world:

Others will cast more tenderly in bronze
Their breathing figures, I can well believe,
And bring more lifelike portraits out of marble;
Argue more eloquently, use the pointer
To trace the paths of heaven accurately
And accurately foretell the rising stars.
Roman, remember by your strength to rule
Earth's people-for your arts are to be these:
To pacify, to impose the rule of law,
To spare the conquered, battle down the proud. (6.847-853).

Although on the surface it reads as an anthem to the glory of Rome, it could also be taken as an apology of sorts, an admission that Vergil's Roman peers lacked artistic accomplishment. That is, whereas the Greeks started with very little-certainly in terms of wealth and natural resources-but engineered extraordinary achievements in art, literature, science and philosophy, the Romans by the end of the first millennium had done considerably less for Western Civilization, other than, of course, conquering it. It's courageously honest of Vergil to say this, but it's also somewhat ironic that the greatest work of Latin literature includes such half-hearted praise of his fatherland.

The pageant climaxes with another nod in Augustus' direction (6.868ff.). The last figure in the parade is Marcellus, Augustus' nephew and adopted son who had recently died young. The emperor had chosen this young man to be his heir, so his death was a blow to both the family and the state. The story goes that, when Vergil read this passage to Augustus at court and Marcellus' mother (Augustus' sister) realized the identity of the mysterious "young man beautifully formed and tall in shining armor, but with clouded brow and downcast eyes," she fainted.

893-901 At the end of the book, Vergil describes the two gates by which it's possible to leave Hades. One is a gate of ivory through which false dreams pass to the upper world, and the other is made of horn through which true dreams go. With almost no fanfare-and certainly no explanation or apology-Anchises sends Aeneas off through the ivory gate, that is, the gate of false dreams!

What Vergil meant by this unexpected turn in the story has been debated for centuries. Are we, for instance, to understand that Aeneas' vision of the underworld and the triumphal procession of Roman greatness-to-come is all a false dream designed somehow to mislead us? On the surface, that's what Vergil's words would appear to imply. Unfortunately, only the poet can provide definitive answers-and even if Vergil were alive today, it's unlikely he'd say what he was thinking when he wrote this passage-so in the end we're left to puzzle over this insoluble riddle. All in all, it seems safe to conclude only that it's an odd thing to have said if Vergil didn't intend to cast some sort of pall over his description of Rome's triumph.

Asked what he thought of Aeneas the hero, a schoolboy once purportedly said, "Hero? I thought he was a priest!" But clearly, this boy hadn't finished his homework and read to the end of The Aeneid. There, Vergil obliterates once and for all our impression of a passive, forlorn pius Aeneas and turns both story and hero back to a more traditional mode of epic, one saturated with carnage and bloodshed.

Indeed, the last six books of The Aeneid (Books 7-12) all but erase the image of the thoughtful hero, the weepy wanderer who dominated the first half. From a man who deeply mourns the passing of his former life and his city's destruction, Aeneas evolves into a more Iliadic warrior apt to resolve his problems through violence. In the end we're left with a wounded creature who's been taught by hurt to hurt.

After leaving the underworld, Aeneas arrives in Latium where he lays the groundwork for Troy's rebirth in the West. Among the many battles and adventures he encounters there, the Trojan exile faces the best warrior of the Rutulians, a man named Turnus who turns out to be Aeneas' principal opponent, the "Hector" of The Aeneid. Their struggle centers on Lavinia, the princess of Latium whose hand in marriage brings with it her father's kingdom. Amidst their war over power and property, Turnus kills Aeneas' good friend Pallas, just as Hector slaughters Achilles' friend Patroclus in The Iliad.

At the conclusion of The Aeneid, Aeneas finally confronts Turnus in single combat, a one-on-one fight to resolve their conflict. At the outset of this climactic passage, Vergil describes the chase leading up to their death struggle, which he begins with a suitably Homeric simile, but one with modern psychological overtones:

Just as in dreams when the night-swoon of sleep
Weighs on our eyes, it seems we try in vain
To keep on running, try with all our might,
But in the midst of effort faint and fail;
Our tongue is powerless, familiar strength
Will not hold up our body, not a sound
Or word will come: just so with Turnus now:
How bravely he made shift to fight
The immortal fiend blocked and frustrated him. (trans. Robert Fitzgerald)

Though an aptly inept Homeric comparison-but not just because the things being paralleled are as different as they are similar-the principal disjunction of this simile lies in the way it contrasts reality and unreality, that is, mixes sleep and consciousness, linking our ghostly fears with the haunting struggle to live. It reminds us, moreover, that Aeneas exited the underworld through the gate of ivory, the portal of false visions, for here again dreams intrude upon our conscience, carrying the potential for lies and deceptions as ruinous as Sinon's.

Finally Aeneas corners Turnus and drives him to the earth. Realizing he's defeated, Turnus concedes everything: land, power and, most of all, Lavinia. He begs only that Aeneas spare his life, not kill him out of anger.

Fierce under arms, Aeneas
Looked to and fro, and towered, and stayed his hand
Upon the sword-hilt. Moment by moment now
What Turnus said began to bring him round
From indecision. Then to his glance appeared
The accursed swordbelt surmounting Turnus' shoulder,
Shining with its familiar studs - the strap
Young Pallas wore when Turnus wounded him
And left him dead upon the field; now Turnus
Bore that enemy token on his shoulder -
Enemy still. For when the sight came home to him,
Aeneas raged at the relic of his anguish
Worn by this man as trophy. Blazing up
And terrible in his anger, he called out:

"You in your plunder, torn from one of mine,
Shall I be robbed of you? This wound will come
From Pallas: Pallas makes this offering
And from your criminal blood exacts his due."

He sank the blade in fury in Turnus' chest.
Then all the body slackened in death's chill,
And with a groan for that indignity
His spirit fled into the gloom below. (trans. Robert Fitzgerald)

Thus ends The Aeneid, the final words of not only Rome's greatest epic but its greatest poet as well. It's as if The Iliad concluded with Book 22: no athletic games which rebind the Greeks, no symbolic death journey epitomizing the end of Troy, no hint of an eventual reconciliation between the Trojans and the Greeks. Just one thrust of a sword, and it's over. "Strike down the proud"-the dead Anchises' credo for Rome- that's all too apparent here, but where is "spare the vanquished"? Again, the ivory gate seems to gape, along with our hollow dreams of the glory to be found in conquest. All in all, it's hardly the fulsome patriotism that swells most verse ordered up by politicians from their poetical hirelings.

Distressed by the abruptness of this conclusion, some scholars have supposed that Vergil's sudden death is responsible for the epic's seemingly premature closure. In fact, one eager but misguided fan even wrote in Latin a thirteenth book for The Aeneid in order to tie up the loose ends of the story. Vergil's biography, however, makes it clear that the purpose of his final trip to Greece was to revise, not complete The Aeneid. In sum, it seems as if he's gone as far in the story as he planned. "Our tongue is powerless . . . not a word or sound will come" sounds, at least, like a poet who's finished with making verse.

Moreover, twelve books is a suitably round number, encompassing a plot that's neatly divided into two halves by Aeneas' death journey. And twelve is precisely a quarter the number of books in The Iliad and The Odyssey. That colors Vergil's epic as exactly what it looks to be, a "hemi-epic" miniaturized in good Alexandrian style, the crumbs of morsels from the banquet of Homer.

But if it's a reflection of Homer, the image is upside-down. The first half of The Aeneid recasts The Odyssey, the latter and more psychological of Homer's epics, while Books 7-12 of The Aeneid imitate The Iliad, the more brutal and probably also older of the pair. By putting the war-story after the tale of wandering, Vergil has in essence inverted the traditional order of the Greek epics and, along with that, any pattern inherent in them. That certainly could include the evolution of their principals, from the thoughtful caution of Odysseus backwards to the rampaging anger of Achilles.

The rest of The Aeneid bears this out. Whereas the development from The Iliad to The Odyssey may be taken to represent the growth and civilization of the human spirit-the impulse to fight slowly giving way to the struggle to understand-the development in Vergil appears to be quite the opposite. At the outset, Aeneas is a "thinking man" much like Odysseus, an errant hero who respects the gods and considers the moral implications of his actions, but after witnessing the death of almost everyone he loves and then having to face them again in the underworld, the cruelty of life and the gods who've made it his fate to found Rome turns him into a brutal murderer, so cruel and heartless a creature that in the end he kills a helpless suppliant prostrate before him, a man who's begging for his life. And, worse, Aeneas does it out of little more than revenge.

Much like the second half of Euripides' Orestes in which the title hero regresses into a monster of vengeance who tries to murder the helpless Helen ( see above, Chapter 6.III), by the end of The Aeneid Vergil's hero has become a fate-driven, god-plagued exterminator who lives by the code of "blood for blood," a hero who's de-evolved from thinker to killer, from man to beast. Perhaps the poet's message is, then, that the world doesn't always progress toward the better. Maybe our aspirations of conquest and glory are very dangerous "ivory" dreams. If so, Augustus and two millennia of generals have yet to hear Vergil's message.

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The Aeneid by the Roman poet Virgil is an epic poem in 12 books that tells the story of the foundation of Rome from the ashes of Troy. It was probably written down in Rome from 30-19 BC during the period of the Emperor Augustus.

The poem is named after the Trojan hero Aeneas, the son of Venus (Aphrodite in Greek mythology) and Anchises, a Trojan aristocrat. Aeneas leads the survivors from the sack of Troy through the Mediterranean, and ultimately to the site of (future) Rome. The Aeneid is therefore a classic foundation narrative.

As with other ancient epics, our hero has to remain resolute in the face of significant divine hostility. Juno, queen of heaven and goddess of marriage, despises the Trojans because she lost a divine beauty contest known as the Judgement of Paris. Venus wins the Judgement by giving a bribe to Paris, a Trojan prince who acts as judge. The bribe is in the form of Helen of Sparta, the most beautiful woman in the world. Paris prefers this bribe to the bribes of the other two contestants - Juno and Minerva.

Read more: Guide to the classics: Homer's Iliad

Unfortunately, Helen is already married to the Spartan king Menelaus, and so the Trojan war follows soon after. Juno takes badly her loss in the beauty contest, and hates everything Trojan, both during the war, and after. The hatred and vindictiveness shown by Juno to the Trojans anchors the whole Aeneid, and it only comes to an end in the final book.

Stealing from Homer?

The Aeneid is written in dactylic hexameters, the same metre as the two Homeric poems - the Iliad and Odyssey (although it is written in Latin, not in ancient Greek).

In many ways the Aeneid is written in emulation of Homer's works by a poet who may have known them off by heart (that is my view, anyway). Scholars sometimes talk about the "Odyssean" Aeneid (Books 1-6, because Aeneas travels through the Mediterranean, a bit like Odysseus), and the "Iliadic" half of the poem (Books 7-12, on the theme of war in Italy).

A new reader of the Aeneid with a background in Homer can usually identify many passages that have Homeric resonances.

Indeed many readers through time have felt that Virgil is too reliant on Homer. There is a story that Virgil needed to defend himself from this charge by saying that "it is easier to steal Hercules' club than steal one line from Homer".

It must be stressed, however, that in Virgil's case, we are dealing with someone who was totally immersed in Greek and Roman literature, rhetoric and philosophy - not just the works of Homer. He was an astonishingly well-read poet, and this breadth of learning is embodied in his poems. In this sense the criticism of Virgil of plagiarising Homer, or quasi-plagiarism, seems rather unreasonable.

A deserted heroine

The Aeneid's thematic connections to earlier myth and literature come to the fore in the depiction of Dido, the queen of Carthage. Dido is the great tragic figure in the first half of the poem (notably in Books 1, 4, and 6) after a romance and sexual liaison with Aeneas.

The figure of the deserted heroine was a favourite theme in Greek myth and literature, and Virgil duly draws on it for his depiction of Dido. Such heroines included Medea, Phaedra, Ariadne, and Hypsipyle. There was also an early Roman depiction of Dido by Gnaeus Naevius (270-201 BC) in his epic The Punic War.

Thus it would be a mistake to reduce Virgil's Dido to some kind of re-creation of Homer's Calypso, or Circe, or Nausicaa (all from the Odyssey). Indeed, Virgil's audience may have responded to the tragedy of Dido in the Aeneid by thinking of another North African queen - Cleopatra (69-30 BC), with whom both Julius Caesar and Mark Antony had flings. So the general point here is that the reader of the Dido books is invited to engage with many different mythical and historical narratives.

Virgil's method of composition of his poetic works was slow and deliberate, and quite "un-Homeric" in all kinds of ways. "Homer" (ca. 700 BC) was a highly skilled oral poet who used this expertise to create his story, whereas Virgil (70-19 BC) lived in a thoroughly literate society. The pace of poetic creativity could be very slow.

The Georgics, an earlier poetic work by Virgil on the subject of agriculture (2,188 lines), seems to have been written at a rate of about one line a day. And the Aeneid itself (9,883 lines) works out to about three lines a day. Little wonder that it is so succinct and complex.

The Aeneid is certainly not the easiest read from the corpus of ancient literature. There is some evidence that Virgil wrote it first in prose, before developing the poetic version. It is also an unfinished poem, although still remarkably polished.

Returning home

Even though the Aeneid is a foundation narrative where the Trojans struggle to find a new home after the destruction of their city, it is important to stress that it is also a "return" (that is, a Greek " nostos ").

Troy was founded by Dardanus, an obscure mythological hero, and, in Virgil's poem, he did so having left from a place called "Corythus" (perhaps modern Cortona in Tuscany). The story in the Aeneid is that many generations later - after the sack of Troy - Aeneas leads his people back to Italy as a kind of "new Dardanus".

Aeneas's quest, then, is both a new mission to a new land and a return to the ancestral land of the first Trojan. The return journey of a hero from war was a favourite Greek mythical narrative (including the Odyssey of course). Virgil follows suit in the Aeneid, but offers a much more complex notion of the heroic "return".

Read more: Guide to the Classics: Homer's Odyssey

Aeneas is a very different kind of epic hero from Achilles in the Iliad and Odysseus in the Odyssey, not the least because he is imbued with a whole series of distinctly Roman values. He is a much more "religious" kind of hero - someone who makes it his business to follow the path that has been ordained for him and his people.

A characteristic epithet for Aeneas is pius ("pious", "duty-bound", "dutiful"). Indeed his whole quest is really to unravel the mysteries of fate, and then duly to act upon them. He tends to focus on the "greater good", sometimes with an element of personal suffering (perhaps along Stoic lines). For instance, he deserts Dido (in Book 4) because Jupiter reminds him through the god Mercury that Italy is meant to be his fated home, not Carthage in North Africa.

The Aeneid looks back to a time well before the foundation of the city of Rome, and forward to the realities of Roman imperialism up to Virgil's own day. The past and the future often seem entangled in all kinds of ways, and then there is the question of Virgil's own political outlook. Is the poem designed to justify and support Rome's imperialist agenda?

The English poet W.H. Auden was rather unsympathetic to Virgil in his poem Secondary Epic (1959):

No, Virgil, no:

Not even the first of the Romans can learn

His Roman history in the future tense.

Not even to serve your political turn;

Hindsight as foresight makes no sense.

...

No, Virgil, no:

Behind your verse so masterfully made

We hear the weeping of a Muse betrayed.

The Aeneid, therefore, is focused on the grand scale - on the city of Rome and its empire, its formation, and its destiny within the order of the Olympian gods. Scholars, poets and critics, often against a background of modern wars (such as WWII or Vietnam), have agonised over the question of Virgil's own attitude to war and the Augustan imperial agenda, which receives some considerable attention at critical moments in the Aeneid.

Augustus, after all, seems to have been a generous patron of the poet, and a certain amount of text-specific adulation might have been expected. Auden certainly felt that Virgil traded in his poetic respectability ("your political turn"... "a Muse betrayed"). But there have also been plenty of others who are prepared to claim that Virgil yearns for peace, and actually undercuts the explicit patriotism about Rome and Augustus.

A violent end

The final scene of the Aeneid tends to polarise critical views on the basic thrust of the poem. Whereas the Homeric poems end in an atmosphere of peace and tranquillity, Virgil's Aeneid ends with unremitting violence.

Aeneas's great Italian warrior rival Turnus has been wounded in single combat, and pleads for his life on his knees. Aeneas seems to mull over an act of clemency, but in a sudden fit of rage he kills Turnus on the spot. The poem ends with a description of Turnus's limbs going slack and his life going resentfully to the shades below.

The sudden end of the Aeneid, with such a violent turn, has proved very challenging and unsatisfying for many readers. Virgil's own death before the final completion of the poem in 19 BC added a further element of debate. Would he have changed the end of the poem? There was also a legend that he had left instructions for his assistants to burn the manuscript of the Aeneid, should he die before its completion.

The sudden and brutal end of the poem precipitated various sequels, most famously a Supplement to Aeneid Book 12 by the humanist cleric Maffeo Vegio (ca. 1406-58). This was basically a thirteenth book of the Aeneid told in 630 lines and written in 1428.

Vegio continues the narrative where Virgil leaves off, justifying the death of Turnus, and telling ultimately of the deification of Aeneas. The presence of sequels like this indicates just how confronting and original the Aeneid is - so much that later poets needed to "normalise" it.

There is every reason to think that Virgil's Aeneid became a classic as soon as it was written and published. And it has remained so until this day. Many parts of the Aeneid have influenced Western literature and art: especially the sack of Troy and Aeneas' departure from it (Book 2); the tragedy of Dido (Books 1, 4 and 6); and his journey to the Underworld (Book 6).

Jean-Baptiste Wicar/Chicago Art Institute/Wikimedia Commons

The last of these, Aeneas's journey into the Underworld in Aeneid 6, fundamentally influenced the poet Dante's (1265-1321) own narrative of life after death. Virgil is his guide through Inferno and Purgatorio, which says something about the high regard of poet for poet - bearing in mind, of course, that Virgil was a pagan.

When Dante first sees the shade of Virgil he greets him in a way that could hardly be more fulsome:

Are you then that Virgil, and that fountain, that pours out so great a river of speech? O, glory and light to other poets, may that long study, and the great love, that made me scan your work, be worth something now. You are my master, and my author: you alone are the one from whom I learnt the high style that has brought me honour.

*NB Virgil's name is also sometimes spelt "Vergil."

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Virgil's epic poem The Aeneid documents the founding of Rome by a Trojan hero. As with other ancient epics, our hero has to remain resolute in the face of significant divine hostility.

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The Aeneid in latin and English.

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VIRGIL was a Latin poet who flourished in Rome in the C1st B.C. during the reign of the Emperor Augustus. His works include the Aeneid, an twelve book epic describing the founding of Latium by the Trojan hero Aeneas, and two pastoral poems-- Eclogues and Georgics.

Virgil. Eclogues, Georgics, Aeneid. Translated by Fairclough, H R. Loeb Classical Library Volumes 63 & 64. Cambridge, MA. Harvard University Press. 1916.

A revised version of this translation is available new from Amazon.com (click on image right for details). In addition to the translation of Virgil's three poems, the book contains text revisions by G. P. Goold, source Latin texts, Fairclough's footnotes and an index of proper names.

These, as well as several other more recent translations and academic commentaries, appear in the booklist (left below).

NOTE: I have quoted from the Day-Lewis translation of the Aeneid, rather than this Loeb volume, in the biography pages of Theoi.com.

AENEID CONTENTS
BOOK 1
Storm, Aeneas & Dido Part I
BOOK 2
Aeneas' Tale: Sack of Troy
BOOK 3
Aeneas' Tale: The Voyage
BOOK 4
Aeneas & Dido Part II
BOOK 5
Funeral Games of Anchises
BOOK 6
The Cumaean Sibyl
Journey to the Underworld

BOOKS 7 - 12

AENEID BOOK 1, TRANSLATED BY H. R. FAIRCLOUGH

[1] Arms and the man I sing, who first from the coasts of Troy, exiled by fate, came to Italy and Lavine shores; much buffeted on sea and land by violence from above, through cruel Juno's unforgiving wrath, and much enduring in war also, till he should build a city and bring his gods to Latium; whence came the Latin race, the lords of Alba, and the lofty walls of Rome.

[8] Tell me, O Muse, the cause; wherein thwarted in will or wherefore angered, did the Queen of heaven drive a man, of goodness so wondrous, to traverse so many perils, to face so many toils. Can heavenly spirits cherish resentment so dire?

[12] There was an ancient city, the home of Tyrian settlers, Carthage, over against Italy and the Tiber's mouths afar, rich in wealth and stern in war's pursuits. This, 'tis said, Juno loved above all other lands, holding Samos itself less dear. Here was her armour, here her chariot; that here should be the capital of the nations, should the fates perchance allow it, was even then the goddess's aim and cherished hope. Yet in truth she had heard that a race was springing from Trojan blood, to overthrow some day the Tyrian towers; that from it a people, kings of broad realms and proud in war, should come forth for Libya's downfall: so rolled the wheel of fate. The daughter of Saturn, fearful of this and mindful of the old war which erstwhile she had fought at Troy for her beloved Argos - not yet, too, had the cause of her wrath and her bitter sorrows faded from her mind: deep in her heart remain the judgment of Paris and the outrage to her slighted beauty, her hatred of the race and the honours paid to ravished Ganymede - inflamed hereby yet more, she tossed on the wide main the Trojan remnant, left by the Greeks and pitiless Achilles, and kept them far from Latium; and many a year they wandered, driven by the fates o'er all the seas. So vast was the effort to found the Roman race.

[34] Hardly out of sight of Sicilian land were they spreading their sails seaward, and merrily ploughing the foaming brine with brazen prow, when Juno, nursing an undying wound deep in her heart, spoke thus to herself: "What! I resign my purpose, baffled, and fail to turn from Italy the Teucrian king! The fates, doubtless, forbid me! Had Pallas power to burn up the Argive fleet and sink sailors in the deep, because of one single man's guilt, and the frenzy of Ajax, son of Oileus? Her own hand hurled from the clouds Jove's swift flame, scattered their ships, and upheaved the sea in tempest; but him, as with pierced breast he breathed forth flame, she caught in a whirlwind and impaled on a spiky crag. Yet I, who move as queen of gods, at once sister and wife of Jove, with one people am warring these many years. And will any still worship Juno's godhead or humbly lay sacrifice upon her altars?

[50] Thus inwardly brooding with heart inflamed, the goddess came to Aeolia, motherland of storm clouds, tracts teeming with furious blasts. Here in his vast cavern, Aeolus, their king, keeps under his sway and with prison bonds curbs the struggling winds and the roaring gales. They, to the mountain's mighty moans, chafe blustering around the barriers. In his lofty citadel sits Aeolus, sceptre in hand, taming their passions and soothing their rage; did he not so, they would surely bear off with them in wild flight seas and lands and the vault of heaven, sweeping them through space. But, fearful of this, the father omnipotent hid them in gloomy caverns, and over them piled high mountain masses and gave them a king who, under fixed covenant, should be skilled to tighten and loosen the reins at command. Him Juno now addressed thus in suppliant speech:

[65] "Aeolus - for to you the father of gods and king of men has given power to clam and uplift the waves with the wind - a people hateful to me sails the Tyrrhene sea, carrying into Italy Ilium's vanquished gods. Hurl fury into your winds, sink and overwhelm the ships, or drive the men asunder and scatter their bodies on the deep. Twice seven nymphs have I of wondrous beauty, of whom Deiopea, fairest of form, I will link to you in wedlock, making her yours for ever, that for such service of yours she may spend all her years with you, and make you father of fair offspring."

[76] Thus answered Aeolus: "Your task, O queen, is to search out your desire; my duty is to do your bidding. To your grace I owe all this my realm, to your grace my sceptre and Jove's favour; you grant me a couch at the feasts of the gods gods, and make me lord of clouds and storms."

[81] So he spoke and, turning his spear, smote the hollow mount on its side; when lo! the winds, as if in armed array, rush forth where passage is given, and blow in storm blasts across the world. They swoop down upon the sea, and from its lowest depths upheave it all - East and South winds together, and the Southwester, thick with tempests - and shoreward roll vast billows. Then come the cries of men and creaking of cables. In a moment clouds snatch sky and day from the Trojan's eyes; black night broods over the deep. From pole to pole it thunders, the skies lighten with frequent flashes, all forebodes the sailors instant death. Straightway Aeneas' limbs weaken with chilling dread; he groans and, stretching his two upturned hands to heaven, thus cries aloud: "O thrice and four times blest, whose lot it was to meet death before their fathers' eyes beneath the lofty walls of Troy! O son of Tydeus, bravest of the Danaan race, ah! that I could not fall on the Ilian plains and gasp out this lifeblood at your hand - where, under the spear of Aeacides, fierce Hector lies prostrate, and mighty Sarpedon; where Simois seizes and sweeps beneath his waves so many shields and helms and bodies of the brave!"

[102] As he flings forth such words, a gust, shrieking from the North, strikes full on his sail and lifts the waves to heaven. The oars snap, then the prow swings round and gives the broadside to the waves; down in a heap comes a sheer mountain of water. Some of the seamen hang upon the billow's crest; to others the yawning sea shows ground beneath the waves; the surges seethe with sand. Three ships the South Wind catches and hurls on hidden rocks - rocks the Italians call the Altars, rising amidst the waves, a huge ridge topping the sea. Three the East forces from the deep into shallows and sandbanks, a piteous sight, dashes on shoals and girds with a mound of sand. One, which bore the Lycians and loyal Orontes, before the eyes of Aeneas a mighty toppling wave strikes astern. The helmsman is dashed out and hurled head foremost, but the ship is thrice on the same spot whirled round and round by the wave and engulfed in the sea's devouring eddy. Here and there are seen swimmers in the vast abyss, with weapons of men, planks, and Trojan treasure amid the waves. Now the stout ship of Ilioneus, now of brave Achates, and that wherein Abas sailed and that of aged Aletes, the storm has mastered; with side joints loosened, all let in the hostile flood and gape at every seam.

[124] Meanwhile Neptune saw the sea in turmoil of wild uproar, the storm let loose and the still waters seething up from their lowest depths. Greatly troubled was he, and gazing out over the deep he raised a composed countenance above the water's surface. He sees Aeneas' fleet scattered over all the sea, the Trojans overwhelmed by the waves and by the falling heavens, nor did Juno's wiles and wrath escape her brother's eye. East Wind and West he calls before him, then speaks thus:

[132] "Has pride in your birth so gained control of you? Do you now dare, winds, without command of mine, to mingle earth and sky, and raise confusion thus? Whom I -! But better it is to clam the troubled waves: hereafter with another penalty shall you pay me for your crimes. Speed your flight and bear this word to your king; not to him, but to me were given by lot the lordship of the sea and the dread trident. He holds the savage rocks, home of you and yours, East Wind; in that hall let Aeolus lord it and rule within the barred prison of the winds."

[142] Thus he speaks, and swifter than his word he clams the swollen seas, puts to flight the gathered clouds, and brings back the sun. Cymothoë and Triton with common effort thrust the ships from the sharp rock; the god himself levers them up with his trident, opens the vast quicksands, allays the flood, and on light wheels glides over the topmost waters. And as, when ofttimes in a great nation tumult has risen, the base rabble rage angrily, and now brands and stones fly, madness lending arms; then, if perchance they set eyes on a man honoured for noble character and service, they are silent and stand by with attentive ears; with speech he sways their passion and soothes their breasts: just so, all the roar of ocean sank, soon as the Sire, looking forth upon the waters and driving under a clear sky, guides his steeds and, flying onward, gives reins to his willing car.

[157] The wearied followers of Aeneas strive to run for the nearest shore and turn towards the coast of Libya. There in a deep inlet lies a spot, where an island forms a harbour with the barrier of its side, on which every wave from the main is broken, then parts into receding ripples. On either side loom heavenward huge cliffs and twin peaks, beneath whose crest far and wide is the stillness of sheltered water; above, too, is a background of shimmering woods with an overhanging grove, black with gloomy shade. Under the brow of the fronting cliff is a cave of hanging rocks; within are fresh water and seats in living stone, a haunt of Nymphs. Here no fetters imprison weary ships, no anchor holds them fast with hooked bite. Here, with seven ships mustered from all his fleet. Aeneas takes shelter; and, disembarking with earnest longing for the land, the Trojans gain the welcome beach and stretch their brine-drenched limbs upon the shore. At once Achates struck a spar from flint, caught the fire in leaves, laid dry fuel about, and waved the flame amid the tinder. Then, wearied with their lot, they take out the corn of Ceres, spoiled by the waves, with the tools of Ceres, and prepare to parch the rescued grain in the fire and crush it under the stone.

[180] Meanwhile Aeneas climbs a peak and seeks a full view far and wide over the deep, if he may but see aught of storm-tossed Antheus and his Phrygian galleys, or of Capys or the arms of Caïcus on the high stern. There is no ship in sight; he descries three stags straying on the shore; whole herds follow behind these and in long line graze down the valley. Thereon he stopped and seized in his hand his bow and swift arrows, the arms borne by faithful Achates; and first he lays low the leaders themselves, their heads held high with branching antlers, then routs the herd and all the common sort, driving them with his darts amid the leafy woods. Nor does the stay his hand till seven huge forms he stretches victoriously on the ground, equal in number to his ships. Then he seeks the harbour and divides them among all his company. Next he shares the wine, which good Acestes had stowed in jars on the Trinacrian shore, and hero-like had given at parting; and, speaking thus, clams their sorrowing hearts:

[198] "O comrades - for ere this we have not been ignorant of misfortune - you who have suffered worse, this also God will end. You drew near to Scylla's fury and her deep-echoing crags; you have known, too, the rocks of the Cyclopes; recall your courage and banish sad fear. Perhaps even this distress it will some day be a joy to recall. Through varied fortunes, through countless hazards, we journey towards Latium, where fate promises a home of peace. There it is granted that Troy's realm shall rise again; endure, and live for a happier day."

[208] Such words he spoke, while sick with deep distress he feigns hope on his face, and deep in his heart stifles his anguish. The others prepare the spoil, the feast that is to be; they flay the hides from the ribs and lay bare the flesh; some cut it into pieces and impale it, still quivering, on spits; others set cauldrons on the shore and feed them with fire. Then with food they revive their strength, and stretched along the grass take their fill of old wine and fat venison. When hunger was banished by the feast and the board was cleared, in long discourse they yearn for their lost comrades, between hope and fear uncertain whether to deem them still alive, or bearing the final doom and hearing no more when called. More than the rest does loyal Aeneas in silence mourn the loss now of valiant Orontes, now of Amycus, the cruel doom of Lycus, brave Gyas, and brave Cloanthus.

[223] Now all was ended, when from the sky's summit Jupiter looked forth upon the sail-winged sea and outspread lands, the shores and peoples far and wide, and, looking, paused on heaven's height and cast his eyes on Libya's realm. And lo! as on such cares he pondered in heart, Venus, saddened and her bright eyes brimming with tears, spoke to him: "You that with eternal sway rule the world of men and gods, and frighten with your bolt, what great crime could my Aeneas - could my Trojans - have wrought against you, to whom, after many disasters borne, the whole world is barred for Italy's sake? Surely it was your promise that from them some time, as the years rolled on, the Romans were to arise; from them, even from Teucer's restored line, should come rulers to hold the sea and all lands beneath their sway. What thought, father, ahs turned you? That promise, indeed, was my comfort for Troy's fall and sad overthrow, when I weighed fate against the fates opposed. Now, though tried by so many disasters, the same fortune dogs them. What end of their toils, great king, do you grant? Antenor could escape the Achaean host, thread safely the Illyrian gulfs and inmost realms of the Liburnians, and pass the springs of Timavus, and whence through nine mouths, with a mountain's mighty roar, it comes a bursting flood and buries the fields under its sounding sea. Yet here he set Padua's town, a home for his Teucrians, gave a name to the race, and hung up the arms of Troy; now, settled in tranquil peace, he is at rest. But we, your offspring, to whom you grant the heights of heaven, have lost our ships - O shame unutterable! - and, to appease one angry foe, are betrayed and kept far from Italian shores. And thus is piety honoured? Is this the way you restore us to empire?

[254] Smiling on her with that look wherewith he clears sky and storms, the Father of men and gods gently kissed his daughter's lips, and then spoke thus: "Spare your fears, Lady of Cythera; your children's fates abide unmoved. You will see Lavinium's city and its promised walls; and great-souled Aeneas you will raise on high to the starry heaven. No though ahs turned me. This your son - for, since this care gnaws your heart, I will speak and, further unrolling the scroll of fate, will disclose its secrets - shall wage a great war in Italy, shall crush proud nations, and for his people shall set up laws and city walls, till the third summer has seen him reigning in Latium and three winters have passed in camp since the Rutulians were laid low. But the lad Ascanius, now surnamed Iulus - Ilus he was, while the Ilian state stood firm in sovereignty - shall fulfil in empire thirty great circles of rolling months, shall ships his throne from Lavinium's seat, and, great in power, shall build the walls of Alba Longa. Here then for thrice a hundred years unbroken shall the kingdom endure under Hector's race, until Ilia, a royal priestess, shall bear to Mars her twin offspring. Then Romulus, proud in the tawny hide of the she-wolf, his nurse, shall take up the line, and found the walls of Mars and call the people Romans after his own name. For these I set no bounds in space or time; but have given empire without end. Spiteful Juno, who now in her fear troubles sea and earth and sky, shall change to better counsels and with me cherish the Romans, lords of the world, and the nation of the toga. Thus is it decreed. Thee shall come a day, as the sacred seasons glide past, when the house of Assaracus shall bring into bondage Phthia and famed Mycenae, and hold lordship over vanquished Argos. From this noble line shall be born the Trojan Caesar, who shall extend his empire to the ocean, his glory to the stars, a Julius [Augustus], name descended from great Iulus! Him, in days to come, shall you, anxious no more, welcome to heaven, laden with Eastern spoils; he, too, shall be invoked in vows. Then wars shall cease and savage ages soften; hoary Faith and Vesta, Quirinus with his brother Remus, shall give laws. The gates of war, grim with iron and close-fitting bars, shall be closed; within, impious Rage, sitting on savage arms, his hands fast bound behind with a hundred brazen knots, shall roar in the ghastliness of blood-stained lips."

[297] So speaking, he sends the son of Maia down from heaven, that the land and towers of new-built Carthage may open to greet the Teucrians, and Dido, ignorant of fate, might not bar them from her lands. Through the wide air he flies on the oarage of wings, and speedily alights on the Libyan coasts. At once he does his bidding, and, God willing it, the Phoenicians lay aside their savage thoughts; above all, the queen receives a gentle mind and gracious purpose toward the Teucrians.

[305] But loyal Aeneas, through the night revolving many a care, as soon as kindly light was given, determines to issue forth and explore the strange country; to learn to what coasts he has come with the wind, who dwells there, man or beast - for all he sees is waste - then bring back tidings to his friends. The fleet he hides in over-arching groves beneath a hollow rock, closely encircled by trees and quivering shade; then, Achates alone attending, himself strides forth, grasping in hand two shafts, tipped with broad steel. Across his path, in the midst of the forest, came his mother, with a maiden's face and mien, and a maiden's arms, whether one of Sparta or such a one as Thracian Harpalyce, when she out-tires horses and outstrips the winged East Wind in flight. For from her shoulders in huntress fashion she had slung the ready bow and had given her hair to the winds to scatter; her knee bare, and her flowing robes gathered in a knot. Before he speaks, "Ho!" she cries, "tell me, youths, if perchance you have seen a sister of mine here straying, girt with quiver and a dappled lynx's hide, or pressing with shouts on the track of a foaming boar."

[325] Thus Venus; and thus in answer Venus' son began: "None of your sisters have I heard or seen - but by what name should I call you, maiden? for your face is not mortal nor has your voice a human ring; O goddess surely! sister of Phoebus, or one of the race of Nymphs? Show grace to us, whoever you may be, and lighten this our burden. Inform us, pray, beneath what sky, on what coasts of the world, we are cast; knowing nothing of countries or peoples we wander driven hither by wind and huge billows. Many a victim shall fall for you at our hand before your altars."

[335] Then said Venus: "Nay, I claim not such worship. Tyrian maids are wont to wear the quiver, and bind their ankles high with the purple buskin. It is the Punic realm you see, a Tyrian people, and the city of Agenor; but the bordering country is Lybian, a race unconquerable in war. Dido wields the sceptre - Dido, who, fleeing from her brother, came from the city of Tyre. Long would be the tale of wrong, long its winding course - but the main heads of the story I will trace. Her husband was Sychaeus, richest in gold of the Phoenicians, and fondly loved by unhappy Dido; to him her father had given the maiden, yoking her to him in the first bridal auspices. But the kingdom of Tyre was in the hands of her brother Pygmalion, monstrous in crime beyond all others. Between these two came frenzy. The king, impiously before the altars and blinded by lust for gold, strikes down Sychaeus unawares by stealthy blow, without a thought for his sister's love; and for long he hid the deed, and by many a pretence cunningly cheated the lovesick bride with empty hope. But in her sleep came the very ghost of her unburied husband; raising his pale face in wondrous wise, he lad bare the cruel altars and his breast pierced with steel, unveiling all the secret horror of the house. Then he bids her take speedy flight and leave her country, and to aid her journey brought to light treasures long hidden underground, a mass of gold and silver known to none. Moved by this, Dido made ready her flight and her company. Then all assemble who felt towards the tyrant relentless hatred or keen fear; ships, which by chance were ready, they seize and load with gold; the wealth of grasping Pygmalion is borne overseas, the leader of the enterprise a woman. They came to the place where today you will see the huge walls and rising citadel of new Carthage, and bought ground - Byrsa they called it therefrom - as much as they could encompass by a bull's hide, and they are choosing laws and magistrates, and an august senate. But who, pray, are you, or from what coasts come, or whither hold you your coarse?" As she questioned thus he replied, sighing and drawing every word deep from his breast.

[372] "O goddess, should I, tracing back from the first beginning, go on to tell, and you have leisure to hear the story of our woes, sooner would heaven close and evening lay the day to rest. From ancient Troy, if perchance the name of Troy has come to your hears, sailing over distant seas, the storm at its own caprice drove us to the Libyan coast. I am the loyal Aeneas, who carry with me in my fleet my household gods, snatched from the foe; my fame is known to the heavens above. It is Italy I seek, my father's land, and a race sprung from Jupiter most high. With twice ten ships I embarked on the Phrygian sea, following the fates declared, my goddess-mother pointing me the way; scarcely do seven remain, shattered by waves and wind. Myself unknown and destitute, I wander over the Libyan wastes, driven from Europe and Asia." His further complaint Venus suffered not, but in the midst of his lament broke in thus:

[387] "Whoever you are, not hateful, I think, to the powers of heaven do you draw the breath of life, since you have reached the Tyrian city. Only go forward and make your way to the queen's palace. For I bring you tidings of your comrades restored and of your fleet recovered, driven to safe haven by shifting winds - unless my parents were false, and vain the augury they taught me. Look at those twelve swans in exultant line, which Jove's bird, swooping from the expanse of heaven, was harrying in the open air; now in long array they seem either to be settling in their places or already to be gazing down on the places where others have settled. As they, returning, sport with rustling wings, and in company have circled the sky and uttered their songs, with like joy your ships and the men of your company have reached harbour already or under full sail enter the river's mouth. Only go forward and where the path leads you, direct your steps!"

[402] She spoke, and as she turned away, her roseate neck flashed bright. From her head her ambrosial tresses breathed celestial fragrance; down to her feet fell her raiment, and in her step she was revealed a very goddess. He knew her for his mother, and as she fled pursued her with these words: "Why, cruel like others, do you so often mock your son with vain phantoms? Why am I not allowed to clasp hand in hand and hear and utter words unfeigned?" Thus he reproaches her and bends his steps towards the city. But Venus shrouded them, as they went, with dusky air, and enveloped them, goddess as she was, in a thick mantle of cloud, that none might see or touch them, none delay or seek the cause of their coming. She herself through the sky goes her way to Paphos, and joyfully revisits her abode, where the temple and its hundred altars steam with Sabaean incense and are fragrant with garlands ever fresh.

[418] Meanwhile they sped on the road where the pathway points. And now they were climbing the hill that looms large over the city and looks down on the confronting towers. Aeneas marvels at the massive buildings, mere huts once; marvels at the gates, the din and paved high-roads. Eagerly the Tyrians press on, some to build walls, to rear the citadel, and roll up stones by hand; some to choose the site for a dwelling and enclose it with a furrow. Here some are digging harbours, here others lay the deep foundations of their theatre and hew out of the cliffs vast columns, fit adornments for the stage to be. Even as bees in early summer, amid flowery fields, ply their task in sunshine, when they lead forth the full-grown young of their race, or pack the fluid honey and strain their cells to bursting with sweet nectar, or receive the burdens of incomers, or in martial array drive from their folds the drones, a lazy herd; all aglow is the work and the fragrant honey is sweet with thyme. "Happy they whose walls already rise!" cries Aeneas, lifting his eyes towards the city roofs. Veiled in a cloud, he enters - wondrous to tell - through their midst, and mingles with the people, seen by none!

[441] Amid the city was a grove, luxuriant in shade, the spot where the first Phoenicians, tossed by waves and whirlwind, dug up the token which queenly Juno had pointed out, a head of the spirited horse; for thus was the race to be famous in war and rich in substance through the ages. Here Sidonian Dido was founding to Juno a mighty temple, rich in gifts and the presence of the goddess. Brazen was its threshold uprising on steps; bronze plates were its lintel beams, on doors of bronze creaked the hinges. In this grove first did a strange sight appear to him and allay his fears; here first did Aeneas dare to hope for safety and put surer trust in his shattered fortunes. For while beneath the mighty temple, awaiting the queen, he scans each object, while he marvels at the city's fortune, the handicraft of the several artists and the work of their toil, he sees in due order the battles of Ilium, the warfare now known by fame throughout the world, the sons of Atreus, and Priam, and Achilles, fierce in his wrath against both. He stopped and weeping cried: "Is there any place, Achates, any land on earth not full of our sorrow? See, there is Priam! Here, too, virtue finds its due reward; here, too, are tears for misfortune and human sorrows pierce the heart. Dispel your fears; this fame will bring you some salvation."

[464] So he speaks, and feasts his soul on the unsubstantial portraiture, sighing oft, and his face wet with a flood of tears. For he saw how, as they fought round Pergamus, here the Greeks were in rout, the Trojan youth hard on their heels; there fled the Phrygians, plumed Achilles in his chariot pressing them close. Not far away he discerns with tears the snowy-canvassed tents of Rhesus, which, betrayed in their first sleep, the blood-stained son of Tydeus laid waste with many a death, and turned the fiery steeds away to the camp, before they could taste Trojan fodder or drink of Xanthus. Elsewhere Troilus, his armour flung away in flight - unhappy boy, and ill-matched in conflict with Achilles - is carried along by his horses and, fallen backward, clings to the empty car, still clasping the reins; his neck and hair are dragged on the ground, and the dust is scored by his reversed spear. Meanwhile, to the temple of unfriendly Pallas the Trojan women passed along with streaming tresses, and bore the robe, mourning in suppliant guise and beating breasts with hands: with averted face the goddess kept her eyes fast upon the ground. Thrice had Achilles dragged Hector round the walls of Troy and was selling the lifeless body for gold. Then indeed from the bottom of his heart he heaves a deep groan, as the spoils, as the chariot, as the very corpse of his friend meet his gaze, and Priam outstretching weaponless hands. Himself, too, in close combat with the Achaean chiefs, he recognized, and the Eastern ranks, and swarthy Memnon's armour. Penthesilea in fury leads the crescent-shielded ranks of Amazons and blazes amid her thousands; a golden belt she binds below her naked breast, and, as a warrior queen, dares battle, a maid clashing with men.

[494] While these wondrous sights are seen by Dardan Aeneas, while in amazement he hangs rapt in one fixed gaze, the queen, Dido, moved toward the temple, of surpassing beauty, with a vast company of youths thronging round her. Even as on Eurotas' banks or along the heights of Cythus Diana guides her dancing bands, in whose train a thousand Oreads troop to right and left; she bears a quiver on her shoulder, and as she treads overtops all the goddesses; joys thrill Latona's silent breast - such was Dido, so moved she joyously through their midst, pressing on the work of her rising kingdom. Then at the door of the goddess, beneath the temple's central dome, girt with arms and high enthroned, she took her seat. Laws and ordinances she gave to her people; their tasks she adjusted in equal shares or assigned by lot; when suddenly Aeneas sees approaching, in the midst of a great crowd, Antheus and Sergestus and brave Cloanthus with others of the Trojans, whom the black storm had scattered on the sea and driven far away to other coasts. Amazed was he; amazed, too, was Achates, thrilled with joy and fear. They burned with eagerness to clasp hands, but the uncertain event confuses their hearts. They keep hidden, and, clothed in the enfolding cloud, look to see what is their comrade's fortune, on what shore they leave the fleet, and why they come; for from all the ships chosen men advanced, craving grace, and with loud cries made for the temple.

[520] When they had entered, and freedom to speak before the queen was granted, the eldest, Ilioneus, with placid mien thus began: "Queen, to whom Jupiter has granted to found a new city, and to put the curb of justice on haughty tribes, we, unhappy Trojans, tempest-driven over every sea, make our prayer to you: ward off the horror of flames from our ships; spare a pious race, and look more graciously on our fortunes. We have not come to spoil with the sword your Libyan homes or to drive stolen booty to the shore. No such violence is in our hearts, nor have the vanquished such assurance. A place there is, by Greeks named Hesperia, an ancient land, mighty in arms and wealth of soil. There dwelt Oenotrians; now the rumour is that a younger race has called it from their leader's name, Italy. Hither lay our course . . . [incomplete verse] when, rising with sudden swell, stormy Orion bore us on hidden shoals and with fierce blasts scattered us afar amid pathless rocks and waves of overwhelming surge; hither to your shores have we few drifted. What race of men is this? What land is so barbarous as to allow this custom? We are debarred the welcome of the beach; they stir up wars and forbid us to set foot on the border of their land. If you think light of human kinship and mortal arms, yet look unto gods who will remember right and wrong. A king we had, Aeneas: none more just or dutiful than he, or more renowned in war and arms. If fate still preserves that hero, if he feeds on the air of heaven and lies not yet in the cruel shades, we have no fear, nor would you regret to have taken the first step in the strife of courtesy. In Sicilian regions, too, there are cities and a supply of arms, and a prince of Trojan blood, famed Acestes. Grant us to beach our storm-battered fleet, to fashion planks in the forests and trim oars, so that, if we are granted to find king and comrades and steer our course to Italy, Italy and Latium we may gladly seek; but if our salvation is cut off, if you, noble father of the Trojan people, are the prey of the Libyan gulf, and a nation's hope no longer lives in Iulus, that we at least may seek the straits of Sicily, whence we came hither, and the homes there ready, and Acestes for our king." So spoke Ilioneus, and all the sons of Dardanus loudly assent . . .

[561] Then Dido, lowering her eyes, briefly speaks: "Free your hearts of fear, Teucrians; put away your cares. Stern necessity and the new estate of my kingdom force me to do such hard deeds and protect my frontiers far and wide with guards. Who could be ignorant of the race of Aeneas' people, who of Troy's town and her brave deeds and brave men, or of the fires of that great war? Not so dull are our Punic hearts, and not so far from this Tyrian city does the sun yoke his steeds. Whether your choice be great Hesperia and the fields of Saturn, or the lands of Eryx and Acestes for your king, I will send you hence guarded by an escort, and aid you with my wealth. Or is it your wish to settle with me on even terms within these realms? The city I build is yours; draw up your ships; Trojan and Tyrian I shall treat alike. And would that your king were here, driven by the same wind - Aeneas himself! Nay, I will send trusty scouts along the coast and bid them traverse the ends of Libya, if perchance he strays shipwrecked in forest or in town."

[579] Stirred in spirit by these words, brave Achates and father Aeneas had long burned to break through the cloud. First Achates addresses Aeneas: "Goddess-born, what purpose now rises in your heart? You see that all is safe, comrades and fleet restored. One only is wanting, whom our own eyes saw engulfed amid the waves; all else agrees with your mother's words."

[586] Scarce had he said this, when the encircling cloud suddenly parts and clears into open heaven. Aeneas stood forth, gleaming in the clear light, godlike in face and shoulders; for his mother herself had shed upon her son the beauty of flowing locks, with youth's ruddy bloom, and on his eyes a joyous luster; even as the beauty which the hand gives to ivory, or when silver or Parian marble is set in yellow gold. Then thus he addresses the queen, and, unforeseen by all, suddenly speaks: "I, whom you seek, am here before you, Aeneas of Troy, snatched from the Libyan waves. O you who alone have pitied Troy's unutterable woes, you who grant us - the remnant left by the Greeks, now outworn by every mischance of land and sea, and destitute of all - a share in your city and home, to pay you fitting thanks, Dido, is not in our power, nor in theirs who anywhere survive of Trojan race, scattered over the wide world. May the gods, if any divine powers have regard for the good, if there is any justice anywhere - may the gods and the consciousness of right bring you worthy rewards! What happy ages bore you! What glorious parents gave birth to so noble a child? While rivers run to ocean, while on the mountains shadows move over slopes, while heaven feeds the stars, ever shall your honour, your name, and your praises abide, whatever be the lands that summon me!" So saying, he grasps his dear Ilioneus with the right hand, and with the left Serestus; then others, brave Gyas and brave Cloanthus.

[613] Sidonian Dido was amazed, first at the sight of the hero, then at his strange misfortune, and thus her lips made utterance: "What fate pursues you, goddess-born, amidst such perils? What violence drives you to savage shores? Are you that Aeneas whom gracious Venus bore to Dardanian Anchises by the wave of Phrygian Simois? Indeed, I myself remember well Teucer's coming to Sidon, when exiled from his native land he sought a new kingdom by aid of Belus; my father Belus was then wasting rich Cyprus, and held it under his victorious sway. From that time on the fall of the Trojan city has been known to me; known, too, your name and the Pelasgian kings. Foe thou he was, he often lauded the Teucrians with highest praise and claimed that he was sprung from the Teucrians' ancient stock. Come therefore, sirs, and pass within our halls. Me, too, has a like fortune driven through many toils, and willed that in this land I should at last find rest. Not ignorant of ill I learn to aid distress."

[631] Thus she speaks, and at once leads Aeneas into the royal house; at once proclaims a sacrifice at the temples of the gods. Meanwhile not less careful is she to send his comrades on the shore twenty bulls, a hundred huge swine with bristling backs, a hundred fatted lambs with their ewes, the joyous gifts of the god [wine of Bacchus] . . . But the palace within is laid out with the splendour of princely pomp, and amid the halls they prepare a banquet. Coverlets there are, skillfully embroidered and of royal purple; on the tables is massive silver plate, and in gold are graven the doughty deeds of her sires, a long, long course of exploits traced through many a hero from the early dawn of the race.

[643] Aeneas - for a father's love did not suffer his heart to rest - speedily sends Achates forward to the ships to carry this news to Ascanius and lead him to the city; in Ascanius all his fond parental care is centred. Presents, too, snatched from the wreck of Ilium, he bids him bring, a mantle stiff with figures wrought in gold, and a veil fringed with yellow acanthus, once worn by Argive Helen when she sailed for Pergamus and her unlawful marriage - she had brought them from Mycenae, the wondrous gift of her mother Leda - the sceptre too, which Ilione, Priam's eldest daughter, once had borne, a necklace hung with pearls, and a coronet with double circled of jewels and gold. Speeding these commands, Achates bent his way towards the ships.

[657] But the Cytherean revolves in her breast new wiles, new schemes; how Cupid, changed in face and form, may come in the stead of sweet Ascanius, and by his gifts kindle the queen to madness and send the flame into her very marrow. In truth, she fears the uncertain house and double-tongued Tyrians; Juno's fury chafes her, and at nightfall her care rushes back. Therefore to winged Love she speaks these words:

[664] "Son, my strength, my mighty power - O son, who alone scorn the mighty father's Typhoean darts, to you I flee and suppliant sue your godhead. How your brother Aeneas is tossed on the sea about all coasts by bitter Juno's hate is known to you, and often have you grieved in our grief. Phoenician Dido now holds him, staying him with soft words, and I dread what may be the outcome of Juno's hospitality; at such a turning point of fortune she will not be idle. Wherefore I purpose to outwit the queen with guile and encircle her with love's flame, that so no power may change her, but on my side she may be held fast in strong love for Aeneas. How you can do this take now my thought. The princely boy, my chiefest care, at his dear father's bidding, makes ready to go to the Sidonian city, bearing gifts that survive the sea and the flames of Troy. Him will I lull to sleep, and on the heights of Cythera or Idalium will hide in my sacred shrine, so that he may by no means learn my wiles or come between to thwart them. For but a single night, feign by craft his form and, boy that you are, don the boy's familiar face, so that when, in the fullness of her joy, amid the royal feast and the flowing wine, Dido takes you to her bosom, embraces you and imprints sweet kisses, you may breathe into her a hidden fire and beguile her with your poison." Love obeys his dear mother's words, lays by his wings, and walks joyously with the step of Iulus. But Venus pours over the limbs of Ascanius the dew of gentle repose and, fondling him in her bosom, uplifts him with divine power to Idalia's high groves, where soft marjoram enwraps him in flowers and the breath of its sweet shade.

[695] And now, obedient to her word and rejoicing in Achates as guide, Cupid went forth, carrying the royal gifts for the Tyrians. As he enters, the queen has already, amid royal hangings, laid herself on a golden couch, and taken her place in their midst. Now father Aeneas, now the Trojan youth gather, and the guests recline on coverlets of purple. Servants pour water on their hands, serve bread from baskets, and bring smooth-shorn napkins. There are fifty serving-maids within, whose task it is to arrange the long feast in order and keep the hearth aglow with fire. A hundred more there are, with as many pages of like age, to load the board with viands and set out the cups. The Tyrians, too, are gathered in throngs throughout the festal halls; summoned to recline on the embroidered couches, they marvel at the gifts of Aeneas, marvel at Iulus, at the god's glowing looks and well-feigned words, at the robe and the veil, embroidered with saffron acanthus. Above all, the unhappy Phoenician, doomed to impending ruin, cannot satiate her soul, but takes fire as she gazes, thrilled alike by the boy and by the gifts. He, when he has hung in embrace on Aeneas' neck and satisfied the deluded father's deep love, goes to the queen. With her eyes, with all her heart she clings to him and repeatedly fondles him in her lap, knowing not, poor Dido, how great a god settles there to her sorrow. But he, mindful of his Acidalian mother, little by little begins to efface Sychaeus, and essays with a living passion to surprise her long-slumbering soul and her heart unused to love.

[723] When first there came a lull in the feasting, and the boards were cleared, they set down great bowls and crown the wine. A din arises in the palace and voices roll through the spacious halls; lighted lamps hang down from the fretted roof of gold, and flaming torches drive out the night. Then the queen called for a cup, heavy with jewels and gold, and filled it with wine - one that Belus and all of Belus' line had been wont to use. Then through the hall fell silence: "Jupiter - for they say that you appoint laws for host and guest - grant that this be a day of joy for Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy, and that our children may remember it! May Bacchus, giver of joy, be near, and bounteous Juno; and do you, Tyrians, grace the gathering with friendly spirit!" She spoke, and on the board offered a libation of wine, and, after the libation, was first to touch the goblet with her lips; then with a challenge gave it to Bitias. He briskly drained the foaming cup, and drank deep in the brimming gold; then other lords drank. Long-haired Iopas, once taught by mighty Atlas, makes the hall ring with his golden lyre. He sings of the wandering moon and the sun's toils; when sprang man and beast, whence rain and fire; of Arcturus, and rainy Hyades and the twin Bears; why wintry suns make such haste to dip themselves in Ocean, or what delay stays the slowly passing nights. With shout on shout the Tyrians applaud, and the Trojans follow. No less did unhappy Dido prolong the night with varied talk and drank deep draughts of love, asking much of Priam, of Hector much; now of the armour in which came the son of Dawn; now of the wondrous steeds of Diomedes; now of the greatness of Achilles. "Nay, more," she cries, "tell us, my guest, from the first beginning the treachery of the Greeks, the sad fate of your people, and your own wanderings; for already a seventh summer bears you a wanderer over every land and sea."

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VIRGIL was a Latin poet who flourished in Rome in the C1st B.C. during the reign of the Emperor Augustus. His works include the Aeneid, an twelve book epic describing the founding of Latium by the Trojan hero Aeneas, and two pastoral poems-- Eclogues and Georgics. Virgil. Eclogues, Georgics, Aeneid.

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Vergil's Aeneid (with notes for the text!)

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Vergil's Aeneid (with notes for the text!)

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A Brief Summary and Guide from The Classics Pages

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A brief summary and guide
Translations of books 1,2,4 & 6 are available on the site.
Book 1

In Aeneid Book 1, Aeneas is shipwrecked on the coast of North Africa, near where Dido, the young Phoenician queen - herself a refugee from her homeland - is building a city which will become Carthage. Aeneas, who had escaped death when Troy fell to the Greeks, has been wandering in search of a new land in the west, where it has been prophesied he shall establish a race whose destiny is to rule the world in peace and prosperity. The people are the Romans, and Aeneas' mission comes from Jupiter, king of gods and men. Unfortunately, Juno, queen of heaven, is set on thwarting Aeneas - because she knows that Rome is destined to destroy Carthage, her own favorite city. But it is inevitable that Aeneas and Dido meet - and she falls hopelessly in love.

Now read my own new translation of Aeneid Book 1. To help further, there are 'magic' notes: move your mouse over the text, and notes will appear automatically. All the themes of the Aeneid are first developed in Book 1 - it's quite hard to understand Book 2, or Book 4, without reading this one first.

Book 2

Book 2 begins with Dido begging Aeneas to tell her his story. She falls more deeply in love with him as he warms to the tale. He begins with the building of the Wooden Horse, and shows the Trojans' agony at the destruction of their home and way of life. As yet he does not fully comprehend the gods - why have they allowed Troy to be destroyed? Why won't they let him die fighting gloriously for his land like any other hero? Only when the ghost of his wife Creüsa (who'd somehow disappeared in the rush to leave) tells him about a western land where he is destined to find a new bride, does he begin to have a faint glimmer of understanding of what the gods have in store for him. He does not yet know that the sack of Troy was to be the beginning of his troubles ...

You may now read the story of the brutal sack of Troy in full, with Aeneas' tragic adventures, in my own new translation. To help further, there are hypertext notes - just click on anything for information to appear instantly!
This translation was used in a broadcast by BBC Radio 3 in July 2002, to accompany The Trojans by Berlioz

Book 3

In Book 3, Aeneas carries on telling Dido about his adventures - his fruitless search for his promised land all over the Mediterranean. In Sicily his beloved father Anchises had died - but the rest of the party were soon on route for Italy, when Juno's storm brought them to Carthage instead.

Book 4

Book 4 takes up the story of Dido's deepening love for Aeneas from Book 1. She had sworn never to get involved with a man again, after the murder of her husband. But there is something about Aeneas...

You may now read a close translation of the main episodes in Book 4

Book 5

Meanwhile, in Book 5, Aeneas has returned to Sicily - where he celebrates the anniversary of his father's death with games. But Juno takes the opportunity to strike - she makes the women set fire to the ships. Most of the ships are saved, but Aeneas decides to press on to Italy with a leaner force, leaving those without the relish for further fighting behind in Sicily. At last he reaches Italy ...

Book 6

Book 6 begins here ...

You may now read the story of Aeneas' visit to the Underworld. You can read the whole story in translation, or in the original Latin - or you can switch easily between the two. If you want to try the Latin, there is a full vocabulary on the page - just scroll to the right place. There are also hypertext notes. This is a true electronic text, with text, vocabulary and notes all visible on the page and accessible instantly, and a translation as well if you need it!

Book 7

In Book 7, Aeneas finally reaches Italy - where he's welcomed by king Latinus. Latinus had a beautiful daughter, Lavinia - and there was a prophecy that she should marry a foreigner. So he at once offered her to Aeneas, angering his wife Amata. But she already had a suitor, Turnus of the Rutulians. Juno stirs up war betweeen them and the Trojans.

Book 8

Book 8. Aeneas is reluctant to fight his new hosts, but is promised help by Evander, a Greek whose capital is on the future site of Rome. Venus asks Vulcan for new armour for her son for the coming battles. The shield is decorated with scenes from the future history of Rome, right down to the Battle of Actium, where Augustus had recently defeated Antony and Cleopatra.

Book 9

Book 9 takes place while Aeneas is away. Turnus blockades the Trojan camp, but Nisus and Euryalus are killed trying to take the news to Aeneas. Iulus, Aeneas' son thwarts Turnus' bid to capture the camp.

Book 10

In Book 10 Aeneas returns, with his new allies, Pallas, young son of Evander and an Etruscan contingent. He wins a great victory over Turnus, but Pallas is killed.

Book 11

Book 11 opens with celebration and mourning, for the young hero Aeneas had promised his father he would protect. It's decided to settle the quarrel with single combat between Aeneas and Turnus, but fighting breaks out, in which Turnus' ally the Volscian warrior princess Camilla is killed.

Book 12

Book 12. Turnus and Aeneas are ready for their duel, but it is again interrupted, when Juturna, Turnus' sister, stirs up the Rutulians. Aeneas is wounded in the fighting, but healed by his mother. The Trojans take the unguarded city of Latinus, and Amata kills herself. Turnus returns and faces Aeneas at last. He is wounded, but Aeneas intends to spare his life, until he sees the spoils from Pallas that he is wearing. Aeneas in rage buries his sword in Turnus' body.

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classics classical greek greece latin rome roman mythology archaeology history art vasepainting sculpture drama philosophy sophocles euripides helen oedipus virgil vergil aeneid tragedy tragic comedy epic homer odyssey iliad odysseus horace catullus propertius plato socrates republic athens athenian sparta olympics olympia italy sicily bedford modern school

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Translations of books 1,2,4 & 6 are available on the site. In Aeneid Book 1, Aeneas is shipwrecked on the coast of North Africa, near where Dido, the young Phoenician queen - herself a refugee from her homeland - is building a city which will become Carthage.

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Book 1 in translation (A. S. Klein)

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The Aeneid Book I

Translated by A. S. Kline © Copyright 2002 All Rights Reserved

This work may be freely reproduced, stored and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. Conditions and Exceptions apply.

Contents

BkI:1-11 Invocation to the Muse

'The Judgement of Paris' - Giorgio Ghisi (Italy, 1520-1582), LACMA Collections

I sing of arms and the man, he who, exiled by fate,

first came from the coast of Troy to Italy, and to

Lavinian shores - hurled about endlessly by land and sea,

by the will of the gods, by cruel Juno's remorseless anger,

long suffering also in war, until he founded a city

and brought his gods to Latium: from that the Latin people

came, the lords of Alba Longa, the walls of noble Rome.

Muse, tell me the cause: how was she offended in her divinity,

how was she grieved, the Queen of Heaven, to drive a man,

noted for virtue, to endure such dangers, to face so many

trials? Can there be such anger in the minds of the gods?

BkI:12-49 The Anger of Juno

There was an ancient city, Carthage (held by colonists from Tyre),

opposite Italy, and the far-off mouths of the Tiber,

rich in wealth, and very savage in pursuit of war.

They say Juno loved this one land above all others,

even neglecting Samos: here were her weapons

and her chariot, even then the goddess worked at,

and cherished, the idea that it should have supremacy

over the nations, if only the fates allowed.

Yet she'd heard of offspring, derived from Trojan blood,

that would one day overthrow the Tyrian stronghold:

that from them a people would come, wide-ruling,

and proud in war, to Libya's ruin: so the Fates ordained.

Fearing this, and remembering the ancient war

she had fought before, at Troy, for her dear Argos,

(and the cause of her anger and bitter sorrows

had not yet passed from her mind: the distant judgement

of Paris stayed deep in her heart, the injury to her scorned beauty,

her hatred of the race, and abducted Ganymede's honours)

the daughter of Saturn, incited further by this,

hurled the Trojans, the Greeks and pitiless Achilles had left,

round the whole ocean, keeping them far from Latium:

they wandered for many years, driven by fate over all the seas.

Such an effort it was to found the Roman people.

They were hardly out of sight of Sicily's isle, in deeper water,

joyfully spreading sail, bronze keel ploughing the brine,

when Juno, nursing the eternal wound in her breast,

spoke to herself: 'Am I to abandon my purpose, conquered,

unable to turn the Teucrian king away from Italy!

Why, the fates forbid it. Wasn't Pallas able to burn

the Argive fleet, to sink it in the sea, because of the guilt

and madness of one single man, Ajax, son of Oileus?

She herself hurled Jupiter's swift fire from the clouds,

scattered the ships, and made the sea boil with storms:

She caught him up in a water-spout, as he breathed flame

from his pierced chest, and pinned him to a sharp rock:

yet I, who walk about as queen of the gods, wife

and sister of Jove, wage war on a whole race, for so many years.

Indeed, will anyone worship Juno's power from now on,

or place offerings, humbly, on her altars?'

BkI:50-80 Juno Asks Aeolus for Help

So debating with herself, her heart inflamed, the goddess

came to Aeolia, to the country of storms, the place

of wild gales. Here in his vast cave, King Aeolus,

keeps the writhing winds, and the roaring tempests,

under control, curbs them with chains and imprisonment.

They moan angrily at the doors, with a mountain's vast murmurs:

Aeolus sits, holding his sceptre, in his high stronghold,

softening their passions, tempering their rage: if not,

they'd surely carry off seas and lands and the highest heavens,

with them, in rapid flight, and sweep them through the air.

But the all-powerful Father, fearing this, hid them

in dark caves, and piled a high mountain mass over them

and gave them a king, who by fixed agreement, would know

how to give the order to tighten or slacken the reins.

Juno now offered these words to him, humbly:

'Aeolus, since the Father of gods, and king of men,

gave you the power to quell, and raise, the waves with the winds,

there is a people I hate sailing the Tyrrhenian Sea,

bringing Troy's conquered gods to Italy:

Add power to the winds, and sink their wrecked boats,

or drive them apart, and scatter their bodies over the sea.

I have fourteen Nymphs of outstanding beauty:

of whom I'll name Deiopea, the loveliest in looks,

joined in eternal marriage, and yours for ever, so that,

for such service to me as yours, she'll spend all her years

with you, and make you the father of lovely children.'

Aeolus replied: 'Your task, O queen, is to decide

what you wish: my duty is to fulfil your orders.

You brought about all this kingdom of mine, the sceptre,

Jove's favour, you gave me a seat at the feasts of the gods,

and you made me lord of the storms and the tempests.'

BkI:81-123 Aeolus Raises the Storm

When he had spoken, he reversed his trident and struck

the hollow mountain on the side: and the winds, formed ranks,

rushed out by the door he'd made, and whirled across the earth.

They settle on the sea, East and West wind,

and the wind from Africa, together, thick with storms,

stir it all from its furthest deeps, and roll vast waves to shore:

follows a cry of men and a creaking of cables.

Suddenly clouds take sky and day away

from the Trojan's eyes: dark night rests on the sea.

It thunders from the pole, and the aether flashes thick fire,

and all things threaten immediate death to men.

Instantly Aeneas groans, his limbs slack with cold:

stretching his two hands towards the heavens,

he cries out in this voice: 'Oh, three, four times fortunate

were those who chanced to die in front of their father's eyes

under Troy's high walls! O Diomede, son of Tydeus

bravest of Greeks! Why could I not have fallen, at your hand,

in the fields of Ilium, and poured out my spirit,

where fierce Hector lies, beneath Achilles's spear,

and mighty Sarpedon: where Simois rolls, and sweeps away

so many shields, helmets, brave bodies, of men, in its waves!'

Hurling these words out, a howling blast from the north,

strikes square on the sail, and lifts the seas to heaven:

the oars break: then the prow swings round and offers

the beam to the waves: a steep mountain of water follows in a mass.

Some ships hang on the breaker's crest: to others the yawning deep

shows land between the waves: the surge rages with sand.

The south wind catches three, and whirls them onto hidden rocks

(rocks the Italians call the Altars, in mid-ocean,

a vast reef on the surface of the sea) three the east wind drives

from the deep, to the shallows and quick-sands (a pitiful sight),

dashes them against the bottom, covers them with a gravel mound.

A huge wave, toppling, strikes one astern, in front of his very eyes,

one carrying faithful Orontes and the Lycians.

The steersman's thrown out and hurled headlong, face down:

but the sea turns the ship three times, driving her round,

in place, and the swift vortex swallows her in the deep.

Swimmers appear here and there in the vast waste,

men's weapons, planking, Trojan treasure in the waves.

Now the storm conquers Iloneus's tough ship, now Achates,

now that in which Abas sailed, and old Aletes's:

their timbers sprung in their sides, all the ships

let in the hostile tide, and split open at the seams.

BkI:124-156 Neptune Intervenes

Neptune, meanwhile, greatly troubled, saw that the sea

was churned with vast murmur, and the storm was loose

and the still waters welled from their deepest levels:

he raised his calm face from the waves, gazing over the deep.

He sees Aeneas's fleet scattered all over the ocean,

the Trojans crushed by the breakers, and the plummeting sky.

And Juno's anger, and her stratagems, do not escape her brother.

He calls the East and West winds to him, and then says:

'Does confidence in your birth fill you so? Winds, do you dare,

without my intent, to mix earth with sky, and cause such trouble,

now? You whom I - ! But it's better to calm the running waves:

you'll answer to me later for this misfortune, with a different punishment.

Hurry, fly now, and say this to your king:

control of the ocean, and the fierce trident, were given to me,

by lot, and not to him. He owns the wild rocks, home to you,

and yours, East Wind: let Aeolus officiate in his palace,

and be king in the closed prison of the winds.'

So he speaks, and swifter than his speech, he calms the swollen sea,

scatters the gathered cloud, and brings back the sun.

Cymothoë and Triton, working together, thrust the ships

from the sharp reef: Neptune himself raises them with his trident,

parts the vast quicksand, tempers the flood,

and glides on weightless wheels, over the tops of the waves.

As often, when rebellion breaks out in a great nation,

and the common rabble rage with passion, and soon stones

and fiery torches fly (frenzy supplying weapons),

if they then see a man of great virtue, and weighty service,

they are silent, and stand there listening attentively:

he sways their passions with his words and soothes their hearts:

so all the uproar of the ocean died, as soon as their father,

gazing over the water, carried through the clear sky, wheeled

his horses, and gave them their head, flying behind in his chariot.

BkI:157-222 Shelter on the Libyan Coast

The weary followers of Aeneas made efforts to set a course

for the nearest land, and tacked towards the Libyan coast.

There is a place there in a deep inlet: an island forms a harbour

with the barrier of its bulk, on which every wave from the deep

breaks, and divides into diminishing ripples.

On this side and that, vast cliffs and twin crags loom in the sky,

under whose summits the whole sea is calm, far and wide:

then, above that, is a scene of glittering woods,

and a dark grove overhangs the water, with leafy shade:

under the headland opposite is a cave, curtained with rock,

inside it, fresh water, and seats of natural stone,

the home of Nymphs. No hawsers moor the weary ships

here, no anchor, with its hooked flukes, fastens them.

Aeneas takes shelter here with seven ships gathered

from the fleet, and the Trojans, with a passion for dry land,

disembarking, take possession of the sands they longed for,

and stretch their brine-caked bodies on the shore.

At once Achates strikes a spark from his flint,

catches the fire in the leaves, places dry fuel round it,

and quickly has flames among the kindling.

Then, wearied by events, they take out wheat, damaged

by the sea, and implements of Ceres, and prepare to parch

the grain over the flames, and grind it on stone.

Aeneas climbs a crag meanwhile, and searches the whole prospect

far and wide over the sea, looking if he can see anything

of Antheus and his storm-tossed Phrygian galleys,

or Capys, or Caicus's arms blazoned on a high stern.

There's no ship in sight: he sees three stags wandering

on the shore: whole herds of deer follow at their back,

and graze in long lines along the valley.

He halts at this, and grasps in his hand his bow

and swift arrows, shafts that loyal Achates carries,

and first he shoots the leaders themselves, their heads,

with branching antlers, held high, then the mass, with his shafts,

and drives the whole crowd in confusion among the leaves:

The conqueror does not stop until he's scattered seven huge

carcasses on the ground, equal in number to his ships.

Then he seeks the harbour, and divides them among all his friends.

Next he shares out the wine that the good Acestes had stowed

in jars, on the Trinacrian coast, and that hero had given them

on leaving: and speaking to them, calmed their sad hearts:

'O friends (well, we were not unknown to trouble before)

O you who've endured worse, the god will grant an end to this too.

You've faced rabid Scylla, and her deep-sounding cliffs:

and you've experienced the Cyclopes's rocks:

remember your courage and chase away gloomy fears:

perhaps one day you'll even delight in remembering this.

Through all these misfortunes, these dangerous times,

we head for Latium, where the fates hold peaceful lives

for us: there Troy's kingdom can rise again. Endure,

and preserve yourselves for happier days.'

So his voice utters, and sick with the weight of care, he pretends

hope, in his look, and stifles the pain deep in his heart.

They make ready the game, and the future feast:

they flay the hides from the ribs and lay the flesh bare:

some cut it in pieces, quivering, and fix it on spits,

others place cauldrons on the beach, and feed them with flames.

Then they revive their strength with food, stretched on the grass,

and fill themselves with rich venison and old wine.

When hunger is quenched by the feast, and the remnants cleared,

deep in conversation, they discuss their missing friends,

and, between hope and fear, question whether they live,

or whether they've suffered death and no longer hear their name.

Aeneas, the virtuous, above all mourns the lot of fierce Orontes,

then that of Amycus, together with Lycus's cruel fate,

and those of brave Gyus, and brave Cloanthus.

BkI:223-256 Venus Intercedes with Jupiter

Now, all was complete, when Jupiter, from the heights of the air,

looked down on the sea with its flying sails, and the broad lands,

and the coasts, and the people far and wide, and paused,

at the summit of heaven, and fixed his eyes on the Libyan kingdom.

And as he weighed such cares as he had in his heart, Venus spoke

to him, sadder still, her bright eyes brimming with tears:

'Oh you who rule things human, and divine, with eternal law,

and who terrify them all with your lightning-bolt,

what can my Aeneas have done to you that's so serious,

what have the Trojans done, who've suffered so much destruction,

to whom the whole world's closed, because of the Italian lands?

Surely you promised that at some point, as the years rolled by,

the Romans would rise from them, leaders would rise,

restored from Teucer's blood, who would hold power

over the sea, and all the lands. Father, what thought has changed

your mind? It consoled me for the fall of Troy, and its sad ruin,

weighing one destiny, indeed, against opposing destinies:

now the same misfortune follows these men driven on by such

disasters. Great king, what end to their efforts will you give?

Antenor could escape through the thick of the Greek army,

and safely enter the Illyrian gulfs, and deep into the realms

of the Liburnians, and pass the founts of Timavus,

from which the river bursts, with a huge mountainous roar,

through nine mouths, and buries the fields under its noisy flood.

Here, nonetheless, he sited the city of Padua, and homes

for Teucrians, and gave the people a name, and hung up

the arms of Troy: now he's calmly settled, in tranquil peace.

But we, your race, to whom you permit the heights of heaven,

lose our ships (shameful!), betrayed, because of one person's anger,

and kept far away from the shores of Italy.

Is this the prize for virtue? Is this how you restore our rule?

The father of men and gods, smiled at her with that look

with which he clears the sky of storms,

kissed his daughter's lips, and then said this:

BkI:257-296 Jupiter's Prophecy

'Don't be afraid, Cytherea, your child's fate remains unaltered:

You'll see the city of Lavinium, and the walls I promised,

and you'll raise great-hearted Aeneas high, to the starry sky:

No thought has changed my mind. This son of yours

(since this trouble gnaws at my heart, I'll speak,

and unroll the secret scroll of destiny)

will wage a mighty war in Italy, destroy proud peoples,

and establish laws, and city walls, for his warriors,

until a third summer sees his reign in Latium, and

three winter camps pass since the Rutulians were beaten.

But the boy Ascanius, surnamed Iulus now (He was Ilus

while the Ilian kingdom was a reality) will imperially

complete thirty great circles of the turning months,

and transfer his throne from its site at Lavinium,

and mighty in power, will build the walls of Alba Longa.

Here kings of Hector's race will reign now

for three hundred years complete, until a royal priestess,

Ilia, heavy with child, shall bear Mars twins.

Then Romulus will further the race, proud in his nurse

the she-wolf's tawny pelt, and found the walls of Mars,

and call the people Romans, from his own name.

I've fixed no limits or duration to their possessions:

I've given them empire without end. Why, harsh Juno

who now torments land, and sea and sky with fear,

will respond to better judgement, and favour the Romans,

masters of the world, and people of the toga, with me.

So it is decreed. A time will come, as the years glide by,

when the Trojan house of Assaracus will force Phthia

into slavery, and be lords of beaten Argos.

From this glorious source a Trojan Caesar will be born,

who will bound the empire with Ocean, his fame with the stars,

Augustus, a Julius, his name descended from the great Iulus.

You, no longer anxious, will receive him one day in heaven,

burdened with Eastern spoils: he'll be called to in prayer.

Then with wars abandoned, the harsh ages will grow mild:

White haired Trust, and Vesta, Quirinus with his brother Remus

will make the laws: the gates of War, grim with iron,

and narrowed by bars, will be closed: inside impious Rage will roar

frighteningly from blood-stained mouth, seated on savage weapons,

hands tied behind his back, with a hundred knots of bronze.'

BkI:297-371 Venus Speaks to Aeneas

Saying this, he sends Mercury, Maia's son, down from heaven,

so that the country and strongholds of this new Carthage

would open to the Trojans, as guests, and Dido, unaware of fate,

would not keep them from her territory. He flies through the air

with a beating of mighty wings and quickly lands on Libyan shore.

And soon does as commanded, and the Phoenicians set aside

their savage instincts, by the god's will: the queen above all

adopts calm feelings, and kind thoughts, towards the Trojans.

But Aeneas, the virtuous, turning things over all night,

decides, as soon as kindly dawn appears, to go out

and explore the place, to find what shores he has reached,

on the wind, who owns them (since he sees desert)

man or beast, and bring back the details to his friends.

He conceals the boats in over-hanging woods

under an arching cliff, enclosed by trees

and leafy shadows: accompanied only by Achetes,

he goes, swinging two broad-bladed spears in his hand.

His mother met him herself, among the trees, with the face

and appearance of a virgin, and a virgin's weapons,

a Spartan girl, or such as Harpalyce of Thrace,

who wearies horses, and outdoes winged Hebrus in flight.

For she'd slung her bow from her shoulders, at the ready,

like a huntress, and loosed her hair for the wind to scatter,

her knees bare, and her flowing tunic gathered up in a knot.

And she cried first: 'Hello, you young men, tell me,

if you've seen my sister wandering here by any chance,

wearing a quiver, and the hide of a dappled lynx,

or shouting, hot on the track of a slavering boar?'

So Venus: and so Venus's son began in answer:

'I've not seen or heard any of your sisters, O Virgin -

or how should I name you? Since your looks are not mortal

and your voice is more than human: oh, a goddess for certain!

Or Phoebus's sister? Or one of the race of Nymphs?

Be kind, whoever you may be, and lighten our labour,

and tell us only what sky we're under, and what shores

we've landed on: we're adrift here, driven by wind and vast seas,

knowing nothing of the people or the country:

many a sacrifice to you will fall at the altars, under our hand.'

Then Venus said: 'I don't think myself worthy of such honours:

it's the custom of Tyrian girls to carry a quiver,

and lace our calves high up, over red hunting boots.

You see the kingdom of Carthage, Tyrians, Agenor's city:

but bordered by Libyans, a people formidable in war.

Dido rules this empire, having set out from Tyre,

fleeing her brother. It's a long tale of wrong, with many

windings: but I'll trace the main chapters of the story.

Sychaeus was her husband, wealthiest, in land, of Phoenicians

and loved with a great love by the wretched girl,

whose father gave her as a virgin to him, and wed them

with great solemnity. But her brother Pygmalion, savage

in wickedness beyond all others, held the kingdom of Tyre.

Madness came between them. The king, blinded by greed for gold,

killed the unwary Sychaeus, secretly, with a knife, impiously,

in front of the altars, indifferent to his sister's affections.

He concealed his actions for a while, deceived the lovesick girl,

with empty hopes, and many evil pretences.

But the ghost of her unburied husband came to her in dream:

lifting his pale head in a strange manner, he laid bare the cruelty

at the altars, and his heart pierced by the knife,

and unveiled all the secret wickedness of that house.

Then he urged her to leave quickly and abandon her country,

and, to help her journey, revealed an ancient treasure

under the earth, an unknown weight of gold and silver.

Shaken by all this, Dido prepared her flight and her friends.

Those who had fierce hatred of the tyrant or bitter fear,

gathered together: they seized some ships that by chance

were ready, and loaded the gold: greedy Pygmalion's riches

are carried overseas: a woman leads the enterprise.

The came to this place, and bought land, where you now see

the vast walls, and resurgent stronghold, of new Carthage,

as much as they could enclose with the strips of hide

from a single bull, and from that they called it Byrsa.

But who then are you? What shores do you come from?

What course do you take?' He sighed as she questioned him,

and drawing the words from deep in his heart he replied:

BkI:372-417 She Directs Him to Dido's Palace

'Aeneas Recognising Venus as She Disappears in a Cloud' - Giovanni Domenico Tiepolo (Italy, 1727-1804), Yale University Art Gallery

'O goddess, if I were to start my tale at the very beginning,

and you had time to hear the story of our misfortunes,

Vesper would have shut day away in the closed heavens.

A storm drove us at whim to Libya's shores,

sailing the many seas from ancient Troy,

if by chance the name of Troy has come to your hearing.

I am that Aeneas, the virtuous, who carries my household gods

in my ship with me, having snatched them from the enemy,

my name is known beyond the sky.

I seek my country Italy, and a people born of Jupiter on high.

I embarked on the Phrygian sea with twenty ships,

following my given fate, my mother, a goddess, showing the way:

barely seven are left, wrenched from the wind and waves.

I myself wander, destitute and unknown, in the Libyan desert,

driven from Europe and Asia.' Venus did not wait

for further complaint but broke in on his lament like this:

'Whoever you are I don't think you draw the breath of life

while hated by the gods, you who've reached a city of Tyre.

Only go on from here, and take yourself to the queen's threshold,

since I bring you news that your friends are restored,

and your ships recalled, driven to safety by the shifting winds,

unless my parents taught me false prophecies, in vain.

See, those twelve swans in exultant line, that an eagle,

Jupiter's bird, swooping from the heavens,

was troubling in the clear sky: now, in a long file, they seem

to have settled, or be gazing down now at those who already have.

As, returning, their wings beat in play, and they circle the zenith

in a crowd, and give their cry, so your ships and your people

are in harbour, or near its entrance under full sail.

Only go on, turn your steps where the path takes you.'

She spoke, and turning away she reflected the light

from her rose-tinted neck, and breathed a divine perfume

from her ambrosial hair: her robes trailed down to her feet,

and, in her step, showed her a true goddess. He recognised

his mother, and as she vanished followed her with his voice:

'You too are cruel, why do you taunt your son with false

phantoms? Why am I not allowed to join hand

with hand, and speak and hear true words?'

So he accuses her, and turns his steps towards the city.

But Venus veiled them with a dark mist as they walked,

and, as a goddess, spread a thick covering of cloud around them,

so that no one could see them, or touch them,

or cause them delay, or ask them where they were going.

She herself soars high in the air, to Paphos, and returns to her home

with delight, where her temple and its hundred altars

steam with Sabean incense, fragrant with fresh garlands.

BkI:418-463 The Temple of Juno

Meanwhile they've tackled the route the path revealed.

And soon they climbed the hill that looms high over the city,

and looks down from above on the towers that face it.

Aeneas marvels at the mass of buildings, once huts,

marvels at the gates, the noise, the paved roads.

The eager Tyrians are busy, some building walls,

and raising the citadel, rolling up stones by hand,

some choosing the site for a house, and marking a furrow:

they make magistrates and laws, and a sacred senate:

here some are digging a harbour: others lay down

the deep foundations of a theatre, and carve huge columns

from the cliff, tall adornments for the future stage.

Just as bees in early summer carry out their tasks

among the flowery fields, in the sun, when they lead out

the adolescent young of their race, or cram the cells

with liquid honey, and swell them with sweet nectar,

or receive the incoming burdens, or forming lines

drive the lazy herd of drones from their hives:

the work glows, and the fragrant honey's sweet with thyme.

'O fortunate those whose walls already rise!'

Aeneas cries, and admires the summits of the city.

He enters among them, veiled in mist (marvellous to tell)

and mingles with the people seen by no one.

There was a grove in the centre of the city, delightful

with shade, where the wave and storm-tossed Phoenicians

first uncovered the head of a fierce horse, that regal Juno

showed them: so the race would be noted in war,

and rich in substance throughout the ages.

Here Sidonian Dido was establishing a great temple

to Juno, rich with gifts and divine presence,

with bronze entrances rising from stairways, and beams

jointed with bronze, and hinges creaking on bronze doors.

Here in the grove something new appeared that calmed his fears

for the first time, here for the first time Aeneas dared to hope

for safety, and to put greater trust in his afflicted fortunes.

While, waiting for the queen, in the vast temple, he looks

at each thing: while he marvels at the city's wealth,

the skill of their artistry, and the products of their labours,

he sees the battles at Troy in their correct order,

the War, known through its fame to the whole world,

the sons of Atreus, of Priam, and Achilles angered with both.

He halted, and said, with tears: 'What place is there,

Achates, what region of earth not full of our hardships?

See, Priam! Here too virtue has its rewards, here too

there are tears for events, and mortal things touch the heart.

Lose your fears: this fame will bring you benefit.'

BkI:464-493 The Frieze

So he speaks, and feeds his spirit with the insubstantial frieze,

sighing often, and his face wet with the streaming tears.

For he saw how, here, the Greeks fled, as they fought round Troy,

chased by the Trojan youth, and, there, the Trojans fled,

with plumed Achilles pressing them close in his chariot.

Not far away, through his tears, he recognises Rhesus's

white-canvassed tents, that blood-stained Diomede, Tydeus's son,

laid waste with great slaughter, betrayed in their first sleep,

diverting the fiery horses to his camp, before they could eat

Trojan fodder, or drink from the river Xanthus.

Elsewhere Troilus, his weapons discarded in flight,

unhappy boy, unequally matched in his battle with Achilles,

is dragged by his horses, clinging face-up to the empty chariot,

still clutching the reins: his neck and hair trailing

on the ground, and his spear reversed furrowing the dust.

Meanwhile the Trojan women with loose hair, walked

to unjust Pallas's temple carrying the sacred robe,

mourning humbly, and beating their breasts with their hands.

The goddess was turned away, her eyes fixed on the ground.

Three times had Achilles dragged Hector round the walls of Troy,

and now was selling the lifeless corpse for gold.

Then Aeneas truly heaves a deep sigh, from the depths of his heart,

as he views the spoils, the chariot, the very body of his friend,

and Priam stretching out his unwarlike hands.

He recognised himself as well, fighting the Greek princes,

and the Ethiopian ranks and black Memnon's armour.

Raging Penthesilea leads the file of Amazons,

with crescent shields, and shines out among her thousands,

her golden girdle fastened beneath her exposed breasts,

a virgin warrior daring to fight with men.

BkI:494-519 The Arrival of Queen Dido

While these wonderful sights are viewed by Trojan Aeneas,

while amazed he hangs there, rapt, with fixed gaze,

Queen Dido, of loveliest form, reached the temple,

with a great crowd of youths accompanying her.

Just as Diana leads her dancing throng on Eurotas's banks,

or along the ridges of Cynthus, and, following her,

a thousand mountain-nymphs gather on either side:

and she carries a quiver on her shoulder, and overtops

all the other goddesses as she walks: and delight

seizes her mother Latona's silent heart:

such was Dido, so she carried herself, joyfully,

amongst them, furthering the work, and her rising kingdom.

Then, fenced with weapons, and resting on a high throne,

she took her seat, at the goddess's doorway, under the central vault.

She was giving out laws and statutes to the people, and sharing

the workers labour out in fair proportions, or assigning it by lot:

when Aeneas suddenly saw Antheus, and Sergestus,

and brave Cloanthus, approaching, among a large crowd,

with others of the Trojans whom the black storm-clouds

had scattered over the sea and carried far off to other shores.

He was stunned, and Achates was stunned as well

with joy and fear: they burned with eagerness to clasp hands,

but the unexpected event confused their minds.

They stay concealed and, veiled in the deep mist, they watch

to see what happens to their friends, what shore they have left

the fleet on, and why they are here: the elect of every ship came

begging favour, and made for the temple among the shouting.

BkI:520-560 Ilioneus Asks Her Assistance

When they'd entered, and freedom to speak in person

had been granted, Ilioneus, the eldest, began calmly:

'O queen, whom Jupiter grants the right to found

a new city, and curb proud tribes with your justice,

we unlucky Trojans, driven by the winds over every sea,

pray to you: keep the terror of fire away from our ships,

spare a virtuous race and look more kindly on our fate.

We have not come to despoil Libyan homes with the sword,

or to carry off stolen plunder to the shore: that violence

is not in our minds, the conquered have not such pride.

There's a place called Hesperia by the Greeks,

an ancient land, strong in men, with a rich soil:

There the Oenotrians lived: now rumour has it

that a later people has called it Italy, after their leader.

We had set our course there when stormy Orion,

rising with the tide, carried us onto hidden shoals,

and fierce winds scattered us far, with the overwhelming surge,

over the waves among uninhabitable rocks:

we few have drifted here to your shores.

What race of men is this? What land is so barbaric as to allow

this custom, that we're denied the hospitality of the sands?

They stir up war, and prevent us setting foot on dry land.

If you despise the human race and mortal weapons,

still trust that the gods remember right and wrong.

Aeneas was our king, no one more just than him

in his duty, or greater in war and weaponry.

If fate still protects the man, if he still enjoys the ethereal air,

if he doesn't yet rest among the cruel shades, there's nothing

to fear, and you'd not repent of vying with him first in kindness.

Then there are cities and fields too in the region of Sicily,

and famous Acestes, of Trojan blood. Allow us

to beach our fleet, damaged by the storms,

and cut planks from trees, and shape oars,

so if our king's restored and our friends are found

we can head for Italy, gladly seek Italy and Latium:

and if our saviour's lost, and the Libyan seas hold you,

Troy's most virtuous father, if no hope now remains from Iulus,

let us seek the Sicilian straits, from which we were driven,

and the home prepared for us, and a king, Acestes.'

So Ilioneus spoke: and the Trojans all shouted with one voice.

BkI:561-585 Dido Welcomes the Trojans

Then, Dido, spoke briefly, with lowered eyes:

'Trojans, free your hearts of fear: dispel your cares.

Harsh events and the newness of the kingdom force me to effect

such things, and protect my borders with guards on all sides.

Who doesn't know of Aeneas's race, and the city of Troy,

the bravery, the men, or so great a blaze of warfare,

indeed, we Phoenicians don't possess unfeeling hearts,

the sun doesn't harness his horses that far from this Tyrian city.

Whether you opt for mighty Hesperia, and Saturn's fields,

or the summit of Eryx, and Acestes for king,

I'll see you safely escorted, and help you with my wealth.

Or do you wish to settle here with me, as equals in my kingdom?

The city I build is yours: beach your ships:

Trojans and Tyrians will be treated by me without distinction.

I wish your king Aeneas himself were here, driven

by that same storm! Indeed, I'll send reliable men

along the coast, and order them to travel the length of Libya,

in case he's driven aground, and wandering the woods and towns.'

Brave Achetes, and our forefather Aeneas, their spirits raised

by these words, had been burning to break free of the mist.

Achates was first to speak, saying to Aeneas: 'Son of the goddess,

what intention springs to your mind? You see all's safe,

the fleet and our friends have been restored to us.

Only one is missing, whom we saw plunged in the waves:

all else is in accord with your mother's words.'

BkI:586-612 Aeneas Makes Himself Known

'Dido and Aeneas' - Nicolas Verkolye (The Netherlands, 1673-1746), Getty Open Content Program

He'd scarcely spoken when the mist surrounding them

suddenly parted, and vanished in the clear air.

Aeneas stood there, shining in the bright daylight,

like a god in shoulders and face: since his mother

had herself imparted to her son beauty to his hair,

a glow of youth, and a joyful charm to his eyes:

like the glory art can give to ivory, or as when silver,

or Parian marble, is surrounded by gold.

Then he addressed the queen, suddenly, surprising them all,

saying: 'I am here in person, Aeneas the Trojan,

him whom you seek, saved from the Libyan waves.

O Dido, it is not in our power, nor those of our Trojan race,

wherever they may be, scattered through the wide world,

to pay you sufficient thanks, you who alone have pitied

Troy's unspeakable miseries, and share your city and home

with us, the remnant left by the Greeks, wearied

by every mischance, on land and sea, and lacking everything.

May the gods, and the mind itself conscious of right,

bring you a just reward, if the gods respect the virtuous,

if there is justice anywhere. What happy age gave birth

to you? What parents produced such a child?

Your honour, name and praise will endure forever,

whatever lands may summon me, while rivers run

to the sea, while shadows cross mountain slopes,

while the sky nourishes the stars.' So saying he grasps

his friend Iloneus by the right hand, Serestus with the left,

then others, brave Gyus and brave Cloanthus.

BkI:613-656 Dido Receives Aeneas

Sidonian Dido was first amazed at the hero's looks

then at his great misfortunes, and she spoke, saying:

'Son of a goddess, what fate pursues you through all

these dangers? What force drives you to these barbarous shores?

Are you truly that Aeneas whom kindly Venus bore

to Trojan Anchises, by the waters of Phrygian Simois?

Indeed, I myself remember Teucer coming to Sidon,

exiled from his country's borders, seeking a new kingdom

with Belus's help: Belus, my father, was laying waste

rich Cyprus, and, as victor, held it by his authority.

Since then the fall of the Trojan city is known to me,

and your name, and those of the Greek kings.

Even their enemy granted the Teucrians high praise,

maintaining they were born of the ancient Teucrian stock.

So come, young lords, and enter our palace.

Fortune, pursuing me too, through many similar troubles,

willed that I would find peace at last in this land.

Not being unknown to evil, I've learned to aid the unhappy.'

So she speaks, and leads Aeneas into the royal house,

and proclaims, as well, offerings at the god's temples.

She sends no less than twenty bulls to his friends

on the shore, and a hundred of her largest pigs with

bristling backs, a hundred fat lambs with the ewes,

and joyful gifts of wine, but the interior of the palace

is laid out with royal luxury, and they prepare

a feast in the centre of the palace: covers worked

skilfully in princely purple, massive silverware

on the tables, and her forefathers' heroic deeds

engraved in gold, a long series of exploits traced

through many heroes, since the ancient origins of her people.

Aeneas quickly sends Achates to the ships

to carry the news to Ascanius (since a father's love

won't let his mind rest) and bring him to the city:

on Ascanius all the care of a fond parent is fixed.

He commands him to bring gifts too, snatched

from the ruins of Troy, a figured robe stiff with gold,

and a cloak fringed with yellow acanthus,

worn by Helen of Argos, brought from Mycenae

when she sailed to Troy and her unlawful marriage,

a wonderful gift from her mother Leda:

and the sceptre that Ilione, Priam's eldest daughter,

once carried, and a necklace of pearls, and a double-coronet

of jewels and gold. Achates, hastening to fulfil

these commands, took his way towards the ships.

BkI:657-694 Cupid Impersonates Ascanius

But Venus was planning new wiles and stratagems

in her heart: how Cupid, altered in looks, might arrive

in place of sweet Ascanius, and arouse the passionate queen

by his gifts, and entwine the fire in her bones: truly she fears

the unreliability of this house, and the duplicitous Tyrians:

unyielding Juno angers her, and her worries increase with nightfall.

So she speaks these words to winged Cupid:

'My son, you who alone are my great strength, my power,

a son who scorns mighty Jupiter's Typhoean thunderbolts,

I ask your help, and humbly call on your divine will.

It's known to you how Aeneas, your brother, is driven

over the sea, round all the shores, by bitter Juno's hatred,

and you have often grieved with my grief.

Phoenician Dido holds him there, delaying him with flattery,

and I fear what may come of Juno's hospitality:

at such a critical turn of events she'll not be idle.

So I intend to deceive the queen with guile, and encircle

her with passion, so that no divine will can rescue her,

but she'll be seized, with me, by deep love for Aeneas.

Now listen to my thoughts on how you can achieve this.

Summoned by his dear father, the royal child,

my greatest concern, prepares to go to the Sidonian city,

carrying gifts that survived the sea, and the flames of Troy.

I'll lull him to sleep and hide him in my sacred shrine

on the heights of Cythera or Idalium, so he can know

nothing of my deceptions, or interrupt them mid-way.

For no more than a single night imitate his looks by art,

and, a boy yourself, take on the known face of a boy,

so that when Dido takes you to her breast, joyfully,

amongst the royal feast, and the flowing wine,

when she embraces you, and plants sweet kisses on you,

you'll breathe hidden fire into her, deceive her with your poison.'

Cupid obeys his dear mother's words, sets aside his wings,

and laughingly trips along with Iulus's step.

But Venus pours gentle sleep over Ascanius's limbs,

and warming him in her breast, carries him, with divine power,

to Idalia's high groves, where soft marjoram smothers him

in flowers, and the breath of its sweet shade.

BkI:695-722 Cupid Deceives Dido

Now, obedient to her orders, delighting in Achetes as guide,

Cupid goes off carrying royal gifts for the Tyrians.

When he arrives the queen has already settled herself

in the centre, on her golden couch under royal canopies.

Now our forefather Aeneas and the youth of Troy

gather there, and recline on cloths of purple.

Servants pour water over their hands: serve bread

from baskets: and bring napkins of smooth cloth.

Inside there are fifty female servants, in a long line,

whose task it is to prepare the meal, and tend the hearth fires:

a hundred more, and as many pages of like age,

to load the tables with food, and fill the cups.

And the Tyrians too are gathered in crowds through the festive

halls, summoned to recline on the embroidered couches.

They marvel at Aeneas's gifts, marvel at Iulus,

the god's brilliant appearance, and deceptive words,

at the robe, and the cloak embroidered with yellow acanthus.

The unfortunate Phoenician above all, doomed to future ruin,

cannot pacify her feelings, and catches fire with gazing,

stirred equally by the child and by the gifts.

He, having hung in an embrace round Aeneas's neck,

and sated the deceived father's great love,

seeks out the queen. Dido, clings to him with her eyes

and with her heart, taking him now and then on her lap,

unaware how great a god is entering her, to her sorrow.

But he, remembering his Cyprian mother's wishes,

begins gradually to erase all thought of Sychaeus,

and works at seducing her mind, so long unstirred,

and her heart unused to love, with living passion.

BkI:723-756 Dido Asks for Aeneas's Story

At the first lull in the feasting, the tables were cleared,

and they set out vast bowls, and wreathed the wine with garlands.

Noise filled the palace, and voices rolled out across the wide halls:

bright lamps hung from the golden ceilings,

and blazing candles dispelled the night.

Then the queen asked for a drinking-cup, heavy

with gold and jewels, that Belus and all Belus's line

were accustomed to use, and filled it

with wine. Then the halls were silent. She spoke:

'Jupiter, since they say you're the one who creates

the laws of hospitality, let this be a happy day

for the Tyrians and those from Troy,

and let it be remembered by our children.

Let Bacchus, the joy-bringer, and kind Juno be present,

and you, O Phoenicians, make this gathering festive.'

She spoke and poured an offering of wine onto the table,

and after the libation was the first to touch the bowl to her lips,

then she gave it to Bitias, challenging him: he briskly drained

the brimming cup, drenching himself in its golden fullness,

then other princes drank. Iolas, the long-haired, made

his golden lyre resound, he whom great Atlas taught.

He sang of the wandering moon and the sun's labours,

where men and beasts came from, and rain and fire,

of Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, the two Bears:

why the winter suns rush to dip themselves in the sea,

and what delay makes the slow nights linger.

The Tyrians redoubled their applause, the Trojans too.

And unfortunate Dido, she too spent the night

in conversation, and drank deep of her passion,

asking endlessly about Priam and Hector:

now about the armour that Memnon, son of the Dawn,

came with to Troy, what kind were Diomed's horses,

how great was Achilles. 'But come, my guest, tell us

from the start all the Greek trickery, your men's mishaps,

and your wanderings: since it's the seventh summer now

that brings you here, in your journey, over every land and sea.'

End of Book I

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Translated by A. S. Kline © Copyright 2002 All Rights Reserved This work may be freely reproduced, stored and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. Conditions and Exceptions apply.

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from Moan, Inc.

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THE AENEID By VIRGIL: A Beginner's Guide to the History That Links Ancient Rome to the Trojan War

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from Moan, Inc.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
AENEID BOOK 1: Juno Gets Mad And Wrecks The Ships Of Aeneas On The Coast Of Africa

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The Roman's Epic Poem - The Aeneid (15:09)

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The Roman's Epic Poem - The Aeneid (15:09)

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from our friends at the WHE

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The Roman Epic Poem The Aeneid: Introduction and Summary

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from Overly Sarcastic productions; take it with a grain of salt (fast)

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‎Ad Navseam: A Refugee from Fate: Vergil's Aeneid 1.1-7 (Gvrgle 1) on Apple Podcasts

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In this surprise premier, Jeff and Dave plow new ground with a 15 minute huggable portion, a bite-sized podcast for those on the go. Here's your chance to wolf down some Classics in a short, digestible format. In this episode we take apart the first seven lines of the Vergilian classic. So tuck in your napkin, pull up a chair, take out your fork - nah, forget it. Just shove your whole mouth in the dip and enjoy!

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a refugee from fate: vergil’s aeneid 1.1-7 (gvrgle 1)

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‎Ad Navseam: A Refugee from Fate: Vergil's Aeneid 1.1-7 (Gvrgle 1) on Apple Podcasts

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In this surprise premier, Jeff and Dave plow new ground with a 15 minute huggable portion, a bite-sized podcast for those on the go. Here's your chance to wolf down some Classics in a short, digestible format. In this episode we take apart the first seven lines of the Vergilian classic.

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‎Ad Navseam: Girl Juno it's True: Aeneid I and the Causes of Juno's Wrath (Ad Navseam, Episode 83) on Apple Podcasts

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Ad Nauseam. The Whole Enchilada. Book 1, part 1

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Ad Nauseam. The Whole Enchilada. Book 1, part 1

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Well we have finally arrived at the full-scale treatment of the Aeneid. In this episode we take a close look at the first half of Book 1, the causes of the storm with King Aeolus, Roman pietas, and all that goes into Vergil's brilliant, epic tour de force. What made the gods so angry? Why did Paris choose Venus instead of Juno? What kind of a bribe will lull Aeolus out of his breezy cavern to stir up the placid sea? And what kind of a hero is Aeneas? Is he pale, wan, and uninspiring, or is there some divine purpose lurking beneath? Be sure to tune in for our brand-new, hot-popping sponsor, and make sure your floors are epoxied.

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girl juno it’s true: aeneid i and the causes of juno’s wrath (ad navseam

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Well we have finally arrived at the full-scale treatment of the Aeneid. In this episode we take a close look at the first half of Book 1, the causes of the storm with King Aeolus, Roman pietas, and all that goes into Vergil's brilliant, epic tour de force.

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‎Literature and History: Episode 54: Out of Troy (Virgil's Aeneid, Books 1-3) on Apple Podcasts

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from Literature and History

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Virgil's Aeneid, Books 1-3. The Aeneid is Rome's great epic. Learn the story of its first three books, and when and why Virgil began writing it.
Episode 54 Quiz:
http://literatureandhistory.com/index.php/episode-54-quiz
Episode 54 Transcription:
http://literatureandhistory.com/index.php/episode-054-out-of-troy
Episode 54 Song: "The Epic Cycle Waltz"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcJgKUMS8k8
Bonus Content:
http://literatureandhistory.com/index.php/bonus-content
Patreon:
https://www.patreon.com/literatureandhistory

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episode 54: out of troy (virgil's aeneid

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‎Literature and History: Episode 54: Out of Troy (Virgil's Aeneid, Books 1-3) on Apple Podcasts

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Virgil's Aeneid, Books 1-3. The Aeneid is Rome's great epic. Learn the story of its first three books, and when and why Virgil began writing it. Episode 54 Quiz: http://literatureandhistory.com/index.php/episode-54-quiz Episode 54 Transcription: http://literatureandhistory.com/index.php/episode-054-out-of-troy Episode 54 Song: "The Epic Cycle Waltz" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcJgKUMS8k8 Bonus Content: http://literatureandhistory.com/index.php/bonus-content Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/literatureandhistory