a—
The Structure of the Action
1—
Purposeful Progress
In order to characterize the way in which Virgil deals with the action, I will now
attempt to establish the types of action among which his creative inventiveness
prefers to move. The general difference between Virgil's and Homer's treatment of
319 the action could be summed up by saying that Homer's action is only significant in
itself, whereas Virgil's always has a higher purpose. Reading Homer, one so often
has the impression that the narrator has lost sight of the point of each episode; as
A.W. Schlegel put it,[74] 'he lingers over every detail of the past with total attention,
as if nothing had happened before or would happen after, so that everything is
equally interesting as a living present time'. When this 'epic stillness' does occur in
Virgil, it is the exception; the Aeneid is generally more like drama, where every
scene (in so far as it is aiming at specifically dramatic effects) is directed towards a
precise goal; Virgil intends us never to lose the feeling that the action is moving
forward . Compare the treatment of Menelaus when he is wounded by Pandarus,
with the treatment of Aeneas when he is wounded in Book 12. That the reader may
be excited and tense about the consequences of the treacherous shot does not trouble
Homer in the least (unless one is supposed to credit him with deliberately removing
the tension and excitement); nor does it have any bearing on the subsequent events
whether Menelaus recovers earlier or later; and yet we are made to linger over the
scene as every possible detail is given. In Virgil, everything depends on Aeneas'
being fighting-fit again, or else the enemy will gain the upper hand; the scene has an
energy which directs it towards this goal and gives it point, and the attainment of
this goal is essential for the success of the main action. Virgil does not invent an
action like the
episode]. The apparent exceptions prove the rule. It is true that there are scenes
which do not contribute anything to the advancement of the main story, and do not
show any forward movement in themselves; but this is when the interest does not lie
at all in the action and its portrayal but either (as in the Andromache scene) in the
portrayal of an emotion, or (as in the tour of the site of Rome in Book 8) the national
history of Rome.
2—
Strong Openings
Virgil loves to start the action with a sudden strong impetus , rather than slowly and
320 gradually. He wants to catch the listener's interest all at once, not step by step. How
little haste the writer of the Odyssey makes to get to his hero, how much time he
takes with the broad exposition! And when we do finally meet Odysseus, how
calmly and dispassionately the events then unroll before our eyes! The Aeneid
begins, after a short introduction, with a turbulent scene, the tempest. When we see
the hero for the first time he is in deadly danger. It is true that the exposition of this
scene is comparatively calm (Juno's monologue and the conversation with Aeolus)
but Juno's first words already proclaim the doom-laden event and swiftly it speeds
nearer. This same pattern is repeated at every opportunity in the course of the
narrative; I have referred to it repeatedly in my analysis which forms the first half of
this study. In the second book, Aeneas' narrative begins more like a report than a
description. The description starts when Laocoon suddenly enters. After Sinon's
long tale, the entrance of the serpents and Laocoon's death set the action moving
with a sharp impetus. The depiction of the night of terror does not begin with
Aeneas being wakened by the clamour and gradually realizing what is happening,
but with the pathos-laden appearance of Hector in a dream, which suddenly, and all
at once, throws a harsh light on the situation. In Book 4 it is a question of bringing
about Aeneas' departure. Another poet might have chosen to show the situation
gradually becoming impossible, or Aeneas remembering his higher duty after the
lapse of a certain amount of time. In Virgil it is a quite precise event, Iarbas' defiant
prayer, which sets things moving; and Mercury's mission strikes the unthinking
Aeneas like a bolt from the blue. Similarly when he actually sails away: for the story
it would have sufficed for Aeneas to wake up at the first light of day and give the
order to sail away, but this would have made too gentle a start for an action so
fraught with consequences. Virgil makes Mercury enter a second time, and now
Aeneas subitis exterritus umbris corripit e somno corpus sociosque fatigat (4.571)
[was shocked by the sudden apparition: he leapt up and gave his comrades the
alarm]. The real action of Book 6 begins when the Sybil enters; Virgil could have
narrated how Aeneas sought her out, told her his wishes etc. Instead, he chooses to
begin by describing a state of rest – Aeneas sunk in contemplation before the
321 temple-pictures – which is then rudely interrupted; only a few lines later can he
begin to consult the god. One final example: the opening of Book 9 when Iris is sent
to Turnus. Basically, the technical reason for this is that the new action should not
have a flat beginning.
3—
Scenes
Virgil knew from experience that a scene presented dramatically has a stronger
effect than a scene narrated in epic style. He therefore tries to come as near as
possible to composing the separate parts of his narrative as dramatic scenes . I select
for my first example the treaty and its violation in Book 12, a scene which I have
already analysed from a different viewpoint (p. 176f.). As before, we can learn much
by comparing it with Homer. In Homer we watch the whole course of the action
unroll all of a piece. Paris retreats before Menelaus, Hector upbraids him; Paris
himself then suggests the duel; Hector restrains the Trojans from entering the fight,
Agamemnon realizes why and does the same with the Greeks; Hector speaks and
Menelaus answers; the duel is decided upon. Heralds are sent to Ilium and to the
Greek camp. Meanwhile, Helen, driven by Iris, goes onto the ramparts and points
out the Greek heroes to Priam; the herald finds Priam there and the latter goes to the
duelling-place. There oaths are sworn, sacrifices made, Priam returns; preparations
and duel. Aphrodite carries Paris off to Troy, there is a long scene there between her
and Helen, who finally returns to Paris. Meanwhile Menelaus is looking for him on
the battlefield in vain. There follows a long scene on Olympus, resulting in the
abduction of Pandarus by Athena. Menelaus is wounded, there is a long conversa-
tion between him and Agamemnon; the herald enters the camp, delivers his message
to Machaon, returns with him, Menelaus is tended; meanwhile the Trojans are
already advancing to fight, Agamemnon is raising his men's spirits individually. In
Virgil the arrangements have been made the day before; the action begins as day
dawns, as so often in drama. The scene is the plain in front of the city (116); we only
leave this arena once briefly during a break in the action, in order to be present
during Juno's conversation with Juturna (134-60). The characters enter one after
another, so that the audience has time to get to know them; first servants, who erect
turf altars; then the armoured soldiers from both sides; the leaders, clothed in purple
and adorned with gold, rush about; at a given signal, positions are taken up, weapons
are laid down; on the walls and roofs of the city can be seen women, old men and
other non-combatant spectators: everything awaits the main characters. This is
where the above-mentioned break comes. Now, when everything is ready, Latinus
and Turnus, Aeneas and Ascanius enter; with them are the priests; in the case of
these main characters their outward appearance is described, giving a vivid picture
of the scene. There follows the detailed description of the oaths and sacrifices.
Meanwhile, among the Rutulians a feeling of opposition to the duel has already
sprung up; it grows as Turnus approaches the altar praying and showing visible
signs of excitement: here, Juturna intervenes in the shape of Camers; things develop
rapidly until the spear is thrown by Tolumnius and there is turmoil around the altar;
Latinus flees back to the city, Aeneas wants to stay but is wounded and has to be led
back to the camp: now Turnus shouts for chariot and arms, and the regular battle
develops. One could regard the whole narrative as an exact portrayal of a scene as it
would have been acted out in the contemporary Roman theatre, which liked specta-
cular productions: on the stage the one short conversation between Juno and Juturna
would be omitted. A second, very clear example is Aeneas' first meeting with Dido.
The scene is set in Juno's temple in Carthage. Aeneas and Achates enter; they talk
while looking at the pictures. Soon the queen arrives with a splendid retinue; Aeneas
and Achates hide so as to watch the situation unobserved for a time. Dido, sur-
rounded by her guard, takes her place on the throne in the centre of the temple and
delivers commands and judgements. Noise and commotion are heard from outside;
the excited group of Trojan leaders crowds in, surrounded by crowds of Carthagi-
nians; Ilioneus steps forward and speaks with Dido. Scarcely has she expressed her
desire to see Aeneas himself before her when he appears to everyone,, resplendent in
a halo of light. First he addresses the queen with enthusiastic gratitude, then he gives
warm greetings to the companions he had believed lost. Dido recovers from her
323 great amazement and welcomes him and invites him to be her guest; exeunt all in a
merry festive throng (631). All through the Aeneid , at nearly all the high-points of
the action, there are scenes like this which are conceived from the viewpoint of a
dramatist. They are presented using all the means of epic technique, but they retain
as much dramatic effect as possible. I need merely mention the scene by the wooden
horse; the scene at Priam's altar (2.512); the scene before Aeneas leaves Troy
(2.634); the scene at Hector's tumulus (3.304); or at the ara [altar] of Hercules;
Aeneas' arrival at Evander's shore (8.102). Lesser scenes are the meeting of Aeneas
and the Sybil (6.59), the Achaemenides episode (3.588), Aeneas' return to his men
(10.215-75). Finally, I remind you of Virgil's ability to bring the spectators of an
action into the same picture as the protagonists wherever appropriate. We have
discussed this above in connection with the Sinon scene, the boat-race, and the final
duel.
4—
Peripeteia
Pure epic style has a calm, steady development of the action in a single direction,
although it may be delayed at times by hindrances. Dramatic style has a sudden
reversal, a
the choice, Virgil always prefers to 'break' the action rather than let it unroll
steadily. He starts by making the action apparently head in a different direction from
the real one, and then suddenly turns it around; or, in cases where the right direction
is taken from the start, he is not content with simple hindrances but intensifies them
where possible so that they actually set the action off in a different direction.
Seen from the Greek standpoint, the sack of Troy and its prologue form one
steadily unrolling action, in which Laocoon's entry and warning bring only a
momentary retardation. But as Virgil tells it, from the Trojan standpoint, the action
starts by apparently moving steadily towards the deliverance of Troy. It reaches its
highpoint in the joyful celebration after the horse has been pulled in. The peripeteia
occurs here, and the action rapidly moves in the opposite direction. The night-battle
324 itself is traditionally one long Greek victory; in Virgil, it seems for a while that the
Trojans may triumph; but, only a short time after, fortune takes a different turn.
Odysseus strives to reach his home with a steady, uninterrupted effort. The
sojourns with Circe and Calypso delay his journey but do not change his destination.
In Book 4 of the Aeneid , at first everything seems to indicate that Aeneas will stay in
Carthage permanently: Juno is working towards this end, Dido's love relies on it,
Aeneas himself seems to have completely forgotten his true destiny. Then Mercury
enters, the peripeteia occurs, and the narrative swings unstoppably in the opposite
direction, and Aeneas sails away.
In accordance with the historical tradition, the burning of the ships in Sicily only
serves to explain the Trojan settlement there: Aeneas had to leave behind the crews
of these ships. In Virgil's narrative, where the burning of the ships follows directly
on the funeral games, it is a peripeteia .[75] The scenes of happy gaiety are suddenly
interrupted by an event which the poet deliberately makes more terrible. It is true
that Jupiter soon quenches the fire, but Aeneas' whole enterprise seems jeopardized
(700-4) and it is only Nautes' advice, in combination with Anchises' appearance in a
dream, which brings the action back onto its original path.
According to the tradition, the settlement of Latium took place at first without
any great difficulty. It was only later that Aeneas and Ascanius had to fight re-
peatedly to assert their right to their gains. Virgil's Book 7 is arranged according to
the same plan as the actions we have already examined. At first, everything seems to
guarantee the happy outcome. The prodigium of the tables makes the Trojans sure
that they have at last reached the promised land. The oracle of Faunus has already
disposed Latinus to give the strangers a friendly welcome. The embassy is taking its
course to the entire satisfaction of both parties. Then Juno intervenes, and step by
step everything goes into reverse, until the huge war blazes up and seems to engulf
in its flames everything which has been achieved.
The same principle which is at work on the larger scale is also visible on the
325 smaller scale, in the separate parts of the narrative. I need only remind you that
comparison with Homer's description of the races clearly showed that the unex-
pected peripeteia is Virgil's own. Similarly, in the description of battles, again and
again the plot has the action rising to a definite high point and then suddenly
switching direction. Rather than go through the same group of examples again, I
will adduce some different, isolated ones.
Before Aeneas and the Sibyl find their way over the Stygian waters to the
Underworld itself, they have to overcome the resistance of Charon the ferryman
(6.385ff.). It would be simple retardation if, in reply to Charon's speech, the Sibyl
had pulled rank as Apollo's priestess and Charon had given way to her. Virgil makes
a much more dramatic scene. The Sibyl's reply begins with an attempt to dispel
Charon's fears; she tells him Aeneas' name, praises his pietas , explains the purpose
of his visit – all in vain; Charon persists in his refusal.[76] Then the Sibyl pulls the
golden bough from under her robe: ramum hunc agnoscas ['you must recognize this
branch'] – and there is no need of further words on either side; with quiet respect
Charon steers his boat to the bank. This intermezzo is a miniature drama in itself.
The morning after the festival of Hercules (8.470), Evander answers Aeneas'
request for help. His answer is as favourable as could be: whatever troops can be
raised will be at his disposal; he also holds out the prospect of a considerably larger
contingent of Etruscans; Aeneas could then thank him and joyfully begin the voyage
to Caere. Instead, Evander's speech is phrased in such a way that Aeneas feels it
puts an end to all his hopes, and does not dare to trust the prospect of Etruscan help.
Aeneas and Achates sit with downcast looks, miserably considering the harshness of
fate (520ff.) – then lightning and thunder from a clear sky give a timely sign of good
fortune, weapons gleam and clash in the air. Aeneas knows that his divine mother
remembers her promise, and all care has gone, the preparations for departure are
taken in hand immediately and joyfully.
326 In the storm in the Odyssey , Poseidon's intervention (5.365ff.) does not appear to
be a peripeteia : he himself says right at the beginning that the end of Odysseus'
troubles waits for him on Scheria, and he only tries to delay this. The counter-action
of the helpful goddesses, Leucothea and Athena, splinters into a series of small
actions which gradually, joined with Odysseus' desperate efforts, nullify the effect
of Poseidon's unfriendly intervention. In Virgil, the action starts with the outbreak
of the storm. Step by step, the Trojans come nearer to disaster, one ship has already
sunk, another four are already in danger of going the same way, then Neptune
calmly surfaces from the deep, the winds depart, the clouds disperse, the sea calms
down, the grounded ships float free and make for the safe shore. Thus what we have
here is not an often retarded but always straightforward action with many stages, but
one that has one single energetic break at the peripeteia .
5—
Surprise
A sudden reversal, such as we have just described, will generally mean that one or
all of those concerned are surprised . Such surprise, which results from sudden and
unexpected events, and emphasizes their significance to some extent, plays an im-
portant rôle in Virgil's action, even in places where we can hardly speak of a
peripeteia . Consider how Aeneas' appearance surprises Andromache,[77] Dido,[78]
Acestes,[79] and Evander and his men,[80] or think of Aeneas' own experiences during
the last stages of the sack of Troy: Venus' appearance, his father's refusal, flame-
omens, the heavenly auspice, the sight of the enemy, the loss of Creusa, the vision of
her – it is clear that he tumbles from one surprise to another, and when he finally
327 returns to his household he is also amazed to face a quite different sight from what
he expected.[81] Comparison with Homer again sets this characteristic in a clearer
light. In Iliad 4, when the Trojans advance to fight after the breach of the treaty,
Homer merely says of the Achaeans
(Iliad 4.222). How Virgil would have depicted this, one can imagine from a scene in
Book 11 (445ff.). The armistice is over, in Laurentum they must realize that the
fighting will start again, but the scene is described like this:
nuntius ingenti per regia tecta tumultu
ecce ruit magnisque urbem terroribus implet ,
instructos acie Tiberino a flumine Teucros
Tyrrhenamque manum totis descendere campis .
extemplo turbati animi concussaque vulgi
pectora etc.
[and, see, the news now darted swiftly through the palace buildings, spreading
intense excitement and striking keen alarm into the city; the Trojans, marshalled for
battle, and with them the Etruscan contingent, were bearing down on them all over
the plain from the river Tiber. At once the nation was shaken to the heart and thrown
into confusion]. In the Homeric boxing-match when Epeius issues his insolent
challenge, the others all remain silent. 'Only Euryalus went out to meet him . . . . The
son of Tydeus encouraged him to fight' ( Iliad 23.676). When Eryx decides to accept
the challenge (5.400), he throws two powerful caestus [boxing-leathers] into the
ring: obstipuere animi . . . ante omnis stupet ipse Dares [all were astounded . . . but
Dares himself was the most impressed]. A whole group of such events is formed by
the appearances of gods and their subsequent recognition. In Homer, when Ajax
recognizes Poseidon ( Iliad 13.61), Aeneas Apollo (17.333), Priam Hermes (24.468),
no words are wasted on describing the effect. It is unusually explicit when Helen 'is
surprised' when she becomes aware of Aphrodite's presence (3.398). In such cases,
Virgil never forgets to describe to us the terrible astonishment which befalls the
mortal – aspectu obmutuit amens , arrectaeque horrore comae et vox faucibus haesit
(4.279) [he was struck dumb by the vision. He was out of his wits, his hair bristled
with a shiver of fear, and his voice was checked in his throat], or however else it is
expressed.
We mentioned something in section 2 (p. 251f.) which belongs here: the fact that
characters who are to play a significant part in the action enter suddenly and swiftly.
On p. 9f. we looked at Laocoon's entrance from this point of view. There is no
328 better parallel than Camilla's entrance in Book 11, before her aristeia begins. One
might have expected her to take part in the council; she is not mentioned there at all;
Turnus hurries down from the citadel ready for battle (498):
obvia cui Volscorum acie comitante Camilla
o c c u r r i t , portisque ab equo regina sub ipsis
desiluit , quam tota cohors imitata relictis
ad terram defluxit equis
[here quickly Camilla rode up to meet him, her Volscian regiment with her, and hard
by the gates the princess leapt from her horse; and all her band, following her lead,
dismounted, slipping deftly to the ground].[82] We can see the scene. How much more
effective it is than if Camilla and Turnus had already decided on their strategy in the
council-house, and what a bright light it throws on Camilla at the very moment
when she steps to the forefront of the action.
6—
Contrast
The scene of Neptune's intervention in the storm, which we have discussed above
(p. 255), can also serve as an example of how the strong effect of the peripeteia (or
of any sudden event) can be increased by a further basic device of artistic presenta-
tion: contrast . In the storm scene the sudden calm is all the more effective because
of the contrast with the rough wind and waves which have been described just
before – the simile at 1.148f. shows that clearly; elsewhere, too, Virgil likes to
create a new situation with a sudden reversal and set it in sharp contrast with the
previous state of affairs. It can be a contrast of moods: I am thinking of Aeneas'
mood before and after the burning of the ships in Book 5, before and after the
lightning prodigium in Book 8, before and after Mercury's first appearance in Book
4. Or a contrast between complete rest and frantic activity: Turnus is roused by
329 Allecto from deepest slumber to raging battle-lust (7.413, 458); he is sitting in a
sacred grove, i.e. in silent solitude, when Iris makes him jump up: nunc tempus
equos , nunc poscere currus , rumpe moras omnis et turbata arripe castra (9.12)
['now is the moment to call for horses and your chariots of war. Burst a way through
every obstacle; surprise their camp into a panic and swiftly make it yours']. Simi-
larly, it is in the still of the night, when Aeneas and his men are sleeping after the
toils of the last few days in Carthage, that Mercury appears urging him to make
haste, and this is followed by feverish activity, rapiuntque ruuntque (4.554, 581)
[they heaved and they hurried]. Contrast is apparent in many different places: Ae-
neas' pious act, plucking green boughs with his own hands to adorn the altars of the
gods, is contrasted with the horrible subsequent desecration of the grave of Poly-
dorus: parce pias scelerare manus (3.19) [do not stain your righteous hands with
sin]); the Cretan colony is flourishing in every way when it is suddenly destroyed by
plague and drought and crop-failure (3.132); the joyful and voluptuous feasting
when they finally reach land contrasts with the loathsome and terrifying appearance
of the Harpies (3.219); these are three examples which occur very close together. In
all these and similar cases, Virgil started with the second situation: to increase its
effect he invented the first or, where it already existed, he painted it with contrasting
colours.
7—
Intensification
When an action consists of a series of similar scenes, the weakening effect of
repetition is compensated for by introducing some sort of intensification . The prime
example of this is the series of battles in the Sack of Troy. There are detailed
descriptions of the fights in which Androgeus is involved (370-85), the fight for
Cassandra (402-34), the battle for the citadel (453-505), Priam's last fight (505-58).
Not only is the pathos more intense in the second scene compared with the first –
Coroebus' despair at the sight of his betrothed, whom he has been searching for
everywhere; but also, in contrast to the first fortunate outcome, there now comes the
first serious defeat. Also, in contrast with the unknown Androgeus we now have on
the battlefield the chief heroes of the Achaeans, Ajax and the Atrides. Neoptolemus
is reserved for the hardest fighting, which follows, and this in turn intensifies the
action, as the partial defeat in the second scene is followed by the decisive defeat
when the citadel is stormed. Here, again, the finale consists of the greatest possible
330 disaster, the death of the king himself. We have discussed this above on p. 23ff. In
the Dido scenes in Book 4 the climax leading up to the end is provided by the
material itself. In the competitions in Book 5, after the highly dramatic and emo-
tional boxing-match it was hardly possible to intensify the pathos any further.
Instead, for the last competition, Virgil invents Acestes' miraculous feat, thereby
raising the mood to the higher level of the portentous and supernatural Intensification is
carried out most carefully where it is most urgently required, in the battle-descriptions
in Books 9-12; I have referred to this repeatedly in my analysis above (p. 142ff.).
Comparison with the battle-descriptions in the Iliad is particularly instructive here.
Moreover, the principle applies not merely to the individual groups of scenes, but
to the lay-out of the whole work; or at least Virgil intended it to. The first half of the
poem ends with the most sublime passage of the whole work, the Parade of Heroes
and Anchises' prophecies. However, compared with this first half, the second half is
supposed to appear even more elevated and more splendid: maior rerum mihi nasci -
tur ordo , maius opus moveo (7.44) [a graver sequence of events opens before me,
and I now begin a grander enterprise]. In fact, it does not convey this effect, and it is
also doubtful whether Virgil was satisfied that he had achieved his objective. He
was writing from the contemporary standpoint which regarded the celebration of
war as the epic writer's greatest task. Books 7 and 8 are devoted to the preparations
for battle; Books 9 and 10 describe the first battles and culminate in Aeneas' first
great feat, the fall of Mezentius; after the excitement has dipped a little in Book 11,
so that another rise is possible, this leads in Book 12 to the climax of the whole
work, the death of Turnus. On this high spot the long road reaches its ending. It can
never have entered Virgil's head that he should go on to narrate the peaceful
consequences which must have followed Aeneas' victory.