I—
The Wooden Horse
1—
Sources
Troy had been besieged by the Greeks for ten long years, to no avail. Finally they
hid in a wooden horse, which the Trojans themselves pulled into their city. In the
night, the soldiers left their hiding-place and overwhelmed the sleeping Trojans . . . .
This ancient story must have given rise to adverse comment at a very early date:
how could the Trojans be so unsuspecting and foolish as to pull the agent of their
own destruction into the city? Some have believed it possible to trace the stages by
which these criticisms resulted in increasingly elaborate versions of the story; how-
ever, it can be no more than a purely hypothetical exercise to arrange the versions
according to this principle since most of the surviving versions cannot be securely
dated. According to the narrative in the Odyssey (8.502ff.), which Proclus tells us
corresponds with Arctinus' Sack of Troy , and which also forms the basis of the
version in Apollodorus, the horse is pulled to the acropolis without a moment's
thought: it is only then that they wonder what to do with it, and decide – according
to Proclus – to dedicate it to Athena. Sinon is not mentioned in the Odyssey , and in
the mythographers he is only the man who is assigned the task of giving the
fire-signal to the Greek ships. In fact, in Apollodorus' version he does this from
Achilles' tomb, in Proclus' from the city itself. Sinon must have known not only that
the horse was in the city, but also that the Trojans were asleep. To discover this he
must have crept in using some kind of disguise.[3] We learn from the Tabula Iliaca
that he had a more important rôle in the Little Iliad : he enters the city walking in
front of the horse; from the later versions of the story we may draw the conclusion
that he persuaded the Trojans to accept the treacherous votive offering. It is clear that
in this version the Trojans' suspicions were aroused from the start, then lulled by the
Greeks' falsehood and deceit; the Little Iliad gives an explanation of the actions taken
by the Trojans, and their gullibility is contrasted with the cunning of their enemies.
Sophocles may have written a play about Sinon, and Aristotle certainly lists Sinon as
one of the subjects for tragedy drawn from the Little Iliad , and it is reasonable to
suppose that Sinon's deception of the Trojans in fact formed the nucleus of this play.
But later even this motivation seems to have been regarded as no longer sufficient. It
8 may well have seemed strange, judging ancient legends by the standards of their own
time, that a common cheat was able to delude wise Priam and his wise elders. Some
Hellenistic writer will then have taken the step of introducing the legend of Laocoon,
and presenting it in a bold new version as the definitive explanation of how the
Trojans had been deceived. It is true that it had already been associated with the fall
of Troy, but not with the story of the horse. Laocoon is the embodiment of their
justifiable mistrust. When the gods send the serpents to kill his sons, the Trojans take
this to be divine confirmation of Sinon's words, and this is enough to make their
decision quite comprehensible to any reader who believed in divine signs. This last,
most elaborate form of the legend has also left traces in the accounts in the mytho-
graphers.[4] Quintus of Smyrna took it over wholesale, though in a form superficially
contaminated with another version; his source was probably some mythographic
work.[5]
Virgil must have had no hesitation in choosing this final version of the tradition.
Not only was it the richest and artistically most rewarding, it was also the version in
which the behaviour of the Trojans was shown in the most favourable light.
2—
Sinon
Let us look at the Sinon scene, leaving aside for a moment its connection with the
Laocoon scenes. We know from Tryphiodorus that Virgil's poem was not the first in
which Sinon spoke to Priam himself and Priam listened graciously and even asked
him to explain the significance of the gigantic horse. Moreover we learn from
Quintus that Sinon's lie, that it was to be dedicated to the gods so as to ensure a safe
voyage back to Greece, was not Virgil's invention either. Much of the manner in
which this material is narrated also stems from Virgil's source. Quintus seems to
have had only a bare outline before him. The whole construction betrays its late date
by the way that it is pieced together from motifs that were already well known.
Sinon plays the rôle that Odysseus himself plays in Euripides' Philoctetes . In order
9 to win the confidence of Philoctetes, who was suffering from a mortal wound on
account of the behaviour of the Greeks, and above all of Odysseus himself, Odys-
seus pretended that he himself was a Greek who had been maltreated by his own
people and exiled as a result of the machinations of Odysseus:[6] so in Euripides the
deceiver blames himself, and this motif seems to have been invented for this con-
text. But in both passages it is the unjust condemnation of Palamedes that is said to
have led to the misfortune of the liar, who claims to have been a friend of the dead
Palamedes; and it has therefore been suggested that the echo of Euripides' lines can
be heard in Virgil's.[7] But Virgil was not the first to make use of the device derived
from Euripides. This can be seen from the fact that Quintus' version agrees in its
main outlines with Virgil, suggesting that they had an earlier common source.
Furthermore, Calchas' proposal, based on his interpretation of divine will, that
Sinon should be sacrificed to ensure a safe journey home is, as Virgil himself
reminds us (116f.), modelled on the sacrifice of Iphigenia; we will, of course, also
recall Achilles' threat (Quintus 14.216) that he will send a storm to prevent the
Greeks leaving unless Polyxena is sacrificed to him: Calchas was also involved in
the sacrifice of Polyxena. On the other hand, we may consider that the rhetorical
working-out of the
ian. Sinon's deception surely started life as a stratagem worthy of Odysseus himself,
brilliantly revealing the superiority of the versatile Greek over the barbarian Priam.
Now, in Virgil's hands, this famous exploit becomes a scandalous piece of behaviour, a
despicable lie, corroborated by a false oath (154ff.; periurus [195] [perjured]), com-
pounded by the abuse of a most noble trustfulness, helpfulness, sympathy, piety and
hospitality, and designed to destroy those who practise such virtues. It is only
because the Trojans themselves are so totally incapable of deviousness, indeed
ignorant of it (186), that they do not even expect to meet it in an enemy. But Sinon is
10 not the only crafty one: Aeneas now suddenly realizes that Sinon is only a typical
representative of the general depravity of the Danai: crimine ab uno disce omnis
(65) [from this one proof of their perfidy you may understand them all], scelerum
tantorum artisque Pelasgae (106) [to what length of wickedness Greek cunning
could go], dolis instructus et arte Pelasga (152) [adept in deceit, and with all the
cunning of a Greek]. This is the voice of Virgil the Roman; the conventional Roman
ideal is the upright, sincere man of honour, incapable of any deviousness, who
therefore easily falls victim to the deviousness of a foreigner. An excellent parallel with
this Trojano-Roman view of Sinon's deception is provided by the patriotic view of the
disaster at Cannae, as it appears in Valerius Maximus[8] (7.4 ext 2): according to Vale-
rius, before the battle 400 Carthaginians claiming to be deserters were welcomed by the
Romans and then proceeded to draw their swords, which they had concealed, and to
attack the army in the rear. The narrator concludes: haec fuit Punica fortitudo , dolis et
insidiis et fallacia instructa . quae nunc certissima circumventae virtutis nostrae
excusatio est , quoniam decepti magis quam victi sumus [this was the bravery of the
Carthaginians, full of tricks and snares and deception: this is the most convincing excuse
for the eclipse of our brave soldiers, since we were cheated rather than beaten].[9] So in
fact it is to the credit of the Trojans to have been defenceless against the wiles of Sinon,
that typical representative of his loquacious, cunning, perfidious race,[10]
11 quos neque Tydides nec Larisaeus Achilles,
non anni domuere decem , non mille carinae .
[men whom neither Tydeus' son nor Larissaean Achilles could subdue, for all their
ten years of war and a thousand keels.] The reader's sympathy is mixed with
admiration; the admiration which Sinon's artfulness might have aroused in him is
swamped by indignation.
The more sophisticated Sinon's lying becomes, the more powerfully this effect is
achieved. Virgil has done his utmost here. His main concern was to arrange his
material so as to be convincing both artistically and in its content. Sinon's speech
taken as a whole falls into three almost equal sections: the first narrates the events
leading up to the proposal to kill him, the second the proposal itself and his flight,
and the third reveals the secret of the votive offering. Corresponding with this, again
in a truly Virgilian way, is an intensification of the emotions on the Trojan side.
Sinon's introductory remarks had aroused their curiosity – he seems not to be a
Greek – and they no longer feel any hostility towards him. The first part of his
narrative with the reference to the prophet Calchas towards the end, awakens their
burning curiosity; the second, pity; when it comes to the third part, they are no
longer thinking of Sinon – it is a question of saving Troy ( servataque serves Troia
fidem [160]) [if Troy is preserved, may she honour her word]. Thus before our very
eyes the arrogant lack of concern initially shown by the Trojans gradually changes
to deep sympathy and earnest foreboding. I will not discuss the individual artful
devices employed by Sinon since most of them were pointed out long ago by the
ancient interpreters,[11] but will restrict myself to pointing out how in the course of the
speech Sinon reveals himself, gradually and apparently quite unintentionally, as char-
acterized by a whole range of the very noblest qualities, as well as caught up in
circumstances that call for deep compassion: steadfastness in misfortune and
unshakeable honesty (80), poverty (87), loyalty towards his friend (93), suffering and
humiliation on his friend's account (92), an inability to cheat or deceive (94), revul-
sion against the war (110) which he had not become involved in of his own accord
(87), isolation amongst his fellow Greeks (130), pietas (137) [a sense of duty] to-
wards his home-country, his children and his father, religio (141) [reverence towards
12 the gods]: he even seems to feel that he has somehow wronged the gods by escaping
sacrifice ( fateor [134] [I admit]). In spite of all the injustice he has suffered, he does
not scorn his compatriots, the impius Tydides [sacrilegious son of Tydeus] and the
scelerum inventor Ulixes [Ulysses, quick to invent new crimes], until he has gone
over to the Trojan side and has solemnly dissociated himself from the Greeks, at
which point he expresses pious revulsion from the wicked behaviour of these two.
Only then does he wish for the destruction of those who intended to do him such
mortal injury[12] (190). It is clear that all these devices arouse sympathy for Sinon, and
strengthen the inclination of the Trojans to believe his story. This plausibility
which answers any sceptical questions before they are asked, and by the abundance of
details which seem to well up from Sinon's excited memory, allaying any suspicion that
it might all be a fiction.[13] In short, Virgil has aimed not merely at rivalling Homer in the
art praised by Aristotle ( Poet . 24), that of making one's heroes tell lies, but at outdoing
him.
The inevitable consequence is that Sinon succeeds totally in convincing the
Trojans. For all these skilful devices would be valueless if they did not achieve the
fundamental and indeed the only aim of the speech, to convince the audience. It is
essential that not even a shred of doubt should remain. That would mean that Sinon
had made a poor speech. And so – talibus insidiis periurique arte Sinonis credita res
[we gave Sinon our trust, tricked by his blasphemy and cunning]. How does this
connect with the function which Laocoon had to fulfil in the version of the story
outlined above?
3—
Laocoon
A crowd of Trojans are standing around the wooden horse and arguing about what
to do with it when Laocoon makes his first appearance:
Primus ibi ante omnis magna comitante caterva
Laocoon ardens summa decurrit ab arce .
[but there, in front of all, came Laocoon, hastening furiously down from the citadel
13 with a large company in attendance.]
In highly emotional language he warns them of the cunning of the Greeks and
flings a lance at the horse's belly, which resounds with a roar. Apollodorus tells us
that Laocoon warned the Trojans, but, except for Virgil, only Tzetzes ( Posthom .
713) says that he reinforced his words by hurling his spear. Since that is the only
detail for which it would be necessary to assume that Virgil was Tzetzes' source, it
is more likely that this too is derived from an earlier tradition.
The way in which Laocoon is introduced has been judged to be so ill-adapted to
the context[14] that some have concluded that in lines 35-56 Virgil originally had in
mind the earlier version in which it was only after the horse had been pulled into the
citadel that Laocoon gave his advice; and that he later incorporated these lines into
the new version, with some slight changes, which were not sufficient to obliterate
their original character. The same problem arises with the second Laocoon scene: it
has been argued that it presupposes the version of the story in which Laocoon was
killed by the snakes during the joyful sacrifices in the city not as a punishment but as
an omen sent by friendly gods in order to warn the Trojans. I am not convinced by
any of the criticisms that have been made of the present position of the lines. Quite
apart from practical considerations, it is the dramatic character of Virgil's narrative
that is responsible for the way in which Laocoon is not envisaged as one of the
group arguing around the horse, but is brought on purely to give a warning, and this
is a technique which we shall notice again and again. Imagine the scene on the stage.
First Thymoetes, then Capys would make his proposal; some of the citizens would
support one, some the other. During the confusion Laocoon would come rushing
onto the stage, just as he does in Virgil. This is the only way to give an audience the
impression that he is not just another character with something to say, but that
something with important consequences is happening. And – still in terms of our
imaginary stage production – Laocoon would already have been briefed about what
had been going on. A dramatist scrupulous about motivation would perhaps have
sent one of those quorum melior sententia menti [who judged more wisely] to fetch
14 him, to help his group to win the argument. But in fact an audience would hardly
notice if a motivation of this kind were omitted. The dramatist could make Laocoon
enter without saying where he had come from. Virgil says not simply accurrit
[rushes to them], but summa decurrit ab arce [rushes down from the citadel]. In
other words, he had remained in the city. Some have believed that this contradicts
the earlier description panduntur portae : iuvat ire etc. (26ff.) [we flung the gates
open, and we enjoyed going etc.]. But did Virgil give us his word that every Trojan,
man, woman, child and mouse, had come out of the city? And even if he did say
omnes [all], he could have left Laocoon in the city. He also says nos abiisse rati
. . . ergo omnis longo solvit se Teucria luctu [we thought they (i.e. the Greeks) had
sailed . . . so all the land of Troy relaxed after its years of unhappiness]. But after-
wards we hear that Laocoon does not believe that the enemy has sailed away
(creditis avectos hostis? [Do you really believe that your enemies have sailed
away?] he asks), that is, his anxiety is by no means totally allayed. Even the most
recent and most acute commentators have not criticized the poet for any contradic-
tion here; it would have been very pedantic to do so; in that case, they ought not to
have objected to the other apparent difficulty that we have mentioned. Laocoon
takes no part in the general rejoicing; he has his suspicions about the apparent retreat
of the enemy; so it is quite reasonable that he would not be amongst the inquisitive
crowds that come swarming out exultantly onto the plain that the Greeks have left
empty. The poet tells us that Laocoon was not there with incomparable brevity:
summa ab arce [from the height of the citadel]. But why summa [height]? We
should translate 'coming down from the citadel on high',[15] where summa perhaps is
intended only to indicate the long distance that Laocoon had to cover, and together
with ardens , primus ante omnis , d e c u r r i t , and procul [furious in front of all,
hastening down, far off] add to the effect of violent excitement. But perhaps the real
reason why the poet had the idea of making Laocoon run down was because from
the heights of the citadel, unde omnis Troia videri[16] et Danaum solitae navis et
Achaica castra (461) [whence we used to look out over all Troy and see the Greek
camp and fleet], he could have seen the excited crowds around the horse – he might
also have looked across the sea to discover whether any suspicious sail was visible.
But even so, how would Aeneas have known of it? Let us merely note that Virgil
15 allows Aeneas to say something that, strictly speaking, he could not have known at
the time and could hardly have discovered later. We shall find other places where
Virgil does not stay scrupulously within the confines of the first-person narrative.
When Laocoon is introduced in the older tradition, he is said to be a priest of
Apollo; Virgil, however, does not characterize him in any such way. This omission
is deliberate (Virgil names his own priest of Apollo, Panthus [319]), since the divine
protector who guards Troy so faithfully cannot abandon his priest to such a grue-
some death. So Laocoon is simply an aristocrat, like Thymoetes or Capys. We
gather immediately from magna comitante caterva [with a large company in attend-
ance] that he does not belong to the vulgus [ordinary people]: he is not accompanied
by a random crowd of Trojans who, like him, happen to have remained in the city,
but with a group of his comites [attendants];[17] driven by burning impatience, he has
rushed on ahead of them. The rumbling echo from the horse's armoured load is not
heard by the Trojans, whom the gods have stupefied (54); we are not told anything
else about the effect produced by Laocoon's appearance. This is quite natural be-
cause – again in a very dramatic way – immediately after or even during his speech
(ecce . . . interea [57] [suddenly . . . meanwhile]), the Trojans' attention is diverted.
Sinon is dragged on, and at this point a captured Greek is understandably more
interesting than anything else.
Virgil is not quite as successful in the second Laocoon scene as in the first in
overcoming the technical difficulties that arise from his method of composition.
Sinon has finished his speech. As at the first break in the narrative (54), Aeneas, the
narrator, interposes a few words from his own point of view (195ff.). The Trojans
are convinced, and that seals their fate. It only remains for them to act on their
conviction, to come to a decision and carry it out. Then something new, unexpected
and ghastly happens: the serpents come across the sea, and Laocoon and his sons
suffer a most excruciating death. And now, under the impression that this is an act of
16 divine judgement, the decision is indeed made without further ado, and executed
without the slightest hesitation.[18] The most recent critics are certainly right to say
that, from a logical point of view, no further motivation was necessary. Once the
Trojans had been convinced by Sinon, then they were bound to proceed to their
decision and its execution, though perhaps not with so much haste and with such
unanimous enthusiasm – that is, provided that nothing else happened to make them
reconsider. But we have already seen that Virgil could not follow his source here,
and we have also seen why. His source (as we may deduce from Quintus) had used
Laocoon's death in order to dispel any reservations that the Trojans may still have
had after Sinon's speech. Why did Virgil not omit Laocoon's death completely? In
the first place, it would in that case have been necessary to omit the first appearance
of Laocoon as well, and the whole scene centred on the wooden horse would have
lost much of its dramatic impetus. But this technical problem is not the most
important point. Laocoon's death would only be superfluous to the narrative if it
were a second motivation that came from the same sphere as the first. But beside
mortal deception, and at a higher level, comes the sign from the gods. And I would
even say that if Virgil had not found this episode in the tradition, it would have been
necessary for him to have invented a similar motive. For in the whole of the Aeneid ,
no great event ever occurs without Virgil reminding us that it is the will and work of
the gods. And this is the greatest event of all, the act which brings about the
destruction of Troy; is it to be the sole exception? Whenever Aeneas does anything
for the salvation of his people, and for the Rome of the future, the poet piously gives
the glory for it to the gods of Rome. The great men of this world are merely their
tools. But the gods are also responsible for disaster: it is they who send storms and
destruction upon ships, and enemies and death upon armies; it is they, not the Greek
forces, who destroy Troy; therefore they too must have been responsible for allow-
ing the fatal horse to enter the city. That is taken for granted by Virgil and by anyone
who is in sympathy with his thought. And indeed there is also another reason to
believe in the power of the gods: it is the only way to silence the reproach that the
Trojans were stupid. Laccoon's death thus also serves the special viewpoint which,
17 as I have explained above, Virgil had to keep in mind throughout his narration of the
Sack of Troy.[19] And he achieves his aim for every impartial reader; everyone
realizes that the Trojans are overcome by a higher power which no mortal could
understand, for what good would it have done them if they had remained uncon-
vinced by Sinon's lies? Now, in the light of this divine judgement they hesitate no
longer.
I now wish to refer briefly to the purely artistic advantage which Virgil gained by
introducing the Laocoon scene; it is something quite distinct from the pathetic
nature of the scene itself, and was not consciously sought after by the poet. I referred
above to the very gradual intensification of the mood of the Trojans, and the skilful
way in which it is represented. One must imagine them as being deeply impressed
by Sinon's final words. It is only after the intervention of the terrifying and
astonishing omen that the crowd is seized with enthusiasm: those whom we should
imagine as having listened in silence up to this point, now eagerly set to work,
everyone is busy, festive hymns fill the air. Thus begins the ecstatic festival of joy
which is to lead Troy to destruction. In every drama, and in narrative too, it is much
more effective when a significant change is brought about by a sudden violent
action rather than by a gradual development.[20] It would have been extemely diffi-
cult, in my view, to create the artistically necessary shock of excitement from
Sinon's long-drawn-out narrative.
Enough on the justification for the whole scene. The motivation of details, for
example, the transition, is, however, open to criticism. We are told that Laocoon is
performing a sacrifice on the shore, mactabat [was sacrificing]. We have to assume
that this is already taking place during Sinon's speech. But how could Laocoon have
18 left before a decision had been reached about the fate of the horse? Had he, too,
been convinced by Sinon? That is hardly credible, in view of the evidence we have
already had of his farsightedness. And why should he be making a solemn sacrifice
to Neptune before the horse had been pulled into the city – for that would appear to
be the most urgent task? Admittedly, the sacrifice to Neptune seems to have been
given a motivation in Virgil's source, or in his own mind, and this may lead to an
answer to our other questions. There can only be one reason for sacrificing to
Neptune at this point, to implore him to destroy the Greek fleet, which is now in his
power. Here it seems to me that there is an undeniable point of contact with an
incident invented by Euphorion. According to Servius ad loc ., Euphorion related
that, before the beginning of the war, the Trojans had stoned their priest of Neptune
to death because he had not performed any sacrifice or made any vow to the god to
prevent the Greek expedition from crossing the Aegean to Troy. Now, the sanctuary
of the gods was on the shore; during the war the cult had therefore lapsed[21] and there
had been no need to replace the priest. I suggest that this explains Virgil's remark-
able phrase ductus Neptuno sorte sacerdos [chosen by lot to be a priest of
Neptune].[22] There was no time to lose if they were not to miss the opportunity to do
19 what they had failed to do at the beginning of the war. The enemy ships might
already have completed the greater part of their short journey. Therefore – I am
following the idea through in order to show that it entails nothing implausible –
while Sinon was still telling his tale, Laocoon could have heard that the preparations
for the sacrifice were complete. Chosen by lot to offer the sacrifice, he goes to
perform his sacred duty, accompanied by his two sons.
No doubt you will ask in astonishment, 'Are we supposed to "understand" all
this? Why does the poet say nothing about all this? Why is he satisfied with a brief
allusion?' In my opinion, Virgil has not completely overcome the technical difficul-
ties at this point. He could not allow Sinon's narrative to be interrupted with the
apparently unimportant news that Laocoon had left; nor could he allow time to
elapse after the end of the speech so that Laocoon could start the preparations for the
sacrifice; nor, finally, could he weigh down the account of the appalling death of
Laocoon with details that might well interest a conscientious critic who was scruti-
nizing the text from a logical point of view – for details of this kind would have
interrupted the process of transporting the excited listener, involved heart and soul,
to the scene at the point where everything is aimed at putting him into the frame of
mind of the Trojans as they are carried from one astonishing event to another. So
Virgil sacrificed absolutely correct motivation, and said only exactly as much as was
necessary to allow the reader to gather what must have happened. He was relying on
the fact that his reader, overcome by the pathos of the situation, would not painstak-
ingly smooth out every fold of the story to see whether he could find any holes in it;
in my view, the successful effect that he achieves proves once again that his instincts
were right.
Virgil finds himself in all these difficulties only because he has separated the first
Laocoon scene from the second. Why did he not do what Quintus does, and have
Laocoon making his first appearance after the Sinon scene, so that his punishment
follows immediately after? That would have made everything run smoothly, and
there would be no problem about a transition. Nor would there be any difficulty
from the point of view of the narrative; on the contrary, it is surely more natural for
the punishment to come immediately after the crime, than for the serpents to wait
until the precise moment that Sinon completes his lengthy speech. So Virgil must
have been led to remodel the scene by considerations of a formal or artistic nature,
20 and these can be easily reconstructed. First, the effect of Sinon's speech would have
been weakened if Laocoon had expressed his doubts after it and it would inevitably
have thrown the Trojans back into a state of indecision; whereas with the introduc-
tion of the Laocoon scene, the impression made by Sinon's speech is greatly
enhanced. Secondly, the first Laocoon scene forms the artistic motivation for the
entry of Sinon, because it has the greatest effect at this point: he appears at the very
moment at which Laocoon's advice and action are on the point of exposing the
cunning Greek ruse. At the height of the action the counter-action supervenes: that is
characteristic of the structure of Virgil's narrative.
Quintus, writing a straightforward narrative, is able to say that Athena sent the
serpents: the Muse has revealed it to the poet. In Virgil, Aeneas narrates as an
eye-witness; we have to be told how he and his fellow-Trojans discovered who sent
the punishment. Of course, there could be no doubt in anyone's mind in antiquity
that it was a manifestation of divine anger; but Virgil wanted to indicate that it was
specifically Athena who was responsible, and that the injury to her votive offering
had injured her. He had come across a tradition in which the serpents, having
accomplished their deed, disappeared into the sanctuary of Apollo,[23] and he trans-
ferred it to the temple and statue of Athena:
delubra ad summa dracones
diffugiunt saevaeque petunt Tritonidis arcem
sub pedibusque deae clipeique sub orbe teguntur. (225-7)
[the pair of serpents now made their retreat, sliding up to the temple of heartless
Minerva high on her citadel, where they vanished near her statue's feet behind the
circle of her shield]. Although Aeneas narrates this, he does not do so as a direct
witness. The Trojans on the plain could not see into the citadel, and it would be
ridiculous to imagine that they ran along beside the serpents. They could only have
seen what direction they took and, at most, have learnt from others afterwards where
they had hidden. Virgil will hardly have thought all this through in detail in his
mind, but this is another passage where he has not felt restricted by every implica-
tion of the first-person narrative, for two reasons: not to burden the narrative with
wearisome diffuseness, and not to be obliged to lose the benefit of a motif which is
so important for the story.
21
4—
The Horse enters Troy
In the description that follows, I single out Virgil's brevity for comment: he does not
describe the journey to the city (Tryph. 304-35), nor does he give more than the bare
fact of Cassandra's unheeded warning (Tryph. 358-445, Quintus 525-85), and this is
simply to produce an effective contrast with the activity of the unheeding Trojans; it
is clear that he avoids writing episodes just for the sake of it. Instead, he lingers over
the moment at which the horse crosses the encircling wall: this fateful moment
deserves emphatic treatment. This is not (as in Quintus and Tryphiodorus) followed
by a detailed description of the joyful festivities, the music, dancing and general
intoxication;[24] the narrator could not recall these hours without shame and remorse,
nor could his audience hear about this infatuated celebration without feeling con-
tempt and pity. Instead of a description we have only the lines:
nos delubra deum miseri , quibus ultimus esset
ille dies , festa velamus fronde per urbem , (248-9)
[ . . . we, poor fools, spent this our last day decorating with festal greenery every
temple in our town], two lines which are certainly calculated, but in which the art of
calculation comes close to genius.