2—
The Wanderings of Aeneas
It has often been felt, and stated, that Book 3 of the Aeneid is a work of considerably
less artistic merit than Book 2. The reason for this cannot be that Book 2 recounts
only one single great event, whereas Book 3 deals with a loose sequence of adven-
tures; this is also true of the books of the Odyssey in which Odysseus narrates his
adventures, and they have never been accused of having less poetic value for that
reason. But it is precisely this obvious comparison that has had a fatal effect on
Virgil's narrative. Indeed, the reader almost feels that, for once, Virgil has set out to
rival Homer without much pleasure or self-confidence. This may explain why he
kept postponing work on this book; it is, as we shall see, among the last parts of the
Aeneid to have been written. Whereas the abundance of poetic material that was
already in existence for the sack of Troy proved an invaluable advantage to the poet,
here he found himself in precisely the opposite position: he had, as far as we know,
not a single poetic predecessor. There was no shortage of source-material for the
actual events, but this took the form not of a tradition that had grown up over the
centuries, but of artifically cobbled-together history; his sources were not poets but
antiquarians; it was all wretchedly monotonous. We are fairly well informed about
the nature of the traditional material that was available to Virgil, because it is obviously
the same as that which formed the basis for Dionysius of Halicarnassus' account
(Antiquities 1.48ff.); we may therefore attempt to trace the way in which Virgil
transformed this intractable material into poetry so as to make it into a work of art.
1—
Unity of the Narrative:
Foundations of Cities
The historian who first assembled the numerous traditions about settlements, cults
and temples founded by Aeneas along the coasts of the Mediterranean into a co-
83 herent and connected narrative must have been at a loss to motivate the frequent
interruptions of his voyage and the innumerable foundations of cities. For the for-
mer, as we gather from Dionysius, he generally used one of two motives: either
Aeneas lingers to renew old friendships – for example in Delos (1.50), Arcadia,
Zacynthos – or adverse winds force him to wait or to take another course (49.3: 
[they stayed among them because the
weather was unsuitable for sailing]: thus he waits in Thrace until the season is
suitable for sailing (49.4), is forced to wait longer than he had intended in Zacynthos
(50.3) and is forced to sail around Sicily (52.1). A city is founded in Thrace (49.4) to
provide a dwelling-place for those who do not wish to travel any further, similarly in
Sicily (52.4) – here, according to other sources, because some of the ships had been
burnt, and the diminished fleet could no longer carry all the Trojans. The direction
of the voyage, towards the west, was either revealed to them by the Sibyl of
Erythrae before they left their native land, or else only when they reached the oracle
at Dodona; they will recognize the end of their journey, when it comes, by the omen
of 'eating their tables' (55.4). Anything that does not fit into this westward journey
Dionysius either omits completely, as in the case of the episode on Crete, or ex-
plains by one of the causes that we have mentioned.
Hence it is only the direction of the voyage that gives this narrative any unity; all
the individual episodes are only chance interruptions to the journey, delays to their
final arrival – some welcome, some unwelcome – that are unrelated to one another;
some of them could easily be omitted, or others added, without the course of the
action being affected. To give some inner unity to the action, to make the compo-
nent episodes seem necessary to it, was the first task that faced Virgil. A loose series
of landfalls and foundations of cities, friendly encounters and
ments to the safety of a harbour] was, in his view, no [unity]; it was neither
worthy nor capable of representation in poetry. Virgil chose for his narrative thread
the gradual, progressive revelation of the destination of his voyage.[1]
This revelation takes place in five stages: (1) Aeneas leaves his native land
because of auguries that tell him to seek a new home abroad. (2) In Delos he
receives the oracle that refers to the antiqua mater [ancient mother]. (3) In Crete he
84 learns from the Penates that this means Italy. (4) On the Strophades he receives from
Celaeno the prophecy of the portent of the tables. (5) In Buthrotum he receives from
Helenus directions on how to reach the west coast of Italy, and the prophecy of the
portent of the sow, together with the advice that he should ask the Sibyl at Cumae
for further information about the future. This indicates the place where the new
settlement is to be founded as clearly as can be without actually mentioning the
name of the place, and Aeneas would now have followed the course prescribed by
Helenus, and reached his goal without any more mistakes or wanderting – if Juno in
her anger had not prepared a new obstacle for him on the coast immediately oppo-
site the promised land, an obstacle that combines the two motifs that are familiar
from Dionysius: adverse winds and seductive hospitality. Most of the individual
components of this development in the story existed already in the tradition, either
actually or potentially: the oracle in their Trojan homeland, the two prodigia , the
Sibyl, the encounter with Helenus combined with the oracle of Dodona, the
prophecy by the Penates. Virgil's contribution lay in arranging them in a progressive
development, above all by the gradual disclosure of Fate, and in the major role that
he allots to Apollo. In both cases Virgil was using themes suggested to him by
Greek foundation-legends.
Apollo is not mentioned in any of the pre-Virgilian accounts of Aeneas' wander-
ings, or in any of the later ones that are independent of Virgil; he has only an
indirect influence on the Trojans' travels in so far as the Sibyl is his prophetess. At
the same time, there was a tradition mentioned by Varro, according to which Venus
guided the voyage by her star (Serv. on 2.801). Virgil says nothing of this, but sets
Apollo very emphatically in the central position. Virgil not only stresses that it is
Apollo who inspires the Cumaean Sibyl; it is Apollo to whom Aeneas addresses his
prayer for an oracle (6.56); how Apollo's priestess is possessed by the god is
described in detail at 6.77ff.; Aeneas is honoured at Delos, by hearing Apollo's very
own voice; it is at Apollo's command that the Penates speak (3.155); it is from
Apollo that the Harpy has obtained her knowledge (251); it is in Apollo's temple
that he hears Helenus, the priest of the god, tell him that Apollo will protect him in
the future too (395). The decisive stimulus for this emphasis on the services per-
formed by Apollo may have been Augustus' predilection for him as the god of the
85 Julian family; but the idea comes originally, as I have said, from Greek foundation-
legends. The rôle played by Apollo, and particularly by his Delphic oracle, in the
sending out of colonies is well known;[2] more significant still than the numerous
surviving accounts of the consultation of the oracle is the great number of colonies
that bear the name Apollonia. Amongst the foundations in which Apollo played an
important rôle were two of the most important cities on the west coast of Italy:
Rhegium[3] and Cumae.[4] Virgil represents the
city alongside these two.
The initial obscurity of the oracle, and its gradual clarification, also has its origin
in Greek ways of thinking. Of the foundation-legends known to me, it is that of
Cyrene which provides the closest parallels (Herod. 4.150). The king of Thera is
advised by the Pythia at Delphi to found a colony in Libya. However, he does not
know where Libya is, and therefore fails to send out a colony. Thera then suffers a
severe drought (analogous with the crop failure that afflicts the Trojans in Crete
[3.141f.]), and when the oracle is asked for help, it tells them again to go to Libya.
So they decide to risk the attempt, and a Cretan called Korobios, who promises to
show them the unknown land of Libya, leads them to the island of Platea, which is
situated off Libya. They settle on this island, but without success. And they hear
again from the Pythia that they are still not in Libya. Then they finally cross over
onto the mainland.[5] Just as in this case a drought reminds the Therans of their
instructions, so too drought and infertility are elsewhere often the reason for sending
out a colony, or are a sign that the god's plan has not been fulfilled by the settle-
ment: the foundation of Rhegium goes back to an 
[crop-failure] in Chalcis
(Strab. 6.257); and 
[after a great drought] the men of
Ainios, at the command of the oracle, leave Kirrha where they have just settled
(Plut. Qu . Gr . 26).
86 Finally, with regard to the two portents that indicate the end of the journey, Virgil
was able simply to follow the tradition. Even if we accept that these stories are based
on local legends, their connection with Aeneas doubtless goes back to Greek histor-
ians, who in turn were constructing their narratives on the analogy of Greek
foundation-legends. To mention only a few examples, I recall the Etruscan children
from Brauron, who were to settle where they lost their goddess and their anchor
(Plut. Virt . Mul . 247e), or the Spartan Phalanthus, who was promised a permanent
residence by the Delphic oracle 'when he felt rain' 
[under a clear sky]
(Paus. 10.10.6) where the double meaning of 
– both a proper name (his wife's
name was Aithra) and 'blue sky' – corresponds with that of mensae ; even more
frequent, as is well-known, are the cases where an animal, such as the sow in this
case, indicates the site for a new foundation.
Thus Virgil has turned the story of Aeneas' wanderings into a unified 
[founding of Rome], comparable to Greek foundation-legends, but uniting all
the motifs of these legends much more comprehensively than can have been the case
in any one of these legends, either genuine or spurious.
2—
Relationship to the other Books
The idea of drawing the wanderings of Aeneas into the tightly organized form that
we have described came to Virgil only after much of the Aeneid had been written in
87 the form in which we have it.[6] It is worth devoting some time to this matter, as it
leads to valuable insights into Virgil's working methods. Let us first examine what
we are told outside Book 3 about the plan of the voyage and the Trojmans' knowledge
of their destination.
According to 2.781, before Aeneas left Troy he was told by Creusa that he will
come to the 'Hesperian land, where through rich pastures with gentle current the
Lydian Thybris flows.'
According to 4.345, 'Grynean Apollo and Lycian oracles' have commanded him
to go to Italy.
According to 1.382, he put to sea because of an oracle, in which 'his divine
mother showed him the way.'
According to 1.205 and 554, 4.432, 5.731 and 6.67, the Trojans know Latium to
be the destination of their journey; at 5.83 Thybris is mentioned by Aeneas and
again at 6.87 by the Sybil.
Thus when Virgil was writing 1, 2, 4 to 6, he imagined Aeneas as knowing the
name of the land and its river during his journey, and according to the references in
2 and 4, which are not contradicted by anything in the other books listed above, he
already had this knowledge before he sailed. It is uncertain what rôle Virgil had
intended the two portents to play in all this; it is quite conceivable that he had not
made any firm decision about it; on the other hand, 5.82f.
non licuit finis Italos fataliaque arva
nec tecum Ausonium , q u i c u m q u e est , quaerere Thybrim ,
[it was not granted to me to have you at my side as I quested for Italy's boundaries
where fate has given us lands, or for Ausonian Tiber, wherever that river may be ].
This seems to suggest that Virgil considered, at least in passing, the possibility of
using the motif from Greek foundation-legends that we have discussed above, in
88 which the name of the destination is known but not its whereabouts;[7] in that case,
one or both portents might serve to let them know that they had come to the end of
their journey.
This conception is totally inconsistent with the basic idea of the composition of
Book 3 that we have outlined above: the only question is which version is the result
of curae posteriores [afterthoughts]. If we assume that Virgil wrote Book 3 first, it is
very difficult to see any reason at all that might have prompted him at a later stage to
ruin the unity that characterized his version, by which the whole book stands or
falls. This would not only have invalidated the individual prophecies, but, more
importantly, Virgil would have had to invent some entirely new motivation for the
foundations in Thrace and Crete, unless he scrapped them altogether, or else have
reverted to a disconnected narrative of the kind that we get in Dionysius. However,
there is no indication in the other books of any new unified plan which might have
replaced the old one; there are three successive episodes – the guidance by Venus,
Creusa's prophecy, and the 'Lycian' oracle – that would need to be brought together
in some context: but they would not have produced material for the new Book 3;
these episodes however had obviously been invented not as parts of a single unified
conception, but because of the immediate requirements of each situation; and none
89 of them is in itself so important that Virgil might reasonably have altered his
original plan for their sake.[8] On the other hand, if we think of Book 3 as still to be
written, each reference is quite plausible in its context as a provisional explanation;
and furthermore it is quite natural that before Virgil had decided on the plan of Book
3 he might find it more congenial to work with specific names, such as Latium and
Thybris, rather than with some unknown destination: however, these names are
nowhere essential to his purpose.[9]
The conclusion that Book 3 was composed at a later stage will become even
clearer if we go on to examine the treatment of the two portents in Books 7 and 8.
The portent of the tables is, according to tradition, the fulfilment of a prophecy
which was given to Aeneas by the Sibyl of Erythrae or the oracle at Dodona, and
will indicate to Aeneas and his men that they have reached the end of their journey.
This is exactly the purpose it serves Virgil in Book 7; here the prophecy is traced
back to Anchises, who bequeathed it to his son ( fatorum arcana reliquit [123] [he
left the secret of destiny]) – apparently not in the underworld, but during his life-
time, perhaps on his deathbed, when the power of prophecy is usually enhanced. It is
clear from the manner in which it is introduced, and above all from the fact that it is
quoted verbatim , that Virgil is not referring to some earlier passage in which it was
mentioned: the oracle is introduced without any preparation, just like Apollo's
90 promise at 6.343 and Venus' at 8.534; when Aeneas says nunc repeto (7.123) [now I
remember] we may assume, as so often when oracles are introduced, that he has
suddenly remembered something long forgotten; the prophecy of Lycophron's Cas-
sandra, which refers to this portent, 
[he
will remember ancient oracles] ( Alexandra 1252), is fulfilled in exactly the same
way. We might expect that, continuing the motif hinted at earlier, Aeneas would
now joyfully realize that this is the promised land of Latium and the promised
Thybris; but this is not what Virgil does: instead, Aeneas prays to the adhuc ignota
flumina (137-8) [the rivers which as yet they did not know], and the next day when
he learns the names Numicius, Thybris and Latium, it does not seem that they come
as an answer to any existing expectations. This is not completely outweighed by the
fact that in Ilioneus' speech to Latinus, just as in the earlier books, Virgil seems to
assume some previous knowledge of the localities which they seek.[10] It may be that
Virgil came to realize during the composition of his work that if the names are
known the portent becomes basically meaningless: the names might be identified
with the localities in perfectly natural ways. To sum up: the version of the portent of
the tables in 7 is derived almost entirely from tradition; it is in no way tied up with a
unified plan of Aeneas' wanderings, but is quite independent of it.
In Book 3 we find instead a highly individual new version, probably invented by
Virgil: the portent is not a sign promised by a friend or a benevolent divinity to show
them when they have reached the end of their wanderings, but a punishment
announced by their enemy Celaeno; not a favourable sign, but a horror which seems
to cast doubt on the happy outcome of the enterprise. Not only is there a threat of
terrible starvation, but the apparently unambiguous and negative words, 'You will
not establish a city until hunger forces you to eat your tables' (255-7), seem to lay
down an impossible condition. Phalanthus, who was to found Tarentum when he felt
rain 
[from a clear sky], also despaired in much the same way, and
believed that the god had imposed an impossible condition on him.[11] However,
91 Celaeno's prophecy does not only come as the splendid climax of the adventure of
the Harpies; it also plays an important part in the plot of the book: after the Penates
seem at last in Crete to have indicated their destination, and the Trojans are steering
westwards full of hope, this comes as a severe setback. The unexpected threat seems
to throw everything into uncertainty again. Then Aeneas meets Helenus and ques-
tions him with renewed anxiety about the future; not only does he receive
reassurance from him, but he is saved from another vain attempt to found a settle-
ment, this time on the nearest part of the coast of Italy, which otherwise he surely
would have done.
Thus the appearance of the portent has been prepared for, the reader is waiting
for it, and the effect of the happy solution is immeasurably increased by the anxiety
which has prevailed from the start. If we compare this version with that in Book 7,
there cannot, in my opinion, be any doubt as to which was intended to supersede the
other.[12]
92 According to the older traditions, the portent of the sow indicated either the site
of Alba Longa and the period of thirty years which will elapse before its founda-
tion,[13] or the site of Lavinium together with the name and foundation-date of Alba.[14]
Understandably, Virgil was unwilling to reject a firmly established part of the
tradition, but he was unable to make the portent indicate any specific site, either for
Alba, that is perfectly clear, or for Lavinium, whose foundation lies outside his
narrative, since, in contrast to the versions of Dionysius and others, it was not to take
place until after the agreement with Latinus. This meant that it was only possible for
the portent to refer to the name and foundation-date of Alba; and it is these, there-
fore, that Virgil kept in the narrative of Book 8. As a result, the introduction of the
portent had to be remodelled, and Virgil resorted to an expedient that is not al-
together satisfactory: Aeneas, anxious about the coming battle, has fallen asleep on
the bank of the Tiber; the god Tiberinus appears to him and gives him courage: he
really has arrived at the place where he is destined to found his city, and he need not
fear the battle. 'And', he continues, 'so that you will not think when you awake that
93 you have been deceived by an idle dream (let this be a sign to you): beneath the oaks
on the riverbank you will find an enormous sow with thirty newborn piglets' (8.45–
8):
alba , solo recubans , albi circum ubera nati
ex quo ter denis urbem redeuntibus annis
Ascanius clari condet cognominis Albam .
[a white sow, stretched on the ground, with her white piglets at her teats; within thirty
circling years from this time, Ascanius shall found a city of illustrious name, Alba].
He goes on to advise him to ask Evander for help. Thus, as in the tradition, Aeneas
receives the information about the foundation of Alba from a vision in a dream;[15]
what is new in Virgil is the context in which the information is given. The immedi-
ate rôle of the portent here is only to corroborate the words of Tiberinus; the
foundation of the city is mentioned only in passing without any intrinsic connection
with the purpose in hand; the portent has no significance whatever as a means of
identifying the site.[16] And if we were given the impression in the case of the portent
of the tables in Book 7 that the reader was hearing of it for the first time, so here it is
absolutely impossible that it had been prepared for in earlier parts of the narrative or
that it had played any rôle in the scheme of Aeneas' wanderings.
In Book 3 Helenus predicts the portent, and here it is firmly embedded in the
scheme of the wanderings. Because the name of the promised land is not disclosed
to Aeneas until the very last moment, he has to be given a sign by which he can
recognize it: this sign will be the portent of the sow. That is why here in Book 3,
after the description of the portent, which is word for word identical with that in
94 Book 8, it is explicitly stated that is locus urbis erit , requies ea certa laborum (393)
[this spot shall be the place for your city, and there you shall find sure rest from your
toils]. This does not mean that the city is to be founded exactly where the sow will
be resting – for neither Lavinium nor Alba lies secreti ad fluminis undam [by the
waters of a secluded stream], where according to 3.389 they will find the sow, nor
can the camp by the river be termed requies certa laborum [a sure resting-place
from their toils] – but only that the promised land will be recognized by this sign;
previously, too, in Helenus' speech, the prophecy was concerned only with this land
(ante . . . quam tuta possis urbem componere terra : signa tibi dicam [387-8] [before
you can settle your city on safe soil: I shall give you a sign]). Thus the portent of the
sow is given the significance which the portent of the tables had had in the tradition:
the latter is given a new meaning in its turn: it no longer indicates the site, but the
time; it becomes a condicio sine qua non [necessary pre-condition]. From this we
may divine how Virgil intended to combine the fulfilment of the two prophecies:
after landing on the bank of the Tiber, Aeneas would find the sow and thus recog-
nize the promised land; however, he still anxiously awaits the starvation predicted
by the Harpy; before he realizes it, at their very first meal, this prophecy too is
fulfilled.
In the case of the portent of the sow too the version in Book 3 is the later one; this
could in any case be deduced from the fact that it is not introduced here, as it is in
Book 8, without any preparation and with awkward motivation, but has a firm place
in the arrangement of the whole. However, it is clear that the identical lines that
appear in both books (3.390-2 = 8.43-5) were originally written for Book 8: there
the exact description of where and how makes good sense, for the more precisely the
details are predicted, the more convincingly their literal fulfilment proves that the
vision was trustworthy. For the oracle in Book 3 the circumstantial details have no
significance and are quite uncharacteristic of such prophecies. Above all, the heavy
emphasis on the colour white is important in Book 8, since the reference to Alba
follows, but not important in Book 3, where Alba has not yet come into the picture.
From the situation in Book 8 the detail sollicito secreti ad fluminis undam [in an
anxious time, by the waters of a secluded stream] has crept into Book 3. On the
assumption that Book 3 was written first, such a precise description of a situation in
the distant future would be quite uncharacteristic of Virgil's style.
Because of all this, I am convinced that the unified plan of the wanderings
95 presented in Book 33 was not created until at least two-thirds of the poem had been
written. Thus, instead of starting by erecting the scaffolding, as it were, Virgil put
this off until a much later stage and began to work on separate sections, making
provisional assumptions as the situation called for them, without letting them have
much influence on the general outlines of each section; he introduced the two
portents in Books 7 and 8 without any presuppositions whatever, so that the two
books could be read as an independent work, without the reader feeling that any-
thing was missing. It was only later, when he was filling in the gap between Troy
and Carthage, that he created the unified structure of prophecies and portents,
without considering what he had already written, primarily because it was necessary
to impose some unity and progressive development on Book 3. He never got as far
as working out the consequences of his new conception: he would have had to delete
much in the other books, and change many details, and in Book 7 he would have had
to rewrite the whole story of the landing. It is indeed possible that a few traces of the
earlier version might have escaped his notice; but I have no doubt that he would
have achieved a unity as far as the essentials were concerned.
There is no reason to doubt that, right until the end, Virgil regarded the scheme of
the wanderings, in the form in which we have it, as the definitive version. It is true
that in Book 10 (67ff.) there is yet another motif that one might be tempted to regard
as an indication that Virgil intended to make a further change: according to this
passage, Aeneas sought Italy Cassandrae impulsus furiis [actuated by Cassandra's
raving]. But these are the words of Juno, which contradict Venus' statement that the
Trojans had sought their new homeland tot responsa secuti quae superi manesque
dabant (34ff.) [led by all those oracles from the High Gods and the Nether Spirits];
and it is clear that Juno is spitefully trying to devalue the significance of these
responsa [oracles] by mentioning only one prophecy, that given by a crazed woman:
in fact, according to 3.183, a passage already composed, which the poet doubtless had
before him when writing Book 10, it was from Cassandra that Anchises – though he
had not believed her – had first heard of Hesperia and the kingdom in Italy.
3—
Juno and Venus
No ancient reader will have asked the impertinent question, why Aeneas was sub-
96 jected to these years of wandering: for Apollo, who certainly had Aeneas' interests
very much at heart, might surely have spared him a lot of trouble by giving him an
unambiguous oracle before his departure; but who would dare to call the god to
account for what he sees fit to reveal to mortals or to conceal from them, when every
message, even when it is wrapped in the desperately ambiguous obscurity of oracular
language, deserves most humble thanks as an act of the purest grace, condescension
and compassion.
However, anyone who has read the opening of the Aeneid before reading Book 3
will perhaps expect to find a particular motivation for Aeneas' lengthy wanderings.
For the proem suggests that they are to be blamed on Juno's thirst for vengeance: it
was she who drove the pious hero into so many travails and dangers, she who
pursued the Trojans over all the seas and kept them away from Latium, as the poet
says;[17] indeed the queen of the gods herself speaks of the plan she embarked on to
turn the Trojan king away from Italy, a plan which she does not wish to abandon,[18]
and of the war which she has been waging for so many years with that one race.[19] In
fact from this moment onwards she is active enough: the tempest which drives
Aeneas to Carthage is her work, she causes the union with Dido; later it is her
intervention that leads to the burning of the ships, which results in the foundation of
Segesta; she stirs up war in Latium by means of Allecto and never ceases to support
the enemies of the Trojans. But until that moment we have just mentioned, in other
words, during the years between the departure from Troy and the departure from
Sicily, throughout the events treated in Book 3, we hear nothing of Juno's interven-
tion; and yet this period covers by far the greatest part of the errores [wanderings]
and labores [toils]. The contradiction seems blatant, and yet I do not believe that it is
a case of an inconsistency arising from different plans, or that Virgil would have
smoothed over this contradiction. When he wrote the proem to Book 1, he had most
97 probably not yet created the scheme for Book 3 as it now stands, and it is conceiv-
able that at that stage he was intending to allot an active role to Juno in the period
that preceded the beginning of the action of Book 1. In my view it is more probable
that he was thinking only of the events that followed and, with these in mind,
proceeded to model his proem on that of the Odyssey . Then, when he composed
Book 3, there was no opportunity for an open and obvious intervention by Juno; but
if the poet had any doubts about whether this was compatible with the words of the
proem he would have been able to feel reassured by the precedent of his model,
Homer. For in the proem to the Odyssey , even less ambiguously than in the Aeneid ,
the exhausting wanderings of the hero are blamed on an angry deity (Poseidon in
this case); and yet here, too, as far as we know, Poseidon plays no part in Odysseus'
destiny until after the beginning of the action, during the sea-storm in Book 5; in
Odysseus' own narrative we hear nothing in his various unhappy adventures of
anything that might have been caused by Polyphemus' prayer to his father; and in
the case of Odysseus' longest sojourn, the seven years spent with Calypso, it is even
clearer than in the Aeneid that it cannot have been the result of the work of Posei-
don. Any reader who noticed this would have to assume that Odysseus had never
been told that his sufferings were due to the enmity of the god, and Virgil could
count on the same assumption. It is clear from the single passage in Book 3 which
points to Juno's enmity that he was well aware of the parallel: Helenus urgently
advises Aeneas (435ff.) that the most important thing is to win Juno's favour by
prayers, vows and sacrificial offerings: only if he succeeds in this will he reach Italy
98 safely from Sicily.[20] Aeneas acts according to this advice at the time of the first
landing in Italy (3.546), and this single mention of his obedience to it must also
count instar omnium [on behalf of all] for the future. Nevertheless he did not
succeed in calming the wrath of Juno, as is shown by the fact that the crossing from
Sicily to Italy does not go smoothly: thus Helenus' words of warning refer to the
sea-storm narrated in Book 1. However this is itself clearly modelled on the words
of Teiresias, Odyssey 11.100ff.: he too warns of Poseidon's future anger, and pro-
ceeds (121ff.) to point out the way to appease him: he says no more of the earlier
results of this anger than Helenus says of Juno's previous hostile activities.
Just as the hostile goddess remains in the background, so too does the goddess
who favours him. According to Aeneas' own narrative, Venus seems never to have
appeared to him, either to guide him, or to advise or to assist him, throughout the
greater part of the period of his wanderings. Yet Virgil must have had different
intentions about this matter when he was writing Book 1, since he makes Aeneas say
to Venus that he had begun his journey matre dea monstrante viam (382) [shown the
way by my divine mother], and makes him complain at her departure quid natum
totiens , crudelis tu quoque , falsis ludis imaginibus (407-8) ['Ah, you too are cruel!
Why again and again deceive your own son with your mocking disguises?']. But
there is no reason to suppose that at that stage this intention had taken any particular
form, and when he was writing Book 3 Virgil left Venus completely out of the
picture; here too there is an analogy with the Odyssey . Odysseus in his own account
of his adventures knows nothing of Athena's protection and support, and is still
99 complaining about this neglect after he has landed in Scheria ( Od . 6.325, cf.
13.318), without realizing that it was Athena who had made this very landing
possible for him, providing him with active help at this point for the first time as far
as we know: the poet himself felt it necessary to explain her previous absence on the
grounds that she had been unwilling to oppose her father's brother (13.341, cf.
6.329). When Virgil was creating the relationship between Venus and Aeneas he
clearly had the relationship between Odysseus and Athena in his mind, though he
may not always have been aware of it, and I venture to suggest that in the phrase
totiens falsis ludis imaginibus [again and again you deceive with mocking disguises]
he was not thinking of particular appearances of Venus, but of the changing forms in
which Athena manifested herself to Odysseus, who for his part, though admittedly
without Virgilian pathos, half-reproachfully complains to his divine protectress 
['you assume all kinds of disguises'] ( Od . 13.313). After
the definitive reshaping of Book 333, Aeneas' complaint would admittedly seem
meaningless to the reader, and we must assume that Virgil would have excised it
once he realized that it was now irrelevant.
4—
Compression of the Material
If we compare Virgil's version with other accounts of the wanderings of Aeneas, it
is immediately obvious that Virgil has greatly condensed the material. Instead of
aiming at academic exhaustiveness, he picked out the incidents that suited his
artistic purpose. His positive criterion for selection is the one that we have already
discussed: the landmarks of the journey were to be the points at which he is granted
further knowledge of his final destination. The most important negative criteria
were, first, avoidance of tedious repetition of motifs, and, secondly, avoidance of all
material that was of merely scholarly interest and could not somehow be made to
appeal to the listener's feelings. The material is much more severely abridged in
Book 3, and particularly in the parts that precede the arrival in Italy, than in the later
sections of the journey that are spread over Books 5 to 8. There was more room in
these books for fuller treatment of the available material, since the details were not
crowded together in a small space and, above all, since the books were dealing with
localities well-known to every person in the audience, places in which Virgil him-
self took a greater interest, and which he could assume had a greater interest for
others.
100 Only six stops in Greek waters are mentioned: Thrace, Delos, Crete, the Stro-
phades, Actium and Buthrotum. With the single exception of Actium, they are all
harnessed to Virgil's new scheme. The first, the failure to found a settlement in
Thrace, leads Aeneas to turn to Apollo on Delos for further directions. He has learnt
that the gods do not approve of just any site for the new Troy; they must therefore
have a definite destination for him in mind.[21] In Crete the second negative ex-
pression of divine will is immediately followed by another positive one: the
adventure with the Harpies on the Strophades brings a third gloomy prediction,
apparently the worst of all, since it applies to all future time. As a counterweight,
Helenus' prediction provides the clearest and strongest positive assurance. Thus
hindrance and assistance appear alternately until the very moment that the coast of
the promised land comes into view for the searchers. For the prodigia [portents],
Virgil has only once, in the case of Crete, made use of a traditional motif; the other
two give the impression of being traditional but are in fact original inventions. For
the prophecies, Virgil again went his own way. The tradition knew of a prediction
by the Sibyl of Erythrae and a consultation of the oracle at Dodona. The Sybil had to
be omitted so that the Cumaean Sibyl should not have a rival; the oracle at Dodona
101 was unsuitable because it had no connection with Apollo and would therefore have
destroyed the unity of Virgil's new conception. Instead, we have Helenus, whom,
according to tradition, Aeneas met in Dodona; he was all the more suitable because,
like Teiresias-Circe and Phineus, as an inspired mortal exegete of the god, he was in
the best position to give the detailed and careful instructions that were necessary for
this stage of the journey; it is easy to understand why Virgil shifted the meeting
from Dodona to the coast, at Buthrotum, since the tradition had Aeneas stopping
there in any case. There were also sources for the visit to Delos and the guest-friend-
ship of Anius; since the latter appears in the tradition as a reliable prophet, Virgil
must at least have considered giving him the prediction, but this would have dupli-
cated the Helenus motif. So Virgil has Apollo himself speaking from his holy of
holies to Aeneas when he asks for an oracle – it is, to say the least, very doubtful
whether Apollo of Cynthus had an oracle, and Virgil's words do not suggest that a
regular oracle was established there: da pater augurium atque animis inlabere nos -
tris (3.89) [grant us an augury, father, and come into our hearts] seems to be asking
for some inspiration that is not precisely definable, and when in response the inner
shrine opens, and the sound of the god's voice comes from the tripod within, this
seems to be an unexpected and therefore an all the more valuable favour. Apollo's
words are interpreted as referring to Crete and so Aeneas attempts to found a
settlement there. Here too Virgil connects his narrative with traditional material, for
the foundation of Pergamos on Crete was not only attributed to Trojans but also
linked with Aeneas himself (Serv. on 3.133). Admittedly, it did not feature among
Aeneas' most famous foundations, and Dionysius does not mention it at all; but it
suited Virgil's purpose because it gave ambiguity to the oracle's statement and also
because it made the wanderers turn southwards, right away from the direction of
their journey, just as the Libyan sea-storm does later, whereas the voyage as de-
scribed by, for example, Dionysius, apart from the detour to Thrace, keeps more or
less to the normal route from Troy to Italy, and therefore does not really correspond
to the concept of 'wandering around'. In Crete it is the Penates who speak in
Apollo's name, appearing to Aeneas as an image in a dream or a vision. Thus Virgil
has changed the location of this episode, since in the traditional version it comes at a
later point: in Latium, when the army of the Latins lay encamped opposite the
102 Trojans, the Penates are said to have advised Aeneas in a dream not to fight but to
come to a peaceful agreement.[22] This had been omitted in Virgil's treatment of the
story in Book 7, so that the motif was available for him to use at this point, where it
fits the situation quite naturally; after all, on the matter of the new homeland the
Penates are the ones who can speak with the greatest authority. Finally, Virgil has
put the prophecy of the prodigium of the tables into Celaeno's mouth, which was
surely his own original idea, as we have already said. In addition to these four
prophecies there are prophecies by Creusa, the Sibyl, and Tiberinus in other books;
and in a wider sense the 'pageant of heroes' in the underworld and the description of
the Shield also belong in this context; we can see how careful Virgil was to vary the
way in which the motif was presented.
The stop at Leucas-Actium is the only one that is not connected with the main
scheme.[23] The tradition knows of sanctuaries of Aphrodite founded by Aeneas on
Leucas, at Actium, and in Ambracia. Virgil mentions none of these; just as, out of
all the 
[sanctuaries of Aphrodite] attributed to Aeneas, he
selected just one, the one that was most important to Rome, that of Venus Erycina
(5.760), here, too, he is careful to avoid duplication. In the case of Actium, in total
conformity with the standpoint of the whole narrative, Apollo is named, even though
it is not explicitly stated that it is in his honour that Aeneas orders the games to be
celebrated on the Actian shore as a thanksgiving for the safe voyage through a
103 hostile region.[24] It is obvious that the whole episode is inserted because of the
significance which Actium had gained for Virgil's generation. That is why it is only
here that Virgil mentions a dedicatory gift by Aeneas, although according to the
tradition he offered them in many places. For example, Aeneas is said to have
dedicated a shield at Samothrace (Serv. on 287), as he does here.
The passages that I have cited are the sum total of the material that Virgil took
from the tradition for his narrative of this part of the journey. It is only a small part
of what was available to him; he was able to draw on a richer tradition than is
known to us from Dionysius, and even he tells us a great deal that Virgil disdained
to use: apart from numerous stopping-points and foundations of temples, there are
Aeneas' relationship with Launa, the daughter of Anius; the death of Cinaethus, who
was buried on the promontory now called after him; the sojourn in Arcadia, where
Aeneas left behind two daughters; the games established in honour of Aphrodite on
Zacynthus; and the detour to Dodona, which we have already discussed. It would
have been necessary to give all these events their own significance by inventing
motivation, which would have expanded the narrative out of all proportion and
would have overshadowed the principal theme in a most undesirable way, or, nar-
rated in Apollonius' annalistic style, it would have been of merely academic interest,
which had no value for Virgil. We can readily understand why he simply dispensed
with this surplus material. Nor does he record with antiquarian precision the local
traditions of South Italian cities which claimed traces of a visit by Aeneas.[25] Aeneas
puts in only at Castrum Minervae, to fulfil the vow which he made for a safe
crossing; for the rest, the reference in Helenus' prophecy to Greek settlements along
the coast explains why the Trojans do not put in to land at any point; this maintains
the impression that the voyage is perilous and like a flight. The only omission that
we might find surprising is the meeting with Diomedes, which, according to a
respectable legend, took place in Calabria. Of course, Virgil could not use the story
that Diomedes took Anchises' bones from the tomb and returned them to Aeneas;
but there was another tradition, according to which Diomedes came up to Aeneas
while he was sacrificing, to return the Palladium of Troy, possession of which had
brought him misfortune. In order not to interrupt the sacrifice, Aeneas turned away
104 with his head covered, and so Nautes received the sacred object instead, which
explains why the cult remained in the hands of his descendants, the Nautii.[26] Virgil
retained the
and he also knows of Nautes as a favourite of Pallas (5.704); but he motivates the
covering of the head as being due to fear of seeing an enemy while sacrificing, and
omits Diomedes completely; and yet one would have thought that Virgil would have
welcomed the opportunity for Aeneas to take the Palladium, and thus complete the
number of pignora imperii [tokens of empire] in his care; as it is, the Palladium is
mentioned only in Sinon's account of its theft (2.166). It is possible that he believed
that this tradition was open to objections on factual grounds;[27] it is also possible that
he considered it too novelistic that Aeneas and Diomedes should meet in person, and
therefore chose to refashion the motif so as to create a new episode, which we now
read in Book 11, the unsuccessful attempt by the Latins to obtain help from
Diomedes: here, too, Diomedes comes to realise that the misfortune that dogs him is
due to the fact that his fight against Troy was a fight against gods.
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.