2—
Aeneas
Thus in the case of the Greeks and the Ligurians, Virgil took a single character and
portrayed him as typical of his countrymen. In the case of Aeneas, he did essentially
the same, although with much richer detail, representing him as the typical Roman
as conceived by the Romans themselves – or, more precisely, by the Romans of the
Augustan age and of the Stoic persuasion. This type is well-known in its main
outlines; and to portray him in full detail and to make him comprehensible as a
product of the outlook of the Augustan age would be an important and attractive
undertaking, but would be appropriate to a history of Roman morality, not to an
account of Virgil's artistic technique. Furthermore, it is impossible to see the signi-
ficance of this typical Roman in the context of the work as a whole until we come to
consider Virgil's treatment of the supernatural (below, 239f.), since the most essen-
272 tial aspect of Aeneas' character lies in his relationship to destiny and the gods. At
this point we must concern ourselves with a different but equally important ques-
tion. It is clear that the character of Aeneas varies considerably from one part of the
poem to another. He has so often been held up as an example of the ideal Roman
whom the younger generation should try to emulate; and so, precisely because he is
such a paragon, he has become an abstract concept without flesh and blood. I must
confess that he does not strike me as much of a paragon in the first half of the
poem,[15] and I believe that Virgil would have agreed with me. Certainly, the Aeneas
who rescues the Penates, his father, and his son, who shows in the night battle in
Book 2 that he does not fear death, may be regarded as courageous and devoted to
his family; but that is not everything. A man who has so little presence of mind
when danger breaks out that he rushes blindly into the fighting, driven by furor
[frenzy] and ira [anger] (2.316), without stopping to make sure that his family is
safe; who is so utterly thoughtless during the flight that he even fails to notice that
his wife is no longer with him until all the others are gathered at the meeting-place;
who – let us not forget his encounter with Venus in Book 1 – breaks out in loud
lamentation about his sad lot, and does not have the courage to trust the comforting
assurances of his divine mother until he is convinced by the evidence of his own
eyes; who allows himself to become so ensnared by the delights of love that he quite
forgets his high destiny, and has to be reminded of it by the stern rebukes of Jupiter;
who, finally, allows himself to become so discouraged by the burning of the ships in
Sicily that, even though Jupiter has obviously answered his prayer, his thoughts
revert to the idea of staying there with his good friend Acestes in peace and quiet,
fatorum oblitus [forgetful of his destiny], and he has to be reminded yet again by the
aged Nautes (5.700ff.) where his supreme duty lies; is a man like that, we ask
273 ourselves, really an ideal Roman, a shining example for the younger generation? Did
Virgil really have no understanding of what a hero is made of? And did he really
believe that the image of his hero would remain untarnished if he kept breaking the
commandment which, as he himself consciously acknowledged, ought to have over-
ridden all others – the command to follow the will of the gods with steadfast
devotion? It is true that each time Aeneas is over-hasty, or displays weakness, Virgil
carefully motivates it from the situation; but a different character would have re-
acted differently to such situations. And if Virgil was unaware of how seriously his
hero fell short of the ideal which Virgil himself had outlined, then how is it that his
hero approaches more and more closely to this ideal as the story unfolds, so that by
the last books hero and ideal are one and the same? We might imagine that this
results from the development of the story, and to some extent this may be true; but
the development of the story is insufficient to explain why, for example, Aeneas'
reactions to the injustice of Fate in Book 5 are so very different from his reactions in
Book 12. I cannot persuade myself that one of the greatest artistic ideas of the work
crept into it by mere chance, without Virgil's knowledge or intention; I regard the
change in the hero as Virgil's deliberate and considered design. In that case, we
should not regard Aeneas as an ideal hero, perfect from the very beginning, but as a
man who learns how to become a hero in the school of fate.[16]
During the sack of Troy, Aeneas displays the best side of his character, as far as
patriotism, devotion and courage are concerned; but not, as we have just seen, from
the point of view of judgement and presence of mind; he himself often says that he
has lost his wits when he most needed them; Venus had to restrain him from a
desperate course which would have brought about his own death and with it the
destruction of his people. During the flight, it is Anchises who takes command and
gives the directions which Aeneas is happy to obey, subordinating himself to the
will of his father, which in turn is subject to the will of the gods. We cannot help
274 feeling that the episode at Carthage would never have occurred had Anchises still
been alive. After Anchises' death Aeneas is the leader of the refugees; after this
severe blow, which happens so suddenly, he is fully aware of his obligations, and
cares for his people; not only does he look after their physical welfare, but he also
consoles them and keeps up their morale. He commends them, just as Anchises
would have done, to the will and command of fate (1.205); God will bring their
suffering to an end. But – and this touch is very characteristic indeed of Virgil – in
the depths of his own heart he does not possess this faith in the gods which he is
trying to instil into his people: curis ingentibus aeger s p e m v u l t u s i m u l a t
(208) [he concealed his sorrow deep within him and his face looked confident and
cheerful ]. This becomes quite clear in the conversation with Venus that follows:
instead of trusting in fate and in divine protection, he complains that he, pius Aeneas
[Aeneas the true], who has never failed to obey the commands laid upon him by
fate, has now been cast into this miserable situation – nec plura querentem passa
Venus (385) [but Venus would not listen to more complaints from him]. He hardly
takes any notice of the comfort which she offers him – his faith is really not very
strong; it is not until he sees the pictures on the temple, with their air of compassion,
that 'his fears are allayed, and he dares to hope for life and to feel some confidence
in spite of his distress' (451). Dido receives him; love ensnares him; he is in extreme
danger of 'lying back' fatisque datas non respicit urbis [and taking no thought for
those other cities which are his by destiny], when Jupiter's command abruptly
rouses him from his life of ease and recalls him to his duty (460ff.); heu regni
rerumque oblite tuarum (4.267) ['For shame! you forget your destiny and that other
kingdom which is to be yours'] exclaims Mercury, rebuking him; and this time, on
Jupiter's orders, he appeals, not to Aeneas' desire to achieve fame and glory, but to
his duty as a father to Ascanius – his speech could hardly be more severe. But at
least his rebuke has results: Aeneas suppresses his personal feelings and his heart's
desire, remains deaf to all entreaties and lamentations, and guiltily abandons the
275 woman he loves, driving her to her death by his faithlessness.[17] We might expect
that by now it would be impossible for Aeneas to neglect the fulfilment of the task
for which he has made such a great sacrifice; but he has still not achieved the
unwavering trust in fate and the gods that befits a man chosen by the gods. The
prayer in which he appeals to Jupiter when his ships are on fire does not display an
unswerving faith (5.691); and even though Jupiter responds to it, Aeneas gives way
to faint-hearted doubt: the aged Nautes has to assume Anchises' rôle and offer him
advice and – this is another characteristic touch – in doing so, he uses exactly the
same words of comfort and encouragement as those that Aeneas had previously used
to address his companions: quo fata trahunt retrahuntque sequamur ; quidquid erit ,
superanda omnis fortuna ferendo est (709) [we should accept the lead which destiny
offers us, whether to go forward or no, and choose our way accordingly. Whatever is
to befall, it is always our own power of endurance which must give us control over
our future]. This advice makes a deep impression on Aeneas ( incensus dictis sen -
ioris amici [719] [the advice from his older friend set his thoughts on fire]), though
it fails to give him total confidence; he only achieves that after Anchises' ghost has
appeared, and after the events that follow: the poet wished to mark a turning point in
this scene:[18] indeed, a turning point in Aeneas' destiny: Anchises proclaims to his
son that Jupiter caelo tandem miseratus ab alto est [from high heaven has had
compassion on you at last] and tandem [at last], which refers back to the vocative
nate Iliacis exercite fatis [son, disciplined by the heavy burden of Troy's destiny]
shows that this does not merely apply to the extinguishing of the fire aboard the
ships but must refer to his destiny as a whole. Anchises then endorses Nautes'
advice, and adds that Aeneas is to seek him out in the Underworld: tum genus omne
tuum et quae dentur moenia disces [you shall learn then all your future descendants
and what manner of walled city is granted to you]. This has an immediate effect on
Aeneas: all at once he appears confident and assured: extemplo socios primumque
arcessit Acesten et Iovis imperium et cari praecepta parentis edocet et quae nunc
animo sententia constet [then, immediately, he summoned his comrades, Acestes
first. He expounded to them Jupiter's command, his dear father's instructions, and
the decision which he had reached in his own mind]. However, what shows more
than anything else that Aeneas has undergone a spiritual transformation and gained a
new strength of character, is his speech after the prophecy of the Sibyl. She has
prophesied that he must endure still greater sufferings than those that he has already
undergone, but instead of complaining and fainting he says with pride non ulla
laborum , o virgo , nova mi facies inopinave surgit ; omnia praecepi atque animo
mecum ante peregi (6.103) ['Maid, no aspect of tribulation which is new to me or
unforeseen can rise before me, for I have traced my way through all that may
happen in the anticipation of my inward thought']. The Stoic Seneca thought that
276 this summed up the attitude of the wise man when threatened by the onslaughts of
fate (Epist . 76.33).[19] The procession of heroes in Book 6, however, is intended to
strengthen this mood – indeed, this is its main function in the general scheme of the
work as a whole: Anchises says that he has long desired to show his son the future of
his family, quo magis Italia mecum laetere reperta (718) [that you might rejoice
with me the more in having found Italy]; he wants to tell him of the fame of his
descendants (757), and when he has reached Augustus, the most famous of them all,
he utters the words which can only be understood in terms of what we may call the
protreptic purpose of the whole passage, and which at the same time, when rightly
understood, pay a more profound homage to Augustus than could be conveyed by
any other method of praise (806):
et d u b i t a m u s adhuc virtutem extendere factis ,
aut metus Ausonia prohibet consistere terra?
[can we now hesitate to assert our valour by our deeds? Can any fear now prevent us
from taking our stand on Italy's soil?].
In the dangers that follow, Aeneas must show that he can convert his newly-won
confidence into action. This does not mean that he recklessly rushes towards his
goal, cheerfully trusting in the gods to preserve him from every danger, Virgil holds
back his climax until the very end. When threatened by war, we see Aeneas, not
plunged into doubt and despair, but worried and thoughtful,[20] as befits a leader, and
when the embassy to Evander has not achieved the result that Aeneas had hoped for,
and a new uncertainty has arisen, Aeneas sinks again into deep thought. But there
are great differences between this scene and similar situations earlier in the poem:
first, Aeneas no longer needs any human advice and encouragement (as he had done
from Nautes in Book 5), and secondly, he accepts with joy and absolute confidence
both the message that he receives from Tiberinus in a dream, and the sign that Venus
gives him in the heavens. We have only to compare his words at 8.532ff. with his
reaction to the appearance of Venus in human form in Book 1. The words with
277 which he introduces himself to Evander (8.131) are also full of his newly-found
confidence: mea me virtus et sancta oracula divum . . . coniunxere tibi et fatis egere
volentem [my own valour and holy oracles from gods, . . . have joined me to you and
brought me here in willing obedience to my destiny].
It is clear that he has now reached the point where he is being led by his fate
instead of being dragged along by it. But it is not until the battle itself that the hero
shows that he has achieved a height of heroism from which he will not descend
again. In the story, this is shown by the way that divine intervention and support
retreat into the background: Jupiter knows that he can leave Aeneas to his own
resources, to his animus ferox patiensque pericli (10.610) [his own proud spirit,
dauntless in peril]. In his new mood he can still feel deep sorrow at the death of
Pallas, but this does not deflect him from his duty for one moment (11.96); he goes
forth to his duel with Turnus, which he believes he has succeeded in arranging at
last, with total confidence in the fates, and instils the same confidence into his men
(12.110); and when the agreement is broken through treachery and he himself is
wounded and has to keep away from the battle-field, and the enemy has gained the
upper hand, he does not waver for a moment: he gives orders that the arrow is to be
cut out of his wound with a sword, so that he may return to the fight (389). As he
does so, he says farewell to Ascanius, in words which display an unsullied peaceful-
ness of spirit, such as befits the wise man: he renounces the favours of fortune, he is
conscious of his own worth, and he has no doubt whatever that he will succeed in
the end; hence he can present himself as an exemplum to his son.[21]
If we ask what gave Virgil the idea of portraying the development of a character
in this way, it will not be of much use to look among the poets for precedents. Not
that development of character was totally unknown in ancient poetry; what other
278 term can one use to describe the mental processes which the heroines and the
audience experience in Euripides' Medea and Hecuba , to say nothing of the greater
changes in character found in comedy (and perhaps their Roman adapters are guilty
of making them even greater)?[22] But in drama we are presented with the develop-
ment of individual characters, and in the case of tragedy it is quite clear that the
poet's problem was to make a specific and exceptional deed credible. Virgil's
problem is different. He did not envisage his task as one of analysing a particular
psychological case, and his aim was not to characterize Aeneas as an individual by
describing every slight deviation from the straight and narrow, so as to differentiate
him from other heroic figures in myth; for it cannot possibly have been part of his
plan to depict the man chosen by Providence to achieve great things as a fundamen-
tally despondent and weak character. Rather, just as Aeneas the fully developed
hero is a model of the Stoic 'wise man', so Aeneas the developing hero is a perfect
example of what the Stoics termed the
wisdom and virtue.[23] Even the man chosen by the gods does not attain the highest
level of morality in a single stride. Total control of the emotions, and the ability to
remain as steadfast as a rock before the capricious onslaughts of fortune, is some-
279 thing that is achieved as the result of a grim struggle, a struggle in which a man will
of course sometimes relapse into his former condition of weakness and 'foolish-
ness', and one which none may win without the help of the gods.[24] The
philosophical doctrines concerning the divinity of the world and of the human soul,
and concerning the true goal
prepared the ground for a moral regeneration; the clear, unshakeable insight into the
nature of things which is revealed to Aeneas in the Underworld is the result of these
doctrines. This insight is something that must be preserved throughout all the
troubles of life: that is why even Aeneas does not have his crown offered to him on a
plate by Fortune, but has to prove himself worthy of it by winning it from his
enemies in a fair and square battle.[25]
That Virgil has taken the risk of using his portrait of Aeneas to embody the
typical fate of a human soul as it struggles towards its goal – just as his portrayal of
Jupiter embodies the rule of divine providence as taught by the Stoics – is certainly a
matter of great importance; but it must be clear by now that we cannot speak of
individual personal characterization in this context. And what is true of Aeneas is
just as true of the other characters in the work. Not a single person is depicted with a
unique set of characteristics as a man who once walked on this earth, once and once
only; nor is any of them drawn from real life. On the contrary, Virgil depicts
character by starting from an ideal, and one person is distinguished from another by
280 the degree to which he has progressed towards this ideal; he is characterized not by
the qualities which he possesses, but by those which he lacks.