5—
Poetic Re-shaping
When Virgil selected material from the tradition and arranged it to accord with the
dominant theme of his new scheme, he always started with the bare bones of the
action. For all the rest, for the clothing of these bones with the flesh of living poetry,
he had to rely on free invention. But his free invention is not a matter of new
creation, it is a reshaping of existing motifs, working in features borrowed from
other legends. He used three cycles of legends: the various versions of the tale of the
destruction of Troy; the Odyssey ; and the voyage of the Argonauts.
105 The legend of Polydorus comes immediately after the sack of Troy. Virgil used it
in a highly original way, to motivate the Trojans' abandonment of their first attempt
to found a city in Thrace. The spears which the treacherous Thracians rained down
upon Polydorus grew roots and now cover his burial-mound with a thicket of myrtle
and cornel cherry. When Aeneas tears a young tree out of the earth, blood flows
from the roots; this happens again when he tries a second time; at the third attempt
Aeneas hears from the grave the pitiful groan of the dead man and learns for the first
time that he had been murdered. For the account of Polydorus' fate which Aeneas
proceeds to give, Virgil seems in all probability to have used Euripides' Hecuba ;[28]
but his version of the way in which Polydorus was killed, and the fate of his corpse,
is completely different from that of Euripides. The ancient commentators were not
able to identify any source for Virgil here.[29] Servius felt that it was necessary to
defend Virgil against the charge of having invented an implausible falsehood by
reminding us of the cornel cherry which had grown out of Romulus' spearshaft on
the Palatine, but it is a far cry from that story to Virgil's invention. I prefer to believe
that Virgil transferred to Polydorus something which he found in a narrative about
someone else.[30] Given the nature of the relationship between Polydorus and Poly-
mestor, it is highly improbable that he died in the manner narrated here. It is more
likely that it was some hero who could not be beaten in close combat who was
106 overcome from a distance by a shower of spears [31] I do not believe that Virgil
invented the whole episode, primarily because there is no motivation in the present
context for the miraculous transformation of the spearshafts into live saplings,
whereas it would be easy to imagine that in the original story some god who was
favourably disposed towards the murdered man covered the corpse in this way and
thus made sure that it received a kind of burial. The idea that blood could still flow
from the wounds of a man murdered long before will have been modelled on
legends where bleeding from damaged plants and trees reveals that a metamorphosis
has taken place. This motif may have been more common than it is possible for us to
establish; the only example that I can recall is the metamorphosis of Lotis (Ovid
Met . 9.344).[32] But it may have been precisely this detail of bleeding which led Virgil
to take over the whole motif in the first place; as the expression monstra deum[33] (59)
[divine omen] clearly shows, the gruesome event is intended to serve as a prodi -
gium , warning the Trojans that the gods forbid the new foundation. However, it is
well known how frequently blood plays a role in prodigia : sometimes it rains blood,
sometimes blood appears in wells, rivers and lakes, or on images of gods; sometimes too
– and this is closest to our example – the com bleeds when it is reaped (Livy 22.1; 28.11).
More important than the question of Virgil's source, which cannot be answered
with certainty at present, is the manner in which he narrates the whole episode. This
deserves careful attention. The foundation of the city, which for an Alexandrian poet
would be something of considerable importance, is dismissed in two lines; the name
Aeneadae leaves us in doubt whether Virgil means Aineia in Macedonia or Ainos in
Thrace;[34] indeed, Aeneas' account actually implies that no settlement took place,
107 since all the Trojans depart again from the scelerata terra (60) [wicked land].
Moreover, we are not told anything about their relations with the Thracians who
own the territory, or the hospitium mentioned in line 61; similarly we are left
completely in the dark about what Aeneas believed concerning the fate of Poly-
dorus, until the moment that the prodigium tells him the truth. We might easily
assume that Aeneas had landed on a desolate coast, as in Latium, had immediately
marked out the lines of the city walls, and that the sacrifice on the shore was the first
to be offered by the Trojans in their new home, and that they then left again as
quickly as they could – except that other phrases[35] seem to indicate that the Trojans
spent the winter on the Thracian coast, which agrees with the tradition known to us
from Dionysius. In a word, the poet deliberately puts all this to one side, perhaps
salving his conscience with the thought that Aeneas, as narrator, would not expect
his listeners to be interested in it, whereas the real reason was that the poet himself
did not think it worth including. The only thing that he does think important is the
emotional episode at the burial-mound, and while a writer more attracted by the
gruesome than Virgil might have put all the emphasis on this aspect of the incident,
Virgil imbues it with a different emotion: pity for the poor victim, who is still
suffering pain even after death, and whose body is still being torn as if he were still
alive.
The encounter with Helenus was one of the few motifs capable of poetic develop-
ment which Virgil was able to take from the tradition (Dion. Hal. 1.32). We have
108 already discussed the prediction. Virgil treated the scenes of greeting and departure
in great detail, so as to develop all the pathos which the situation contained, espe-
cially that created by the presence of Andromache. The poet's interest is centred on
her rather than on Helenus, who remains a colourless figure. Here, too, he took his
inspiration from tragedy: he has Euripides' unhappy Andromache in mind; not the
mother worrying about her little son (Molossus, son of Neoptolemus, does not
appear; he would have destroyed the concentration of the interest on a single figure,
and just imagine how Aeneas would have regarded the son of the man he loathed so
much!), but the uncomforted, endlessly sorrowing widow of Hector and mother of
Astyanax: Virgil does not permit the comparatively happy situation in which she
now finds herself to have any effect on her nature. Thus her sorrow for her past
losses is not tempered by joy in her living son and her Trojan husband, but only
increased by the tormenting shame that she has had to share the bed of the arrogant
victor. When she catches sight of Aeneas, her first thought is of Hector; she turns all
her attention to Ascanius, overwhelms Aeneas with a host of questions about him,
gives him parting gifts, for she seems to see Astyanax in him; this is one of the most
moving passages in Virgil's poem.[36] Just as she is reminded of the death of
109 Astyanax, so too Andromache thinks of the sacrifice of Polyxena. Thus two of the
most important episodes of the sack of Troy, of which Aeneas himself could not
give an eye-witness account, are treated to some extent at this later point.[37]
110 Virgil made use of the Odyssey in many ways. First, as we have already observed
in many instances, he has transferred the situations of Odysseus to Aeneas: this
includes Helenus' prediction, which combines Teiresias' prediction with the instruc-
tions of Circe;[38] also the sojourn at Dido's court, which reminds us in more than one
respect of the reception of Odysseus by the Phaeacians, and in another way of the
Calypso story, although its main motif is borrowed from elsewhere; the slaughter of
the cattle of the Harpies, in which he plays around very freely with the motif of the
cattle of the Sun; the tempest in Book 1, where not only are the whole situation and
important details in the description borrowed from the Odyssey , but also the words
of the hero, though they are characteristically remodelled;[39] and finally, the Nekyia.
111 Secondly, Virgil introduced into his poem the places mentioned by Odysseus,
together with their fabulous inhabitants. In doing so, he had a predecessor in Apollo-
nius, who brought the Argo back home along the whole of the same route as
Odysseus, most of this of course not by his own invention. The dangerous voyage
through the Planktai (4.922) had already been mentioned in the Odyssey itself
(12.59ff.); Scylla and Charybdis are also mentioned (Ap. 4.823, 920). The tradition
followed by Apollonius also included the purification by Circe (659) and the visit to
the Phaeacians (980); and the Sirens (889) had also already been given their place in
the tale of the Argonauts through the introduction of the story of Boutes. For erudite
philological and geographical reasons, Apollonius links Calypso's island, about
which he tells us nothing except its location (572) and the cattle of the Sun which
they see and hear as they sail by (963), with Thrinacia. Finally, Aeolus is ruler of the
winds but does not come into direct contact with the Argonauts, a rôle similar to that
which he plays in Virgil (762, 775, 817). Virgil's task was considerably more
difficult: the legend had not covered the same ground before, and if he wanted his
hero to undergo any experiences in the wake of Odysseus, he was obliged to depend
entirely on his own free invention; and in so doing, in order to remain true to his
principles, he had to avoid an episodic style as far as possible. The Phaeacum arces
(291) [citadels of the Phaeacians] are mentioned only in order to indicate the lo-
cality, and so too is the Sirens' island (5.864), where the poet refers to its former
terrors with the utmost brevity. Aeolus had been dealt with in the scene in Book 1:
and only in this instance does Virgil depart from Homeric tradition and follow a
different source.[40] Scylla and Charybdis however are given greater proiminence; they
are not an episodic addition, but the reason for the detour round Sicily. Aeneas does
not see them himself, but only hears the mighty roar of Charybdis from afar
(3.555ff.); but he has heard about the horrific creatures from Helenus (420ff.), in
whose speech there is an excellent reason for their detailed description: it is the only
way to give his warning the emphasis that is required. In the case of Circe, too, the
Trojans only sail past (7.10-24): it is night, the reflection of moonlight trembles on
the surface of the sea; a fire is blazing there on the shore in front of the enchantress'
lofty palace; the roaring of wild beasts sounds through the stillness of the night. This
is the last danger which threatens Aeneas and his men before they reach their
112 destination; Neptune is merciful, and carries them past. The poet lingers rather
longer over this descriptive passage; not only because Circe alone of all these
fabulous creatures was also involved in Latin legend; Monte Circeo, familiar to
every Roman, had to be mentioned as a landmark, quite apart from its significance
in legend; even today, anyone describing a voyage along that coast mentions it.
There remains the only purely episodic insertion in Book 3, the scene on the shore of
the Cyclopes. Virgil wanted to depict Polyphemus in all his frightfulness,[41] but
without exposing Aeneas to the same kind of danger that Odysseus had to undergo,
since he was taking care not to create an episode in rivalry with the incomparable
adventure in Homer. That is why he introduces Achaemenides, whom he can use as
a mediating figure to link the voyage of Aeneas directly with the most famous of all
voyages: tradition did tell of a meeting between Aeneas and Odysseus himself,[42] but
here Odysseus is replaced by one of his companions. However, Virgil was able to
imbue this invented figure[43] and his fate with an emotional interest which transcends
the monstrous element in the adventure: the unfortunate man who has to beseech his
mortal enemy to rescue him from a fate that is even worse than dying – this is an
invention that is entirely typical of Virgil's art.[44] Virgil emphasizes rather than
113 conceals the similarity with the Sinon scene. Indeed, the Trojans' humanity cannot
be better demonstrated than here in this scene, where those who had once them-
selves been plunged into disaster because they trusted and took pity, nevertheless
show mercy again towards a suppliant enemy. And here, where no divine power is
plotting misfortune for the pious, the nobility of their nature is rewarded: they owe
their own rescue to the man they have rescued. Thus the bold cunning of Odysseus
is implicitly matched by the pietas of the Trojans.
In the adventure with the Harpies on the Strophades various legendary motifs
have been fused together. Apollonius had recounted in detail how the Boreads free
Phineus from the Harpies and, at Iris' command, cease pursuing them at the islands
which for this reason are known as the Strophades; the Harpies then disappear into a
cave on Crete. In Virgil they continue to live on the Strophades, which are even
called their patrium regnum (249) [hereditary kingdom]; he also gives them rich
herds of cattle and goats, which hardly accords with their reputation as creatures that
are always hungry and stealing food (in Virgil they still have pallida semper ora
fame [217-18] [faces always pallid with hunger]). This device serves to introduce an
adventure which is analogous with that of Odysseus on the Island of the Sun: the
Trojans, like the companions of Odysseus, steal from herds which belong to immor-
tals. When Aeneas' men proceed to fight the monstrous creatures, this may be a
reminiscence of the Argonauts' fight with the birds of Ares, although the outcome is
different (2.1035ff.). But the purpose of all this is only to provide the poet with the
groundwork for his restructuring of the prodigium of the tables, which was an
established part of the Aeneas legend. We have already discussed (p. 72 above)
what was new in Virgil's interpretation of the oracle. The artistic value of the scene
lies principally in the steady increase in tension; here the aim of the poet is to arouse
not pity but terror, to raise an incident that is merely gruesome and repulsive and to
114 invest it with grandeur and terror: the poet's intention is that Celaeno, as Furiarum
maxima [greatest of the Furies] and the one who delivers Apollo's prophecy, shall
appear as a mythically heroic creature instead of an eerie monster.
The Trojans do not actually run into any danger on the Strophades, but at least
they have an opportunity to reach for their weapons; in the other adventures they do
not even do that. They run away from Polyphemus before he can get hold of them;
Scylla and Charybdis, like Circe, are only seen and heard from a distance; so too
with the Sirens, and from them there is nothing else to fear. It is only in the
sea-storm in Book 1 that Aeneas is in any real danger of losing his life; and even
there he is rescued without any effort on his part. But even though Aeneas' trials
during his wanderings do not demand the boldness, energy and endurance that were
required of Odysseus, who again and again had to overcome difficulties at risk to
life and limb, Virgil certainly did not intend to give the impression that his hero had
an easier lot. What he has to suffer is emotional pain, with which the poet can
involve himself to a much profounder degree than with physical pain and mortal
danger: the loss of his native land, the bitterness of exile, hopes dashed again and
again, the years of seeking an unknown destination: these are the sufferings of
Aeneas; his fame, and his heroism, lie in his perseverance, in spite of everything, in
the task which a god has imposed on him, and which he owes to the gods of his
native land. Such emotional suffering and activity are of course much more difficult
to depict than visible, physical events, and particularly difficult when they are
described by the voice of the hero himself;[45] the poet is relying on the reader
identifying so closely with the hero that he will himself feel the emotions which
must have engulfed Aeneas. It is this, perhaps, rather than the impact of the individ-
ual adventures, which provides the emotional effect that Virgil strives after in his
account of the wanderings of Aeneas.