Vergil, Aeneid I 441-463

Manuscripts: M | P 441-460, 461-463 | R 441-450, 451-463 | F 441-460, 461-463

Aeneas invisible enters the new temple of Juno. He is startled and consoled by seeing on the walls of the temple representations of the principal incidents in the siege of Troy (Wetherell). 

"The grove in the center of Carthage where Dido is building a huge temple to Juno is a place of firsts. It is the first place where Juno showed the Phoenicians a favorable sign after they were tossed ashore..."

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The grove in the center of Carthage where Dido is building a huge temple to Juno is a place of firsts. It is the first place where Juno showed the Phoenicians a favorable sign after they were tossed ashore: lucus in urbe fuit media, … quo primum iactati undis et turbine Poeni effodere loco signum, quod regia Iuno monstrarat (441–44). It is also the first place Aeneas (who has also recently been tossed ashore) feels that it might be safe to begin to feel safe: hoc primum in luco nova res oblata timorem leniit, hic primum Aeneas sperare salutem ausus (450–52)—and Aeneas, too, feels comforted here by something that he sees, nam … videt … (453–55).

What Dido and the Phoenicians see is the head of a horse, caput acris equi (444). It was shown to them by Juno, and it was a sign to them that they would be strong in war and secure in their livelihood for generations: sic nam fore bello egregiam et facilem victu per saecula gentem (444–45). It reassured them about their course of action, and they chose to build a temple to Juno in return for that reassurance, hic templum Iunoni … Dido condebat, donis opulentum (447). Vergil tells us about the head, about Juno showing it, and about what it means to Dido and her people, all as matters of fact; likewise Dido’s building of a temple there. He tells us the whole story quickly: the entire narrative, from their coming ashore in Libya to the advanced stage of the temple’s construction (the roof is on, nexae aere trabes, 448–49; doors are already hung, foribus cardo stridebat aenis, 449), takes up only nine lines, 441–49.

What Aeneas sees, however, is significantly more complex: it takes 43 lines (450–93) to describe it all. The matter of interpretation, what the “sign” means, is also personal to Aeneas and relevant chiefly to his own emotional state—and, as such, much of it is inarticulate and unfolds over the course of his looking (he cries out, for example, or weeps, multa gemens, largoque umectat flumine voltum, 465). What the pictures on Dido’s temple mean to Aeneas is, perhaps paradoxically, much harder to articulate than what the horse’s head meant for the future of the Phoenician people.

It is perhaps surprising, then, to note that most comprehensive effort at pinpointing Aeneas’ response comes right at the beginning, before rather than after the description of what he sees, in lines already quoted (450–52):

hoc primum in luco nova res oblata timorem

leniit, hic primum Aeneas sperare salutem

ausus, et adflictis melius confidere rebus.

We learn here that the “strange thing” he’s come across, nova res oblata, lessens his fear, soothes his anxiety, timorem leniit. While it doesn’t give him specific things to look forward to in his or his people’s future, it does shift his attitude away from despair and towards very cautious hope, which feels reckless, under the circumstances, and requires daring. He dares to hope for safety, sperare salutem ausus, and to trust a little more in the shaky, trouble-wracked things he is doing, adflictis melius confidere rebus.

However cautiously and personally, these reactions are forward-looking; fear and hope and trust in one’s actions all look into the future, even if it is just a little way. Thus again it is perhaps surprising that what Aeneas sees has, on the face of it, nothing at all to do with the future: he sees a pictorial narrative of the last war at Troy. The “strange, new thing” Aeneas sees, and that gives him cautious hope for the future, is his own past:

Namque …

… videt Iliacas ex ordine pugnas,

bellaque iam fama totum volgata per orbem,

Atridas, Priamumque, et saevum ambobus Achillem.

He sees the Trojans’ battles in order, a war already common knowledge throughout the world; Achilles raging at the Greek king Agamemnon, and at the Trojan king Priam.

These lines give the broad, broad overview; detailed descriptions of several of the pugnae are to follow. But it is now, immediately, in the moment of his first realization that he is seeing pictures of his own city’s war in this most unexpected place, that Aeneas stops still and tries, through tears, to articulate what this means to him, constitit, et lacrimans … inquit … (459). He speaks to Achates (459–63):

… ‘Quis iam locus … Achate,

quae regio in terris nostri non plena laboris?

En Priamus! Sunt hic etiam sua praemia laudi;

sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt.

Solve metus; feret haec aliquam tibi fama salutem.’

What might he mean?

“What place, what region of the world is not already full of our work? See, Priam! Even here there are fitting rewards for glory; there are tears for things and mortal-things touch the mind. Let go fear; this story will bring you some kind of safety.”

What if just the very notion that the Trojan war has become a common story helps? Aeneas realizes that he is seeing the Trojan war in line 456; here is the next line: bellaque iam fama totum vulgata per orbem. His first, incredulous question to Achates in 459–60 is a rephrasing of this same idea; “is there any place that isn’t talking about what we did?” In 461, pointing out Priam, he takes it as a sign that there are suitable rewards for laus—glory, a glorious deed, but at root “praise” … people talking about a deed that is worth talking about. And the last thing he says in 463 is that this story, haec fama, will keep them safe.

Looking back at 452, where Aeneas dares to trust a little more in his shaky deeds, adflictis melius confidere rebus, perhaps the knowledge that his city’s defeat is already an epic is heartening. If his losing is already a good story, maybe whatever comes next might be okay.

Maybe.

But something more comes out in the next two lines (464–65):

Sic ait, atque animum pictura pascit inani,

multa gemens, largoque umectat flumine vultum.

“He said this, and grazed his spirit on an empty picture, moaning often, and he drenched his face with a great river.” He will continue to weep and moan throughout: lacrimans (470); vero ingentum gemitum dat pectore ab imo (485), deeply moved by what he recognizes in these pictures, agnoscit (470); agnovit (488).

Back in 406 he used this same word, Ille ube matrem / agnovit; he recognized Venus when she dropped her disguise. He was upset with her for tricking him with images, and he asked her, Quid natum totiens, crudelis tu quoque, falsis ludis imaginibus? (407–8). If we keep this moment in mind when read Aeneas’ enigmatic statement sunt lacrimae rerum, mentem mortalia tangunt, perhaps we glimpse something pointed in mortalia. Perhaps another reason seeing this story here is that this time, in this story, he recognizes his friends (Agnoscit … Tydides, 470–71), and he recognizes himself (se … agnovit, 488)—mortals, not gods. Moreover, these mortal things do move him deeply, they bring him to tears; unlike his mother, these things touch him.

But then, doesn’t he also speak too soon when he says, “don’t worry, this story will save us”? Venus tricked him by disguising her appearance; Aeneas is sitting, at this very moment, while he thinks these thoughts, wrapped in a disguise himself. Isn’t the safety brought by this war-story also going to prove a trick?

Further Reading

Barchiesi, A. 1997. “Ecphrasis.” In The Cambridge Companion to Virgil, ed. C. Martindale, 271–81. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Bartsch, S. 1998. “Ars and the Man: The Politics of Art in Virgil’s Aeneid.” Classical Philology 93: 322–342.

Clay, D. 1988. “The Archaeology of the Temple to Juno in Carthage.” Classical Philology 83: 195–205.

Fowler, D. 1991. “Narrate and Describe: The Problem of Ekphrasis.” Journal of Roman Studies 81: 25–35.

Johnson, W.R. 1976. Darkness Visible: A Study of Vergil’s Aeneid, 99–105. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Lowenstam, S. 1993. “The Pictures on Juno’s Temple in the Aeneid.” Classical World 87: 37–49.

Lowrie, M. 1999. “Telling Pictures: Ecphrasis in the Aeneid.” Vergilius 45: 111–20.

Thomas, R. 1983. “Virgil’s Ecphrastic Centerpieces.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 87: 175–84.

441: laetissimus: containing the idea of fullness, it is followed by the genitive (Carter) (AG 409). umbrae: gen. after laetissimus (Robertson). “In respect of shade” (Walpole) (AG 349d).

442: quo: with loco (443), “the spot in which the Phoenicians...first dug up the token” (F-B). primum: “in the beginning,” or on their first arrival (Frieze) (AG 322d). This may either be an adj. agreeing with signum, or an adv. modifying effodere (Robertson).

443: effodere: perfect, third plural (Bennett). signum: “the token” (Frieze). “omen” (Carter). regia: a favorite adjective of Juno (Carter).

444: monstrarat: = monstraverat, “had indicated.” She had foretold to them, through some vision or oracle, that from the ground where she desired them to plan their new city, they would dig up as a sign the head of a horse (Frieze). The horse’s head is to the Carthaginians as the white sow is to Aeneas (Conington). caput...acris equi: a horse’s head was the symbol of Carthage, and is common on Carthaginian coins [add image] Acris is a generic adjective, the spirited animal, not a spirited animal (F-B). sic nam fore…: oblique construction, as is at once made clear by fore, dependent on the sense of “telling” contained in monstrarat: “for (she had told them) that so (i.e., if they found the sign, and in agreement with its significance) the race should be glorious in war and plenteous in store throughout the ages” (Page). sic: i.e., if they found the head (F-B). i.e., by such a token as this (Frieze).

445: facilem victu: commentators take victu either as the ablative supine (AG 510) from vivo, “easy in the living”; or as the ablative singular from victus (“sustenance”), and make facilem victu = facilem victum habituram “that would make an easy living,” thanks to the fertility of the land.

447: opulentum donis et numine: zeugma, “enriched by offerings and by the presence of the goddess” (Conington). “Rich with offerings (valuable treasures given by devotees) and with the powerful manifestation (numine) of the goddess” (Frieze).

448–449: “Its threshold of bronze rose on steps; of bronze its posts were bound; on doors of bronze creaked the hinges.” The verb after trabes is not surgebant but erant (understood) (G.P. Goold, “Hypermeter and Elision in Vergil,” in Vertis in Usum, Studies in Honor of Edward Courtney [Munich: Saur, 2002], p. 82). In these two lines, Vergil describes (1) the whole entrance, limina; (2) the superstructure, trabes, covering the lintel over the huge doors, as well as the beams of the architrave; and (3) the doors themselves, fores, through which Aeneas enters the temple (F-B). aerea...aere...aënis: the special point emphasized is the use of costly bronze such as the Romans employed in many of their grand temples. There is perhaps a reference to the Pantheon, which was built by Agrippa in 27 B.C., but the existing Pantheon is a restoration of the time of the Emperor Hadrian (F-B).

448: cui: in the sense of cuius. This is common with Vergil (Cooper). nexaeque aere trabes: sc. sunt (Walpole). “Its lintel-beams were riveted of bronze” (F-B).

449: foribus: dative after stridebat. The hinges or pivots creaked in their sockets in turning the ponderous doors of bronze (Frieze). The expression is a variation for fores cardine stridebant (F-B).

452: ausus: sc. est (Carter). adflictis rebus: “shattered fortunes.” Either ablative or dative (F-B) (AG 431; 367). Confido sometimes takes the dat., sometimes the abl. (Chase).

454: quae fortuna sit urbi: = miratur fortunam urbis (Chase). “Marvels at the city’s fortune.” Indirect question, of exclamatory character: “What a fortune the city has!” (F-B).

455: artificumque manus inter se: literally, “the hands of the artist among themselves,” i.e., “the handiwork of the several artists.” The expression implies that different artists have combined to produce unity of effect (F-B). operum laborem: i.e., the labor bestowed upon the construction of the temple, in contrast with artificum manus, which refers to the works of art (Frieze).

456: ex ordine: with pugnas (Walpole). I.e., there was a series of panels along the wall (Williams).

458: Atridas: Agamemnon and Menelaus, leaders on the Greek side (F-B). saevum ambobus: i.e., both to the Atridae and to Priam, friends and foes alike (F-B). Achilles was cruel to the sons of Atreus (Agamemnon and Menelaus), in refusing so long to aid in the defense of the Greek camp; and to Priam in slaying so many of his sons, and particularly Hector (Frieze).

461–462: sunt hic...tangunt: “even here honor has its due reward; even here tears fall for men’s lot, and mortality touches the heart.” The force of hic etiam continues to the second clause. Aeneas had expected to find himself among barbarians; he now finds that they too have the ordinary emotions of humanity, generous where praise is due, sympathetic to sorrow. The famous words sunt lacrimae rerum must not be divorced from this context. But the beauty of the lines, and the melancholy that seems to predominate, have given them a mysterious universality in the view of many critics; they have been endlessly discussed, and Vergil would surely have been surprised at some of the directions into which his interpreters have gone (Austin).

461: sunt...laudi: “here, too, worth has its (due) rewards.” laudi is used by metonymy of that which wins praise (F-B). praemia: the reward in the present case is fame and human sympathy, as expressed in the following beautiful line (Frieze).

462: rerum: an objective genitive (AG 348), res meaning res adversae, “sorrow” (F-B).