III.

III.While the various religious elements in Virgil’s nature find ample scope in the representation of the Aeneid, his apathy in regard to active political life is seen in the tameness of his reproduction of that aspect of human affairs. In the Homericβουλήandἀγοράwe recognise not only the germs of the future[pg 377]political development of the Greeks, but the germs out of which all free political life unfolds itself. To the form of government exhibited in the Aeneid, the words which Tacitus uses of a mixed constitution might be more justly applied,—‘it is one more easily praised than realised, or if ever it is realised, it is incapable of permanence592.’ And even if the Virgilian idea could be realised in some happy moment of human affairs, it does not contain within itself the capacity of any further development. The difficulties of the problem of government are solved in Virgil by the picture which he draws of passive and loyal submission on the part of nobles and people to a wise, beneficent, and disinterested ruler and legislator593. The idea of the ruler in the Aeneid is the same as that of the ‘Father.’ It is under such a rule, exercised from Rome as its centre, that the unchanging future of the world is anticipated—Dum domus Aeneae Capitoli immobile saxumAccolet, imperiumque Pater Romanus habebit594.The case of Mezentius does indeed show that Virgil recognised the ultimate right of rebellion when the paternal king passed into the tyrannical oppressor; but such an instance affords no scope for representing the manifestation of political passions and virtues. The free play of conflicting forces in a community has no attraction for Virgil’s imagination. He suggests no thought either of the popular liberty realised in the best days of the Roman commonwealth, or of the sagacity and steadfast traditions of the Roman Senate. The only trace of discussion and opposition appears in the debate within the court of Latinus.[pg 378]But the antagonism between Drances and Turnus is one of personal rivalry, not of political difference; and the only limit to the sovereignty of Latinus lies in his own weakness of will and in the opposition of his household.But besides the ideals of popular freedom and senatorian dignity which were realised in the Republic, the Roman mind was impressed by another political ideal, the ‘Majesty of the State.’ The one political force that remained unchanged, amid the various changes of the Roman constitution from the time of the kings to the time of the emperors, was the power of the executive. And this power depended not on material force, but on the sentiment with which the magistrate was regarded as the embodiment for the time being of that attribute in the State which commanded the reverence of the people. The greatest political offence which a Roman could commit under the Republic was a violation of the ‘majesty of the Commonwealth;’ under the Empire ‘of the majesty of the Emperor.’ The sentiment out of which this idea arose was felt by Virgil in all its strength. Thus although the actual government of Latinus is exhibited as a model neither of wisdom nor of strength, it is invested with all the outward semblance of powerful and ancient sovereignty—Tectum augustum, ingens, centum sublime columnis,Urbe fuit summa, Laurentis regia Pici,Horrendum silvis et religione parentum.Hic sceptra accipere et primos attollere fascesRegibus omen erat; hoc illis curia templum,Hae sacris sedes epulis; hic, ariete caeso,Perpetuis soliti patres considere mensis595.The spectacle of the fall of Troy acquires new grandeur from the representation of Troy, not, as it appears in Homer, as a[pg 379]city with many allies, but as the centre of a wide and long-established empire—Postquam res Asiae Priamique evertere gentemInmeritam visum Superis, ceciditque superbumIlium et omnis humo fumat Neptunia Troia596.Urbs antiqua ruit, multos dominata per annos597.Haec finis Priami fatorum; his exitus illumSorte tulit, Troiam incensam et prolapsa videntemPergama, tot quondam populis terrisque superbumRegnatorem Asiae598.The tragic splendour of Dido’s death is enhanced by her proud sense of a high destiny fulfilled and of queenly rule exercised over a great people—Vixi, et, quem dederat cursum Fortuna, peregi:Et nunc magna mei sub terras ibit imago.Urbem praeclaram statui, mea moenia vidi599.Thus although the necessities of his position and his own ‘inscitia reipublicae’ prevented Virgil, in his representation, from appealing to the generous political emotions of a free people, he was able not only to gratify the pride of empire felt by his countrymen, but to sustain among them the sense of imaginative reverence with which the sovereignty of the State over its individual members deserves to be regarded.But there is another class of political facts which interest the mind as much as those which arise out of the play of conflicting forces within a free commonwealth,—viz. the relations of independent powers with one another. And of this class of facts both Homer and Virgil make use in their representations. In[pg 380]Homer we see the spectacle, never realised in actual Grecian history at least till the days of Alexander, of the many independent Greek powers united under one leader in a common enterprise, and of the various powers of the western shores of Asia combined in defence of their leading State. The antagonism between the Greeks and Trojans is, in point of general conception, more like the hostile inter-relations of nations in modern times, than like the wars of city against city, with which the pages of later Greek history are filled600. The union of the Italian tribes and cities under the command of Turnus, and that of Trojans, Arcadians, and Etrurians—all foreigners recently settled in Italy—under Aeneas, may be compared to the union of independent Greek powers under Agamemnon, and that of ‘the allies summoned from afar,’ who, while following their own princes, yet submitted to the command of Hector. Yet in Virgil’s conception of the great powers of the world, and even of cities most remote from one another, as having an intimate knowledge of each other’s fortunes,—in the idea of what in modern times would be called a ‘foreign policy’ and ‘the balance of power,’ which dictates the mission of Turnus to Diomede, and the appeal of Aeneas to the Etrurians to take part with him in averting the establishment by the Rutulians of a sovereignty over the whole of Italy,—we meet with a condition of international relations and policy, which, if based on the experience of any period of ancient history, might have been suggested by the memory of the time when Hannibal’s great scheme of combining the fresh vigour of the western barbarians, the smouldering elements of resistance in Italy, and the military power and prestige of the old monarchies of Macedonia and Syria, was defeated not more by the irresolution and disunion among those powers, than by the traditional policy through which Rome had made her dependent allies feel that her interest[pg 381]was identified with their own. But this aspect of the world, though an anachronism from the point of view either of the time when the poem was written, or of that in which the events represented are supposed to happen, enhances the dignity of the action, by exhibiting the enterprise of Aeneas as a spectacle attracting the attention and involving the destinies of the great nations of the world.The state of material civilisation exhibited in the Aeneid must be regarded also as a poetical compromise between the simplicity and rude vigour of primitive civilisation and the splendour and refinement of the age in which the poem was written. Thus Acestes, the friendly king and Sicilian host of Aeneas, welcomes him on his return from Carthage in the rough dress of some primitive hunter—Horridus in iaculis et pelle Libystidis ursae601.Evander receives him beneath his humble roof,stratisque locavitEffultum foliis et pelle Libystidis ursae602.The Arcadian prince is roused in the morning by the song of birds under the eaves, and proceeds to visit his guest accompanied by two watchdogs which lay before his door. On the other hand the description, in the account of the building of Carthage, of the foundation of the great theatre—hic lata theatrisFundamenta petunt alii, immanisque columnasRupibus excidunt, scaenis decora alta futuris603;the picture of the great Temple of Juno—Aerea cui gradibus surgebant limina nexaequeAere trabes, foribus cardo stridebat aenis604;of the rich frescoes and bas-reliefs adorning it—[pg 382]Artificumque manus inter se operumque laboresMiratur, videt Iliacas ex ordine pugnasBellaque iam fama totum volgata per orbem605;of the great dome under which the throne of Dido is placed—media testudine templi, etc.;the description of the Temple of Apollo at Cumae,—the account of the banquet in the palace of Dido with its blaze of ‘festal light’—dependent lychni laquearibus aureisIncensi, et noctem flammis funalia vincunt606,(a picture partly indeed, like that in Lucretius—Si non aurea sunt iuvenum simulacra per aedes, etc.,suggested by the imaginative description of the banquet in the Palace of Alcinous)—appear to owe their existence to the impression produced on the mind of Virgil by some of the great architectural works of the Augustan Age—such as the Theatre of Marcellus, the Pantheon, the Temple of the Palatine Apollo, and by the spectacle of profuse luxury which the houses and banquets of the richer classes at Rome exhibited.The class from which the personages of the Aeneid are taken is almost exclusively that of those most elevated in dignity and influence. Virgil does not attempt to bring before us the rich variety of social grades, which adds vivacity and verisimilitude to the spectacle of life and manners presented by Homer, Chaucer, and Shakspeare. It does not enter into Virgil’s conception of epic art to introduce types of the class to which Thersites, Irus, Eumaeus, Phemius, and Eurycleia belong. If he makes any exception to his general practice of limiting his representation to the class of royal and noble[pg 383]personages, it is in the glimpse which he affords of devoted loyalty in the person of Palinurus and of affection and grief in that of the bereaved mother of Euryalus. Where, after the example of Homer, he introduces various figures belonging to the same class, he fails to distinguish them from one another by any individual trait of character or manners. Thus Dido has her suitors as well as Penelope; but the former produce no life-like impression of any kind, like that produced by the careless levity and gay insolence of Antinous and Eurymachus.As a painter of manners Virgil adopts the stately and conventional methods of Greek tragedy rather than the vivid realism of Homer. The intercourse of his chief personages with one another is conducted with the dignity and courtesy of the most refined times. Homer’s personages indeed act for the most part with a natural dignity and courtesy of bearing,—proceeding from the commanding character which he attributes to them, as well as from the lively social grace of their Greek origin,—which can neither be surpassed nor equalled by any conventional refinement. But these social virtues can be rapidly exchanged for vehemence of passion and angry recrimination. In the manners of Virgil’s personages we recognise the influence of refined traditions, and of the habits of a dignified society. His personages show not only courtesy but studied consideration for each other. Thus while Latinus addresses Turnus in words of courteous acknowledgment—of which the original suggestion may be traced to a tragedy of Attius—O praestans animi iuvenis! quantum ipse ferociVirtute exsuperas, tanto me impensius aequum estConsulere, atque omnis metuentem expendere casus607;Turnus replies to him in the terms of respect which are due to his age and position—[pg 384]Quam pro me curam geris, hanc precor, optime, pro meDeponas letumque sinas pro laude pacisci.Et nos tela, pater608, etc.The element of self-command amid the deepest movements of feeling and passion enhances the stately dignity of manners represented in the poem. Thus in the greatest sorrow of Evander, when he is recalling with fond pride the youthful promise of Pallas—Tu quoque nunc stares immanis truncus in armis,Esset par actas et idem si robur ab annis,Turne609,—he remembers that he is detaining the Trojans, who had come to pay the funeral honours to his son—sed infelix Teucros quid demoror armis?Vadite et haec memores regi mandata referte610.The queenly courtesy of Dido springs from deeper elements in human nature than conformity to the standard of demeanour imposed by elevated rank—Solvite corde metum, Teucri, secludite curas.Res dura et regni novitas me talia coguntMoliri et late finis custode tueri.Quis genus Aeneadum, quis Troiae nesciat urbemVirtutesque virosque, aut tanti incendia belli?Non obtunsa adeo gestamus pectora Poeni,Nec tam aversus equos Tyria Sol iungit ab urbe611, etc.The sea adventures of the Aeneid seem to be suggested[pg 385]rather by the experience of travellers in the Augustan Age, than by the spirit of wonder and buoyant resistance with which Odysseus and his companions encounter the perils of unexplored seas and coasts. The fabulous portents of legendary times appear in the shape of the Harpies, the Cyclops, the sea-monster Scylla, etc., but they do not produce that sense of novelty and vivid life which the same or similar representations produce in the Odyssey. The description of the Harpies is grotesque rather than imaginative. There is a touch of pathos in the introduction of the Cyclops—Lanigerae comitantur oves: ea sola voluptasSolamenque mali612,reminding us of theκριὲ πέπον, etc. of the Odyssey; and the picture of his assembled brethren—Cernimus adstantis nequiquam lumine torvoAetnaeos fratres, caelo capita alta ferentis,Concilium horrendum613—is conceived with a kind of grim power, showing that the imagination of Virgil does not merely reproduce, but endows with a new life the figures which he borrows most closely from his original. But the life-like realism, the combined humour and terror of Homer’s representation, are altogether absent from the Aeneid. These marvellous creations appear natural in the Odyssey, and in keeping with the imaginative impulses and the adventurous spirit of the ages of maritime discovery: but they stand in no real relation to the feelings and beliefs with which men encountered the occasional dangers and the frequent discomforts of the Adriatic or the Aegean in the Augustan Age.In his conception of these real dangers of the sea, which have to be met in the most advanced as well as the most primitive times, Virgil’s inferiority to Homer, both in general effect and in lifelike detail, is very marked. The wonderful[pg 386]realism of the sea adventures in the fifth Book of the Odyssey produces on the mind the impression that the poet is recalling either a peril that he himself had encountered, or one that he had heard vividly related by some one who had thus escaped ‘from the issue of death:’ and that there was in the poet too the genuine delight in danger, the spirit‘That ever with a frolic welcome tookThe thunder and the sunshine,’which has been attributed to the companions of his hero’s wanderings.Odysseus, like Aeneas, feels his limbs and heart give way before the sudden outburst of the storm; but, though swept from the raft and overwhelmed for a time under the waves, he never loses his presence of mind or his courage—ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ ὣς σχεδίης ἐπελήθετο τειρόμενός περ,ἀλλὰ μεθορμηθεὶς ἐνὶ κύμασιν ἐλλάβετ’ αὐτῆς,ἐν μέσσῃ δὲ καθῖζε τέλος θανάτου ἀλεείνων614.The poet of the Odyssey may have encountered such storms as are described in the passage here referred to, and we cannot doubt that in such case he bore his part bravely, ‘redeeming his own life and securing the safe return of his comrades.’ If Virgil in some unadventurous voyaging ever happened to be ‘caught in a storm in the open Aegean,’ it probably was in the position of a helpless sufferer that he contemplated the wild commotion of the elements.On the other hand he shows a keen enjoyment of the pleasure of sailing past famous and beautiful scenes with a fair wind and in smooth water—Linquimus Ortygiae portas pelagoque volamusBacchatamque iugis Naxon, viridemque Donysam,Olearon, niveamque Paron, sparsasque per aequorCycladas, et crebris legimus freta consita terris.Nauticus exoritur vario certamine clamor615.[pg 387]The first sight of land from the sea is vividly brought before the eye in such passages as these—Quarto terra die primum se attollere tandemVisa, aperire procul montis, ac volvere fumum616.Iamque rubescebat stellis Aurora fugatis,Cum procul obscuros collis humilemque videmusItaliam617.Crebrescunt optatae aurae, portusque patescitIam propior, templumque apparet in arce Minervae618.The disappearance of the shores left behind, and the opening up of new scenes in the rapid onward voyage, leave on the mind a fresh feeling of novelty and life in such passages as—Protinus aerias Phaeacum abscondimus arces,Litoraque Epiri legimus, portuque subimusChaonio, et celsam Buthroti accedimus urbem619;and in this in which the historic associations of famous cities are evoked—Apparet Camarina procul, campique Geloi,Immanisque Gela, fluvii cognomine dicta.Arduus inde Acragas ostentat maxima longeMoenia, magnanimum quondam generator equorum620, etc.These and similar passages—such as that describing the moon-light sail past the enchanted shores of Circe—remind us of the great change which had come over the world between the age[pg 388]of the Odyssey and that of the Aeneid. The one poem is pervaded by the eager curiosity of the youthful prime of the world, attracting the most daring and energetic spirits to the discovery and peopling of new lands; the other by that more languid curiosity, awakened by the associations of the past,—by the longing for some change to break the routine of a too easy life,—and by the refined enjoyment of beauty, urging men to encounter some danger and more discomfort for the sake of visiting scenes famous in history, rich in natural charms, or in works of art, the inheritance from more creative times.In his scenes of battle, Virgil is as inferior to the poet of the Iliad as he is to the poet of the Odyssey in those of sea adventure. In the details of single fights, in the account of the wounds inflicted on one another by the combatants, in the enumeration of the obscurer warriors who fall before the champions of either side—his addit AmastrumHippotaden, sequiturque incumbens eminus hastaTereaque Harpalycumque et Demophoönta Chromimque621,he follows closely in the footsteps of Homer. He is, however, more sparing of these details, so as to avoid the monotony of Homer’s battle-fields and single combats. The Iliad was originally addressed to a people of warriors—οἶσιν ἄρα Ζεὺςἐκ νεότητος ἔδωκε καὶ ἐς γῆρας τολυπεύεινἀργαλέους πολέμους, ὄφρα φθιόμεσθα ἕκαστος622.And although through the mouth of the wisest of his heroes, Homer expresses some sense of weariness of the‘war and broils, which makeLife one perpetual fight’—αἶψα τε φυλόπιδος πέλεται κόρος ανθρώποισι—[pg 389]yet all accepted this life as their destiny; and those who first listened to the song of the poet would feel no satiety in the details of battle and records of martial prowess, glorifying perhaps the reputed ancestors of those chiefs whom they themselves followed to the field or to the storming of cities. To Virgil’s readers, the record of such a time as that described in the Iliad would come like echoes from an alien world. In so far as the Romans of the Augustan Age had any vital passion corresponding to the interest with which Homer’s Greeks must have witnessed in imagination the spectacle of wounds and death in battle, it was in the basest form which the lust of blood has ever assumed among civilised men,—the passion for the gladiatorial shows. It is clear that Virgil himself, though he can feel and inspire the fire of battle at some critical moment—ingeminant hastis et Troes et ipseFulmineus Mnestheus623;though he can express a Roman contempt for death,—Est hic, est animus lucis contemptor624,and can sympathise with the energetic daring of his Italian heroes and heroine,—Turnus, Lausus, Pallas625, and Camilla,—yet shares the sentiment with which his hero looks forward to peace as the crown of his labours, and regards the wars which he was compelled to wage as a hated task imposed on him by the Fates—Nos alias hinc ad lacrimas, eadem horrida bella,Fata vocant626.Yet even in the incidents of his battle-pieces Virgil does not follow Homer slavishly. The warlike action of the poem is not[pg 390]a mere succession of single combats, or a confusedmêléeof battle, surging ‘this way and that,’ between the rampart that guards the ships and the walls of the city. It is said that the greatest soldier of modern times, in the enforced leisure of his last years, condescended to express a criticism, not indeed a favourable one, on Virgil’s skill as a tactician; and it is an element of novelty in the representation of the Aeneid that it suggests at least some image of the combined operations of modern warfare. But it is in the play which Virgil gives to the other human emotions of his personages, tempering and counteracting the blind rage of battle, that the poet of a more advanced era most conspicuously appears. The ancient world at its best, whether we judge of it from the representations of its poets, or the recorded acts of its greatest men and most powerful and enlightened States, did not rise to that height of chivalrous generosity which scorns to take an enemy at a disadvantage, or to wipe away the memory of defeat or disaster by a cruel revenge. Achilles in his treatment of Hector, Caesar in his treatment of Vercingetorix, the Spartans in dealing with Plataeae, the Syracusans with the remnant of the defeated Athenians, the Athenians themselves with the helpless defenders of Melos, the Romans with the Samnites who spared their lives at the Caudine Forks,—all alike fall below the standard of nobleness which men of temper inferior to that of the great men and nations of antiquity often reached in mediaeval times. Those who appear to come nearest this standard in ancient times,—who could at least honour courage in an enemy or refuse to press too heavily upon him in his defeat,—are the Carthaginian Hannibal and his not unworthy conqueror. Virgil cannot be said, in this respect, to rise altogether superior to the spirit of the old Greek and Roman world. In the Aeneid it is thought no shame, but rather a glory, for soldiers to slay defenceless or wounded men in battle or in the dim confusion of a night foray. Yet the sentiments of his warriors engaged in battle are more tempered with humanity than those of the heroes of the Iliad. There is no word of throwing the bodies[pg 391]of the slain to dogs and vultures. There is no such deadly struggle over the bodies of Lausus or Pallas as over that of Patroclus. Turnus and Aeneas alike act on the principle expressed in the request of the dying champion of Italy,—Ulterius ne tende odiis627.Not only is the warlike passion less cruel in the Aeneid, but the feeling of the sanctity which invests the dead is stronger. The only passage in the Aeneid which might have exposed Virgil to the reproach of Lucretius, as forgetting in the supposed interests of religion the certain claims of humanity, is that in which Aeneas, following the example of Achilles, sets aside the captive youths for immolation to the Manes of Pallas.But the chief source of interest in the Virgilian battle-pieces is the pathetic sympathy awakened for the untimely death of some of the nobler personages of the story. The tender compassion called forth by the blight which fell in his own time upon the earliest of the ‘breves et infaustos populi Romani amores628,’ and reappeared again in the deaths of Drusus and Germanicus—that compassion which dictates the wordssi qua fata aspera rumpasTu Marcellus eris629,appears in his description of the fates of Pallas and Lausus, of Euryalus and Camilla. The reverence for the purest of human affections which shines through the linesTransiit et parmam mucro levia arma minacis,Et tunicam, molli mater quam neverat auro630,andAt vero, ut voltum vidit morientis et ora,Ora modis Anchisiades pallentia miris,Ingemuit miserans graviter dextramque tetendit,Et mentem patriae subiit pietatis imago631,[pg 392]may be discerned also in some of the minor incidents of the poem, as in these lines—Vos etiam, gemini, Rutulis cecidistis in arvis,Daucia, Laride Thymberque, simillima proles,Indiscreta suis gratusque parentibus error632.The emotions awakened by the deaths of Mezentius and of Turnus are of a sterner character. So too the poet’s compassion for the heroine of his later books, Camilla, falling by the hand of an ignoble antagonist, is mixed with a sense of scornful satisfaction at the retribution which immediately followed—Extemplo teli stridorem aurasque sonantisAudiit una Arruns haesitque in corpore ferrum.Illum expirantem socii atque extrema gementemObliti ignoto camporum in pulvere linquunt;Opis ad aetherium pinnis aufertur Olympum633.Virgil’s susceptibility to local associations and to impressions of a remote antiquity must also be taken into account as supplying materials and stimulus to his inventive faculty. No poet so often appeals to the imaginative interest attaching to the earlier condition of places or things of old renown or famous in the later history of the world. Thus the building of Carthage, the first view of the Tiber—Hunc inter fluvio Tiberinus amoenoVerticibus rapidis et multa flavus harenaIn mare prorumpit634—the gathering of the Italian races from ‘mountainous Praeneste, from the tilled lands around Gabii, from the banks of the cool[pg 393]Anio, and the rivulets sparkling among the Hernican hills,’—the contrast between the primitive pastoral aspect of the Tarpeian Rock and the Capitol, of the site of the Forum and the Carinae, and the familiar spectacle of outward magnificence which they presented in the Augustan Age,—are brought before the mind with a more stimulating power than the experiences of storm or battle through which the hero of the poem is conducted. The local associations of Mount Eryx, of the lake of Avernus, of the fountain Albunea, of the valley of Amsanctus, of the Arician grove, of the site of Ardea, are evoked with impressive effect. The names of the promontories Palinurum, Misenum, and Caieta are invested with an interest derived from their connexion with the imaginary incidents and personages of the poem. The ritual observances and the legend connected with the Ara Maxima suggest the description of ceremonies and the narrative of events in the earlier half of Book viii.; and the custom—so ancient that its original meaning was forgotten—of opening the gateway of Janus Quirinus on the rare occasions when a state of war arose out of a state of unbroken peace, is traced back to a time antecedent to the existence either of Rome or Alba—Mos erat Hesperio in Latio, quem protinus urbesAlbanae coluere sacrum, nunc maxima rerumRoma colit, etc.* * * * *Ipse Quirinali trabea cinctuque GabinoInsignis reserat stridentia limina Consul;Ipse vocat pugnas, sequitur tum cetera pubes,Aereaque adsensu conspirant cornua rauco635.Perhaps the most original and not the least impressive of those personages whom Virgil introduces into his composite representation—the Sibyl—is conceived under the strong sense[pg 394]of the mystery and sanctity which invested the oracles of the Sibylline books.The personal and national susceptibilities of Virgil’s imagination and the circumstances of the age in which he lived are thus seen largely to modify that representation of life and manners of which the main outlines are suggested by the Homeric poems, and of which many of the details are derived from the Cyclic poems, from the Greek tragedies founded on the events which followed on the death of Hector, and from the Italian traditions and aetiological myths which Cato had preserved in his ‘Origines,’ and Varro and other writers in their works on antiquities. Virgil’s power as an epic poet does not consist in original invention of incident or action, but in combining diverse elements into a homogeneous whole, and in imparting poetic life to old materials, many of them not originally conceived in a poetic spirit. The interest which he thus imparts to his narrative is different from, and inferior to, that attaching to the original representation in the Homeric poems. Had Virgil’s representation been as faithfully drawn from the life as that of Homer, it still would have been less interesting, from the fact that ancient Romans are less interesting in their individuality than the Greeks of the great ages of Greek life, and from the fact also that the manners of an advanced age do not affect the imagination in the way in which those of a nation’s youth affect it. Not only was Virgil’s own genius much less creative than that of Homer, his materials possessed much less plasticity. There is no need of any act of reconstructive criticism to enable us to feel the immediate power of the Iliad and the Odyssey. To do justice to the power of the Aeneid we must endeavour to realise in imagination the state of mind of those who received the poem in all the novelty of its first impression,—at once ‘rich with the spoils of time,’ and ‘pregnant with celestial fire.’

While the various religious elements in Virgil’s nature find ample scope in the representation of the Aeneid, his apathy in regard to active political life is seen in the tameness of his reproduction of that aspect of human affairs. In the Homericβουλήandἀγοράwe recognise not only the germs of the future[pg 377]political development of the Greeks, but the germs out of which all free political life unfolds itself. To the form of government exhibited in the Aeneid, the words which Tacitus uses of a mixed constitution might be more justly applied,—‘it is one more easily praised than realised, or if ever it is realised, it is incapable of permanence592.’ And even if the Virgilian idea could be realised in some happy moment of human affairs, it does not contain within itself the capacity of any further development. The difficulties of the problem of government are solved in Virgil by the picture which he draws of passive and loyal submission on the part of nobles and people to a wise, beneficent, and disinterested ruler and legislator593. The idea of the ruler in the Aeneid is the same as that of the ‘Father.’ It is under such a rule, exercised from Rome as its centre, that the unchanging future of the world is anticipated—

Dum domus Aeneae Capitoli immobile saxumAccolet, imperiumque Pater Romanus habebit594.

Dum domus Aeneae Capitoli immobile saxum

Accolet, imperiumque Pater Romanus habebit594.

The case of Mezentius does indeed show that Virgil recognised the ultimate right of rebellion when the paternal king passed into the tyrannical oppressor; but such an instance affords no scope for representing the manifestation of political passions and virtues. The free play of conflicting forces in a community has no attraction for Virgil’s imagination. He suggests no thought either of the popular liberty realised in the best days of the Roman commonwealth, or of the sagacity and steadfast traditions of the Roman Senate. The only trace of discussion and opposition appears in the debate within the court of Latinus.[pg 378]But the antagonism between Drances and Turnus is one of personal rivalry, not of political difference; and the only limit to the sovereignty of Latinus lies in his own weakness of will and in the opposition of his household.

But besides the ideals of popular freedom and senatorian dignity which were realised in the Republic, the Roman mind was impressed by another political ideal, the ‘Majesty of the State.’ The one political force that remained unchanged, amid the various changes of the Roman constitution from the time of the kings to the time of the emperors, was the power of the executive. And this power depended not on material force, but on the sentiment with which the magistrate was regarded as the embodiment for the time being of that attribute in the State which commanded the reverence of the people. The greatest political offence which a Roman could commit under the Republic was a violation of the ‘majesty of the Commonwealth;’ under the Empire ‘of the majesty of the Emperor.’ The sentiment out of which this idea arose was felt by Virgil in all its strength. Thus although the actual government of Latinus is exhibited as a model neither of wisdom nor of strength, it is invested with all the outward semblance of powerful and ancient sovereignty—

Tectum augustum, ingens, centum sublime columnis,Urbe fuit summa, Laurentis regia Pici,Horrendum silvis et religione parentum.Hic sceptra accipere et primos attollere fascesRegibus omen erat; hoc illis curia templum,Hae sacris sedes epulis; hic, ariete caeso,Perpetuis soliti patres considere mensis595.

Tectum augustum, ingens, centum sublime columnis,

Urbe fuit summa, Laurentis regia Pici,

Horrendum silvis et religione parentum.

Hic sceptra accipere et primos attollere fasces

Regibus omen erat; hoc illis curia templum,

Hae sacris sedes epulis; hic, ariete caeso,

Perpetuis soliti patres considere mensis595.

The spectacle of the fall of Troy acquires new grandeur from the representation of Troy, not, as it appears in Homer, as a[pg 379]city with many allies, but as the centre of a wide and long-established empire—

Postquam res Asiae Priamique evertere gentemInmeritam visum Superis, ceciditque superbumIlium et omnis humo fumat Neptunia Troia596.

Postquam res Asiae Priamique evertere gentem

Inmeritam visum Superis, ceciditque superbum

Ilium et omnis humo fumat Neptunia Troia596.

Urbs antiqua ruit, multos dominata per annos597.

Haec finis Priami fatorum; his exitus illumSorte tulit, Troiam incensam et prolapsa videntemPergama, tot quondam populis terrisque superbumRegnatorem Asiae598.

Haec finis Priami fatorum; his exitus illum

Sorte tulit, Troiam incensam et prolapsa videntem

Pergama, tot quondam populis terrisque superbum

Regnatorem Asiae598.

The tragic splendour of Dido’s death is enhanced by her proud sense of a high destiny fulfilled and of queenly rule exercised over a great people—

Vixi, et, quem dederat cursum Fortuna, peregi:Et nunc magna mei sub terras ibit imago.Urbem praeclaram statui, mea moenia vidi599.

Vixi, et, quem dederat cursum Fortuna, peregi:

Et nunc magna mei sub terras ibit imago.

Urbem praeclaram statui, mea moenia vidi599.

Thus although the necessities of his position and his own ‘inscitia reipublicae’ prevented Virgil, in his representation, from appealing to the generous political emotions of a free people, he was able not only to gratify the pride of empire felt by his countrymen, but to sustain among them the sense of imaginative reverence with which the sovereignty of the State over its individual members deserves to be regarded.

But there is another class of political facts which interest the mind as much as those which arise out of the play of conflicting forces within a free commonwealth,—viz. the relations of independent powers with one another. And of this class of facts both Homer and Virgil make use in their representations. In[pg 380]Homer we see the spectacle, never realised in actual Grecian history at least till the days of Alexander, of the many independent Greek powers united under one leader in a common enterprise, and of the various powers of the western shores of Asia combined in defence of their leading State. The antagonism between the Greeks and Trojans is, in point of general conception, more like the hostile inter-relations of nations in modern times, than like the wars of city against city, with which the pages of later Greek history are filled600. The union of the Italian tribes and cities under the command of Turnus, and that of Trojans, Arcadians, and Etrurians—all foreigners recently settled in Italy—under Aeneas, may be compared to the union of independent Greek powers under Agamemnon, and that of ‘the allies summoned from afar,’ who, while following their own princes, yet submitted to the command of Hector. Yet in Virgil’s conception of the great powers of the world, and even of cities most remote from one another, as having an intimate knowledge of each other’s fortunes,—in the idea of what in modern times would be called a ‘foreign policy’ and ‘the balance of power,’ which dictates the mission of Turnus to Diomede, and the appeal of Aeneas to the Etrurians to take part with him in averting the establishment by the Rutulians of a sovereignty over the whole of Italy,—we meet with a condition of international relations and policy, which, if based on the experience of any period of ancient history, might have been suggested by the memory of the time when Hannibal’s great scheme of combining the fresh vigour of the western barbarians, the smouldering elements of resistance in Italy, and the military power and prestige of the old monarchies of Macedonia and Syria, was defeated not more by the irresolution and disunion among those powers, than by the traditional policy through which Rome had made her dependent allies feel that her interest[pg 381]was identified with their own. But this aspect of the world, though an anachronism from the point of view either of the time when the poem was written, or of that in which the events represented are supposed to happen, enhances the dignity of the action, by exhibiting the enterprise of Aeneas as a spectacle attracting the attention and involving the destinies of the great nations of the world.

The state of material civilisation exhibited in the Aeneid must be regarded also as a poetical compromise between the simplicity and rude vigour of primitive civilisation and the splendour and refinement of the age in which the poem was written. Thus Acestes, the friendly king and Sicilian host of Aeneas, welcomes him on his return from Carthage in the rough dress of some primitive hunter—

Horridus in iaculis et pelle Libystidis ursae601.

Evander receives him beneath his humble roof,

stratisque locavitEffultum foliis et pelle Libystidis ursae602.

stratisque locavit

Effultum foliis et pelle Libystidis ursae602.

The Arcadian prince is roused in the morning by the song of birds under the eaves, and proceeds to visit his guest accompanied by two watchdogs which lay before his door. On the other hand the description, in the account of the building of Carthage, of the foundation of the great theatre—

hic lata theatrisFundamenta petunt alii, immanisque columnasRupibus excidunt, scaenis decora alta futuris603;

hic lata theatris

Fundamenta petunt alii, immanisque columnas

Rupibus excidunt, scaenis decora alta futuris603;

the picture of the great Temple of Juno—

Aerea cui gradibus surgebant limina nexaequeAere trabes, foribus cardo stridebat aenis604;

Aerea cui gradibus surgebant limina nexaeque

Aere trabes, foribus cardo stridebat aenis604;

of the rich frescoes and bas-reliefs adorning it—

Artificumque manus inter se operumque laboresMiratur, videt Iliacas ex ordine pugnasBellaque iam fama totum volgata per orbem605;

Artificumque manus inter se operumque labores

Miratur, videt Iliacas ex ordine pugnas

Bellaque iam fama totum volgata per orbem605;

of the great dome under which the throne of Dido is placed—

media testudine templi, etc.;

the description of the Temple of Apollo at Cumae,—the account of the banquet in the palace of Dido with its blaze of ‘festal light’—

dependent lychni laquearibus aureisIncensi, et noctem flammis funalia vincunt606,

dependent lychni laquearibus aureis

Incensi, et noctem flammis funalia vincunt606,

(a picture partly indeed, like that in Lucretius—

Si non aurea sunt iuvenum simulacra per aedes, etc.,

suggested by the imaginative description of the banquet in the Palace of Alcinous)—appear to owe their existence to the impression produced on the mind of Virgil by some of the great architectural works of the Augustan Age—such as the Theatre of Marcellus, the Pantheon, the Temple of the Palatine Apollo, and by the spectacle of profuse luxury which the houses and banquets of the richer classes at Rome exhibited.

The class from which the personages of the Aeneid are taken is almost exclusively that of those most elevated in dignity and influence. Virgil does not attempt to bring before us the rich variety of social grades, which adds vivacity and verisimilitude to the spectacle of life and manners presented by Homer, Chaucer, and Shakspeare. It does not enter into Virgil’s conception of epic art to introduce types of the class to which Thersites, Irus, Eumaeus, Phemius, and Eurycleia belong. If he makes any exception to his general practice of limiting his representation to the class of royal and noble[pg 383]personages, it is in the glimpse which he affords of devoted loyalty in the person of Palinurus and of affection and grief in that of the bereaved mother of Euryalus. Where, after the example of Homer, he introduces various figures belonging to the same class, he fails to distinguish them from one another by any individual trait of character or manners. Thus Dido has her suitors as well as Penelope; but the former produce no life-like impression of any kind, like that produced by the careless levity and gay insolence of Antinous and Eurymachus.

As a painter of manners Virgil adopts the stately and conventional methods of Greek tragedy rather than the vivid realism of Homer. The intercourse of his chief personages with one another is conducted with the dignity and courtesy of the most refined times. Homer’s personages indeed act for the most part with a natural dignity and courtesy of bearing,—proceeding from the commanding character which he attributes to them, as well as from the lively social grace of their Greek origin,—which can neither be surpassed nor equalled by any conventional refinement. But these social virtues can be rapidly exchanged for vehemence of passion and angry recrimination. In the manners of Virgil’s personages we recognise the influence of refined traditions, and of the habits of a dignified society. His personages show not only courtesy but studied consideration for each other. Thus while Latinus addresses Turnus in words of courteous acknowledgment—of which the original suggestion may be traced to a tragedy of Attius—

O praestans animi iuvenis! quantum ipse ferociVirtute exsuperas, tanto me impensius aequum estConsulere, atque omnis metuentem expendere casus607;

O praestans animi iuvenis! quantum ipse feroci

Virtute exsuperas, tanto me impensius aequum est

Consulere, atque omnis metuentem expendere casus607;

Turnus replies to him in the terms of respect which are due to his age and position—

Quam pro me curam geris, hanc precor, optime, pro meDeponas letumque sinas pro laude pacisci.Et nos tela, pater608, etc.

Quam pro me curam geris, hanc precor, optime, pro me

Deponas letumque sinas pro laude pacisci.

Et nos tela, pater608, etc.

The element of self-command amid the deepest movements of feeling and passion enhances the stately dignity of manners represented in the poem. Thus in the greatest sorrow of Evander, when he is recalling with fond pride the youthful promise of Pallas—

Tu quoque nunc stares immanis truncus in armis,Esset par actas et idem si robur ab annis,Turne609,—

Tu quoque nunc stares immanis truncus in armis,

Esset par actas et idem si robur ab annis,

Turne609,—

he remembers that he is detaining the Trojans, who had come to pay the funeral honours to his son—

sed infelix Teucros quid demoror armis?Vadite et haec memores regi mandata referte610.

sed infelix Teucros quid demoror armis?

Vadite et haec memores regi mandata referte610.

The queenly courtesy of Dido springs from deeper elements in human nature than conformity to the standard of demeanour imposed by elevated rank—

Solvite corde metum, Teucri, secludite curas.Res dura et regni novitas me talia coguntMoliri et late finis custode tueri.Quis genus Aeneadum, quis Troiae nesciat urbemVirtutesque virosque, aut tanti incendia belli?Non obtunsa adeo gestamus pectora Poeni,Nec tam aversus equos Tyria Sol iungit ab urbe611, etc.

Solvite corde metum, Teucri, secludite curas.

Res dura et regni novitas me talia cogunt

Moliri et late finis custode tueri.

Quis genus Aeneadum, quis Troiae nesciat urbem

Virtutesque virosque, aut tanti incendia belli?

Non obtunsa adeo gestamus pectora Poeni,

Nec tam aversus equos Tyria Sol iungit ab urbe611, etc.

The sea adventures of the Aeneid seem to be suggested[pg 385]rather by the experience of travellers in the Augustan Age, than by the spirit of wonder and buoyant resistance with which Odysseus and his companions encounter the perils of unexplored seas and coasts. The fabulous portents of legendary times appear in the shape of the Harpies, the Cyclops, the sea-monster Scylla, etc., but they do not produce that sense of novelty and vivid life which the same or similar representations produce in the Odyssey. The description of the Harpies is grotesque rather than imaginative. There is a touch of pathos in the introduction of the Cyclops—

Lanigerae comitantur oves: ea sola voluptasSolamenque mali612,

Lanigerae comitantur oves: ea sola voluptas

Solamenque mali612,

reminding us of theκριὲ πέπον, etc. of the Odyssey; and the picture of his assembled brethren—

Cernimus adstantis nequiquam lumine torvoAetnaeos fratres, caelo capita alta ferentis,Concilium horrendum613—

Cernimus adstantis nequiquam lumine torvo

Aetnaeos fratres, caelo capita alta ferentis,

Concilium horrendum613—

is conceived with a kind of grim power, showing that the imagination of Virgil does not merely reproduce, but endows with a new life the figures which he borrows most closely from his original. But the life-like realism, the combined humour and terror of Homer’s representation, are altogether absent from the Aeneid. These marvellous creations appear natural in the Odyssey, and in keeping with the imaginative impulses and the adventurous spirit of the ages of maritime discovery: but they stand in no real relation to the feelings and beliefs with which men encountered the occasional dangers and the frequent discomforts of the Adriatic or the Aegean in the Augustan Age.

In his conception of these real dangers of the sea, which have to be met in the most advanced as well as the most primitive times, Virgil’s inferiority to Homer, both in general effect and in lifelike detail, is very marked. The wonderful[pg 386]realism of the sea adventures in the fifth Book of the Odyssey produces on the mind the impression that the poet is recalling either a peril that he himself had encountered, or one that he had heard vividly related by some one who had thus escaped ‘from the issue of death:’ and that there was in the poet too the genuine delight in danger, the spirit

‘That ever with a frolic welcome tookThe thunder and the sunshine,’

‘That ever with a frolic welcome took

The thunder and the sunshine,’

which has been attributed to the companions of his hero’s wanderings.

Odysseus, like Aeneas, feels his limbs and heart give way before the sudden outburst of the storm; but, though swept from the raft and overwhelmed for a time under the waves, he never loses his presence of mind or his courage—

ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ ὣς σχεδίης ἐπελήθετο τειρόμενός περ,ἀλλὰ μεθορμηθεὶς ἐνὶ κύμασιν ἐλλάβετ’ αὐτῆς,ἐν μέσσῃ δὲ καθῖζε τέλος θανάτου ἀλεείνων614.

ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ ὣς σχεδίης ἐπελήθετο τειρόμενός περ,

ἀλλὰ μεθορμηθεὶς ἐνὶ κύμασιν ἐλλάβετ’ αὐτῆς,

ἐν μέσσῃ δὲ καθῖζε τέλος θανάτου ἀλεείνων614.

The poet of the Odyssey may have encountered such storms as are described in the passage here referred to, and we cannot doubt that in such case he bore his part bravely, ‘redeeming his own life and securing the safe return of his comrades.’ If Virgil in some unadventurous voyaging ever happened to be ‘caught in a storm in the open Aegean,’ it probably was in the position of a helpless sufferer that he contemplated the wild commotion of the elements.

On the other hand he shows a keen enjoyment of the pleasure of sailing past famous and beautiful scenes with a fair wind and in smooth water—

Linquimus Ortygiae portas pelagoque volamusBacchatamque iugis Naxon, viridemque Donysam,Olearon, niveamque Paron, sparsasque per aequorCycladas, et crebris legimus freta consita terris.Nauticus exoritur vario certamine clamor615.

Linquimus Ortygiae portas pelagoque volamus

Bacchatamque iugis Naxon, viridemque Donysam,

Olearon, niveamque Paron, sparsasque per aequor

Cycladas, et crebris legimus freta consita terris.

Nauticus exoritur vario certamine clamor615.

The first sight of land from the sea is vividly brought before the eye in such passages as these—

Quarto terra die primum se attollere tandemVisa, aperire procul montis, ac volvere fumum616.

Quarto terra die primum se attollere tandem

Visa, aperire procul montis, ac volvere fumum616.

Iamque rubescebat stellis Aurora fugatis,Cum procul obscuros collis humilemque videmusItaliam617.

Iamque rubescebat stellis Aurora fugatis,

Cum procul obscuros collis humilemque videmus

Italiam617.

Crebrescunt optatae aurae, portusque patescitIam propior, templumque apparet in arce Minervae618.

Crebrescunt optatae aurae, portusque patescit

Iam propior, templumque apparet in arce Minervae618.

The disappearance of the shores left behind, and the opening up of new scenes in the rapid onward voyage, leave on the mind a fresh feeling of novelty and life in such passages as—

Protinus aerias Phaeacum abscondimus arces,Litoraque Epiri legimus, portuque subimusChaonio, et celsam Buthroti accedimus urbem619;

Protinus aerias Phaeacum abscondimus arces,

Litoraque Epiri legimus, portuque subimus

Chaonio, et celsam Buthroti accedimus urbem619;

and in this in which the historic associations of famous cities are evoked—

Apparet Camarina procul, campique Geloi,Immanisque Gela, fluvii cognomine dicta.Arduus inde Acragas ostentat maxima longeMoenia, magnanimum quondam generator equorum620, etc.

Apparet Camarina procul, campique Geloi,

Immanisque Gela, fluvii cognomine dicta.

Arduus inde Acragas ostentat maxima longe

Moenia, magnanimum quondam generator equorum620, etc.

These and similar passages—such as that describing the moon-light sail past the enchanted shores of Circe—remind us of the great change which had come over the world between the age[pg 388]of the Odyssey and that of the Aeneid. The one poem is pervaded by the eager curiosity of the youthful prime of the world, attracting the most daring and energetic spirits to the discovery and peopling of new lands; the other by that more languid curiosity, awakened by the associations of the past,—by the longing for some change to break the routine of a too easy life,—and by the refined enjoyment of beauty, urging men to encounter some danger and more discomfort for the sake of visiting scenes famous in history, rich in natural charms, or in works of art, the inheritance from more creative times.

In his scenes of battle, Virgil is as inferior to the poet of the Iliad as he is to the poet of the Odyssey in those of sea adventure. In the details of single fights, in the account of the wounds inflicted on one another by the combatants, in the enumeration of the obscurer warriors who fall before the champions of either side—

his addit AmastrumHippotaden, sequiturque incumbens eminus hastaTereaque Harpalycumque et Demophoönta Chromimque621,

his addit Amastrum

Hippotaden, sequiturque incumbens eminus hasta

Tereaque Harpalycumque et Demophoönta Chromimque621,

he follows closely in the footsteps of Homer. He is, however, more sparing of these details, so as to avoid the monotony of Homer’s battle-fields and single combats. The Iliad was originally addressed to a people of warriors—

οἶσιν ἄρα Ζεὺςἐκ νεότητος ἔδωκε καὶ ἐς γῆρας τολυπεύεινἀργαλέους πολέμους, ὄφρα φθιόμεσθα ἕκαστος622.

οἶσιν ἄρα Ζεὺς

ἐκ νεότητος ἔδωκε καὶ ἐς γῆρας τολυπεύειν

ἀργαλέους πολέμους, ὄφρα φθιόμεσθα ἕκαστος622.

And although through the mouth of the wisest of his heroes, Homer expresses some sense of weariness of the

‘war and broils, which makeLife one perpetual fight’—

‘war and broils, which make

Life one perpetual fight’—

αἶψα τε φυλόπιδος πέλεται κόρος ανθρώποισι—

yet all accepted this life as their destiny; and those who first listened to the song of the poet would feel no satiety in the details of battle and records of martial prowess, glorifying perhaps the reputed ancestors of those chiefs whom they themselves followed to the field or to the storming of cities. To Virgil’s readers, the record of such a time as that described in the Iliad would come like echoes from an alien world. In so far as the Romans of the Augustan Age had any vital passion corresponding to the interest with which Homer’s Greeks must have witnessed in imagination the spectacle of wounds and death in battle, it was in the basest form which the lust of blood has ever assumed among civilised men,—the passion for the gladiatorial shows. It is clear that Virgil himself, though he can feel and inspire the fire of battle at some critical moment—

ingeminant hastis et Troes et ipseFulmineus Mnestheus623;

ingeminant hastis et Troes et ipse

Fulmineus Mnestheus623;

though he can express a Roman contempt for death,—

Est hic, est animus lucis contemptor624,

and can sympathise with the energetic daring of his Italian heroes and heroine,—Turnus, Lausus, Pallas625, and Camilla,—yet shares the sentiment with which his hero looks forward to peace as the crown of his labours, and regards the wars which he was compelled to wage as a hated task imposed on him by the Fates—

Nos alias hinc ad lacrimas, eadem horrida bella,Fata vocant626.

Nos alias hinc ad lacrimas, eadem horrida bella,

Fata vocant626.

Yet even in the incidents of his battle-pieces Virgil does not follow Homer slavishly. The warlike action of the poem is not[pg 390]a mere succession of single combats, or a confusedmêléeof battle, surging ‘this way and that,’ between the rampart that guards the ships and the walls of the city. It is said that the greatest soldier of modern times, in the enforced leisure of his last years, condescended to express a criticism, not indeed a favourable one, on Virgil’s skill as a tactician; and it is an element of novelty in the representation of the Aeneid that it suggests at least some image of the combined operations of modern warfare. But it is in the play which Virgil gives to the other human emotions of his personages, tempering and counteracting the blind rage of battle, that the poet of a more advanced era most conspicuously appears. The ancient world at its best, whether we judge of it from the representations of its poets, or the recorded acts of its greatest men and most powerful and enlightened States, did not rise to that height of chivalrous generosity which scorns to take an enemy at a disadvantage, or to wipe away the memory of defeat or disaster by a cruel revenge. Achilles in his treatment of Hector, Caesar in his treatment of Vercingetorix, the Spartans in dealing with Plataeae, the Syracusans with the remnant of the defeated Athenians, the Athenians themselves with the helpless defenders of Melos, the Romans with the Samnites who spared their lives at the Caudine Forks,—all alike fall below the standard of nobleness which men of temper inferior to that of the great men and nations of antiquity often reached in mediaeval times. Those who appear to come nearest this standard in ancient times,—who could at least honour courage in an enemy or refuse to press too heavily upon him in his defeat,—are the Carthaginian Hannibal and his not unworthy conqueror. Virgil cannot be said, in this respect, to rise altogether superior to the spirit of the old Greek and Roman world. In the Aeneid it is thought no shame, but rather a glory, for soldiers to slay defenceless or wounded men in battle or in the dim confusion of a night foray. Yet the sentiments of his warriors engaged in battle are more tempered with humanity than those of the heroes of the Iliad. There is no word of throwing the bodies[pg 391]of the slain to dogs and vultures. There is no such deadly struggle over the bodies of Lausus or Pallas as over that of Patroclus. Turnus and Aeneas alike act on the principle expressed in the request of the dying champion of Italy,—

Ulterius ne tende odiis627.

Not only is the warlike passion less cruel in the Aeneid, but the feeling of the sanctity which invests the dead is stronger. The only passage in the Aeneid which might have exposed Virgil to the reproach of Lucretius, as forgetting in the supposed interests of religion the certain claims of humanity, is that in which Aeneas, following the example of Achilles, sets aside the captive youths for immolation to the Manes of Pallas.

But the chief source of interest in the Virgilian battle-pieces is the pathetic sympathy awakened for the untimely death of some of the nobler personages of the story. The tender compassion called forth by the blight which fell in his own time upon the earliest of the ‘breves et infaustos populi Romani amores628,’ and reappeared again in the deaths of Drusus and Germanicus—that compassion which dictates the words

si qua fata aspera rumpasTu Marcellus eris629,

si qua fata aspera rumpas

Tu Marcellus eris629,

appears in his description of the fates of Pallas and Lausus, of Euryalus and Camilla. The reverence for the purest of human affections which shines through the lines

Transiit et parmam mucro levia arma minacis,Et tunicam, molli mater quam neverat auro630,

Transiit et parmam mucro levia arma minacis,

Et tunicam, molli mater quam neverat auro630,

and

At vero, ut voltum vidit morientis et ora,Ora modis Anchisiades pallentia miris,Ingemuit miserans graviter dextramque tetendit,Et mentem patriae subiit pietatis imago631,

At vero, ut voltum vidit morientis et ora,

Ora modis Anchisiades pallentia miris,

Ingemuit miserans graviter dextramque tetendit,

Et mentem patriae subiit pietatis imago631,

may be discerned also in some of the minor incidents of the poem, as in these lines—

Vos etiam, gemini, Rutulis cecidistis in arvis,Daucia, Laride Thymberque, simillima proles,Indiscreta suis gratusque parentibus error632.

Vos etiam, gemini, Rutulis cecidistis in arvis,

Daucia, Laride Thymberque, simillima proles,

Indiscreta suis gratusque parentibus error632.

The emotions awakened by the deaths of Mezentius and of Turnus are of a sterner character. So too the poet’s compassion for the heroine of his later books, Camilla, falling by the hand of an ignoble antagonist, is mixed with a sense of scornful satisfaction at the retribution which immediately followed—

Extemplo teli stridorem aurasque sonantisAudiit una Arruns haesitque in corpore ferrum.Illum expirantem socii atque extrema gementemObliti ignoto camporum in pulvere linquunt;Opis ad aetherium pinnis aufertur Olympum633.

Extemplo teli stridorem aurasque sonantis

Audiit una Arruns haesitque in corpore ferrum.

Illum expirantem socii atque extrema gementem

Obliti ignoto camporum in pulvere linquunt;

Opis ad aetherium pinnis aufertur Olympum633.

Virgil’s susceptibility to local associations and to impressions of a remote antiquity must also be taken into account as supplying materials and stimulus to his inventive faculty. No poet so often appeals to the imaginative interest attaching to the earlier condition of places or things of old renown or famous in the later history of the world. Thus the building of Carthage, the first view of the Tiber—

Hunc inter fluvio Tiberinus amoenoVerticibus rapidis et multa flavus harenaIn mare prorumpit634—

Hunc inter fluvio Tiberinus amoeno

Verticibus rapidis et multa flavus harena

In mare prorumpit634—

the gathering of the Italian races from ‘mountainous Praeneste, from the tilled lands around Gabii, from the banks of the cool[pg 393]Anio, and the rivulets sparkling among the Hernican hills,’—the contrast between the primitive pastoral aspect of the Tarpeian Rock and the Capitol, of the site of the Forum and the Carinae, and the familiar spectacle of outward magnificence which they presented in the Augustan Age,—are brought before the mind with a more stimulating power than the experiences of storm or battle through which the hero of the poem is conducted. The local associations of Mount Eryx, of the lake of Avernus, of the fountain Albunea, of the valley of Amsanctus, of the Arician grove, of the site of Ardea, are evoked with impressive effect. The names of the promontories Palinurum, Misenum, and Caieta are invested with an interest derived from their connexion with the imaginary incidents and personages of the poem. The ritual observances and the legend connected with the Ara Maxima suggest the description of ceremonies and the narrative of events in the earlier half of Book viii.; and the custom—so ancient that its original meaning was forgotten—of opening the gateway of Janus Quirinus on the rare occasions when a state of war arose out of a state of unbroken peace, is traced back to a time antecedent to the existence either of Rome or Alba—

Mos erat Hesperio in Latio, quem protinus urbesAlbanae coluere sacrum, nunc maxima rerumRoma colit, etc.* * * * *Ipse Quirinali trabea cinctuque GabinoInsignis reserat stridentia limina Consul;Ipse vocat pugnas, sequitur tum cetera pubes,Aereaque adsensu conspirant cornua rauco635.

Mos erat Hesperio in Latio, quem protinus urbes

Albanae coluere sacrum, nunc maxima rerum

Roma colit, etc.

* * * * *

Ipse Quirinali trabea cinctuque Gabino

Insignis reserat stridentia limina Consul;

Ipse vocat pugnas, sequitur tum cetera pubes,

Aereaque adsensu conspirant cornua rauco635.

Perhaps the most original and not the least impressive of those personages whom Virgil introduces into his composite representation—the Sibyl—is conceived under the strong sense[pg 394]of the mystery and sanctity which invested the oracles of the Sibylline books.

The personal and national susceptibilities of Virgil’s imagination and the circumstances of the age in which he lived are thus seen largely to modify that representation of life and manners of which the main outlines are suggested by the Homeric poems, and of which many of the details are derived from the Cyclic poems, from the Greek tragedies founded on the events which followed on the death of Hector, and from the Italian traditions and aetiological myths which Cato had preserved in his ‘Origines,’ and Varro and other writers in their works on antiquities. Virgil’s power as an epic poet does not consist in original invention of incident or action, but in combining diverse elements into a homogeneous whole, and in imparting poetic life to old materials, many of them not originally conceived in a poetic spirit. The interest which he thus imparts to his narrative is different from, and inferior to, that attaching to the original representation in the Homeric poems. Had Virgil’s representation been as faithfully drawn from the life as that of Homer, it still would have been less interesting, from the fact that ancient Romans are less interesting in their individuality than the Greeks of the great ages of Greek life, and from the fact also that the manners of an advanced age do not affect the imagination in the way in which those of a nation’s youth affect it. Not only was Virgil’s own genius much less creative than that of Homer, his materials possessed much less plasticity. There is no need of any act of reconstructive criticism to enable us to feel the immediate power of the Iliad and the Odyssey. To do justice to the power of the Aeneid we must endeavour to realise in imagination the state of mind of those who received the poem in all the novelty of its first impression,—at once ‘rich with the spoils of time,’ and ‘pregnant with celestial fire.’

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