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Michael Macken
Dr. Scott Richardson
Senior Thesis
April 1, 2016
Individual Struggle in Vergil’s Aeneid
I can recall the very first time I read the fourth book of Vergil’s Aeneid during my
last summer of high school. It was impossible for me to put it down until Aeneas saw the
smoke from Dido’s pyre. Vergil is able to tell an intimate and subjective story within the
framework of a grand epic. From the moment Dido falls under Cupid’s spell, the reader is
dragged up an emotional crescendo that leads to her tragic death. Meanwhile Aeneas, the
namesake of the poem, nearly disappears into the background for this tale. Both
characters, however, struggle to maintain control of their lives in the face of the
machinations of the gods and the volatility of their own emotions. Dido, on the one hand,
finds herself helplessly in love with Aeneas despite devotion to her husband and city, and
on the other hand, Aeneas is adrift without the guidance of his recently deceased father,
Anchises. While Aeneas experiences a renewal of spirit in preparation for his mandated
conquest of Italy, Dido is left behind without any hope for redemption, a literal sacrifice
for the future glory of Rome.
Aeneas and Dido’s opposite reversals of fortune are not the sole result of their
behavior or character, but powers beyond their control. The collusion among Venus,
Cupid, and later Juno, directly cause Dido to violate vows to Sychaeus. Not long after,
Jupiter sends down Mercury to compel Aeneas to abandon Dido. These interventions
force both characters to deal with their own lack of agency. Aeneas accepts that he
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himself must move forward and take action for his people, but still struggles with the
burden of personal responsibility by the end of the book. Dido is not so lucky in that her
divinely inspired lust for Aeneas has tarnished her honor and leaves someone like her
with no other choice.
The Role of the Gods
Since the Aeneid is of the epic genre, the gods and the fates naturally have a large
degree of involvement in the poem. Sometimes they influence events and people
indirectly through lesser divine agents, and at other times they come down themselves
either disguised or in their true form. Also, like in the poems of Homer, they can directly
manipulate the emotions of mortal characters. In the second half of the poem for
example, Juno sends down the Fury Allecto to drive Turnus into war against the Trojans.
The fluidity of the gods’ involvement raises a question of interpretation however. Vergil
steeps the Aeneid so deeply in metaphor and symbolic language that at times the reader
may be left wondering what is physically taking place in the narrative and what is meant
to poetically illustrate a character’s feelings. When Aeneas is “furiis accensus” (XII.946)
just before killing Turnus at the end of the poem, Vergil likely did not intend to mean that
the Furies had literally inspired hatred in him at that moment. Moreover, one might ask
whether it is the divine Cupid himself who causes Dido to forget her late husband and fall
for Aeneas, or whether Dido simply falls in love with him of her own accord, and
Cupid’s involvement is merely an abstraction of her emotional state. The gods’ and fates’
involvement in this story must be both literal and illustrative, demonstrating how both
Aeneas and Dido are at the mercy of powers beyond their control. Dido is ultimately
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played as a pawn by both sides and ends up a victim of fate and history while Aeneas is
compelled to carry out divine command.
Just before the events of Book IV, Aeneas and Dido first meet in Book I.
Along with Aeneas comes Venus’ plot, which was merely intended to make the queen
hospitable to the Trojans but sends her into a spiraling frenzy that nearly drags Aeneas
along with her. Dido’s pride lies in the success of her kingdom and her devotion to the
deceased Sychaeus. She is a proud of her status as a chaste univira. Discussing the
tragedy of Dido in his Introduction to Vergil’s Aeneid, W.A. Camps explains, “Her
respect for herself is marred by the failure of the resolution she had made to be true to the
memory of Sychaeus and by the knowledge that she has been the slave and not the
mistress of her desire” (Camps 34). Unfortunately for Dido, Cupid and Venus intend to
undermine her very source of pride. Specifically, Cupid does not only inspire passion for
Aeneas in Dido’s heart, but he also dissolves her devotion to Sychaeus:
At memor ille
atris Acidaliae paulatim abolere Sychaeum
incipit, et vivo temptat praevertere amore
iam pridem resides animos desuetaque corda. I.(719-22)
In this way, Cupid’s action on Dido is direct. Despite his disguise, he does not deceive
her with words but literally abolishes (“abolere incipit”) Sychaeus from her mind bit by
bit. This intervention cannot exclusively be an allegorical explanation of Dido’s new
passion for Aeneas since the narrative involving Venus’ plot to protect Aeneas and
Juno’s later involvement in the conspiracy makes the depth of the backstory too deep just
to take it as an illustration of Dido’s feelings. In The Art of Vergil, Viktor Pöschl attempts
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to make clear how the divine intermingles with the natural: “The great passions of the
heart appear in Vergil’s poetry as manifestations of the divine demoniacal just as they do
in the poetry of the Greeks. They are quite naturally seen in this manner and are not being
made ‘understandable’ nor being given the dignity and ideality of sublime style” (Pöschl
72). This effect continues on in Book IV as her burning wound.
Straightaway in Book IV, Dido’s sudden dramatic passion for Aeneas is portrayed
as a wound, both in metaphor and simile. Without any kind of break from the melancholy
conclusion Aeneas’ wanderings in Book III, Vergil immediately jumps into Dido’s
chaotic and love-cursed mind:
At regina gravi iamdudum saucia cura
vulnus alit venis, et caeco carpitur igni. (IV.1-2)
The description of her passion as a burning wound is fitting because of Cupid’s
involvement. Vergil’s portrayal of Cupid does not have a bow however, and Dido has no
physical wound. Comparing Dido to Medea in Apollonius’ Argonautica, Johnson in
Darkness Visible notes, “In Apollonius, as we have seen, the bow and arrow are real, but
the wound is psychological…In Vergil both the immediate source of Dido’s compulsion
and the compulsion itself are essentially psychological, despite the suggestions of
physical infection (namely the touch of Amor)” (Johnson 43). 1 Thus Dido has something
of a divine and metaphorical wound that illustrates her new, uncontrollable passion for
Aeneas. The “caeco igni” “hidden flame” by which Dido is “carpitur” “seized” also hints
Johnson is not arguing here that Cupid’s intervention with Dido is merely allegorical.
Rather he explains later, “…Vergil chooses to create a baffling design in which the
supernatural and the natural, the physical and the psychological, divine intervention and
psychological realism are merged together implausibly--the pattern is disturbing because
we see action from without and from within at different times and sometimes at the same
time” (Johnson 44).
1
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at her sudden loss of control and unawareness of her new passion. Brooks Otis identifies
both the fire and the wound as important motifs: “It is with Aeneas’s sword (ensem
recludit Dardanium, 647) that Dido inflicts the fatal suicide-wound at the end: it is the
flames of her pyre that she wants him to see from the ocean (hauriat hunc oculis ignem,
661)” (Otis 71-72). Where Otis saw this motif as a representation of the private becoming
public, it can also trace a path from Cupid casting his spell to Dido’s suicide on the pyre.
Although Dido dominates the narrative of Book IV, Mercury’s appearance to
Aeneas signals an important turning point for the entire poem. The arrival of Mercury
sends a shock into Aeneas that sets him back on his path towards Italy. Unlike Cupid
casting a spell directly on Dido before, Mercury blesses Aeneas with his true form and
makes an impassioned argument on behalf of Jupiter for him to get ahold of his life and
sail to Italy as he was originally told. Up until this point, Aeneas has seriously lost his
way as an individual and is in need of divine guidance to get back up again. Otis
mentions, “Yet the passivity of Aeneas in that book [IV] has been in fact prepared for
long before: he had been for some time the passive isolated observer--the one who is
affected and is acted upon rather than acts--and he is in no condition to resist his own and
Dido’s emotions” (Otis 67). Although Otis does not go into detail here, he may be
referring to Aeneas’s loss of guidance after losing Anchises, for his death was one of the
last events before the Trojans washed up on the shores of Carthage. Moreover, it is no
accident that Jupiter chooses Mercury to rouse Aeneas on his behalf, aside from being
known as a messenger. When describing Mercury’s departure from Olympus, Vergil
takes care to mention his wand:
tum virgam capit: hac animas ille evocat Orco
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pallentis, alias sub Tartara tristia mittit,
dat somnos adimitque, et lumina morte resignat. (IV.242-244)
Though Vergil never mentions the wand again, the reference to the fact that “[with it] he
gives and takes away sleep” could be a reference to the need to rouse Aeneas from the
passive, dream-like state which has held him since his father’s death. The mention of the
other function of the wand pertaining to sending spirits to the under world, “alias sub
Tartara tristia mittit”, possibly foreshadows Dido’s upcoming suicide, or perhaps
Aeneas’s own journey to the underworld in Book VI. The impact of Mercury’s speech is
immediate,
Ardet abire fuga dulcisque relinquere terras,
Attonitus tanto monitu imperioque deorum. IV.281-282
It would be a mistake to interpret this scene solely as an allegory, as if it were not
Mercury himself speaking to Aeneas but his own guilt-ridden conscience. This
interpretation would go directly against the pattern of narrative of Book IV discussed
above and would exaggerate Aeneas’s control over his own life. In a paper addressing
this topic J. Ward Jones Jr. argues, “Mercury appeals to Aeneas’ conscience even though
he is not himself Aeneas’ conscience…Psychologically, it is a correct perception that an
individual, infatuated by a forbidden pleasure, may suddenly be turned from his wayward
course by the sharp and emphatic word of someone he trusts and respects. Of course,
Mercury is more than an eloquent friend. He is a god and must be obeyed” (Jones 37).
Additionally, Mercury’s epiphany echoes a similar scene from the beginning of the
Odyssey in which Athena, sent by Zeus to prepare for Odysseus’ homecoming, discovers
Telemachus daydreaming among the suitors and rouses him into taking action and
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becoming a man (Od. I.115-118).2 Aeneas himself swears that the appearance of Mercury
is true when Dido confronts him shortly after,
Nunc etiam interpres divom, Iove missus ab ipso—
testor utrumque caput—celeris mandata per auras
detulit; (IV.356-7).
In this way the appearance of Mercury signals a turning point in the action of the poem
in which Aeneas must begin to accept his fate and take up the duties assigned him by the
gods regardless of his own will or the consequences. It is not consistent with the story of
the poem that Mercury is a manifestation of Aeneas’s subconscious, but truly an agent of
divine will.
The Redemption of Aeneas
The influence of these divine commands on Aeneas begs the question of what
exactly motivates Aeneas and whether it corresponds with these commands. The
depiction of Aeneas in Book IV differs markedly from that of Dido, whose goals, desires,
and feelings are explained by Vergil with great detail. He, on the other hand, gets shoved
aside by the narrative of Book IV. That is mostly because this part of the story is meant to
tell a tragedy about Dido, but important changes also happen to him as a character here
that signal important turns in the structure of the poem. He is also forced to reveal his
deepest fears and desires when defending his departure to Dido. While Aeneas wishes he
2
Although Athena disguises herself to Telemachus, the way she, being sent by Zeus,
gives him instructions after a long period of his shameful idleness, has a significant
similarity to the epiphany of Mercury. In addition, Telemachus realizes that he had just
spoken to a goddess just after she leaves, “ὀίσατο γὰρ θεὸν εἶναι” (I.323). This is
consistent with Aeneas realizing he had just spoken to Venus in disguise after she leaves
in Book I.
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could return to his old way of life, he realizes he must settle for the fulfilling the duties
given to him by his father, the fates, and the gods.
Until Book IV, Aeneas was not fully in charge of the Trojans or himself. He did
technically become the leader of the Trojan exiles after the sack of Troy, as he says:
Undique convenere, animis opibusque parati,
in quascumque velim pelago deducere terras. (II.799-800)
In Book III however, it becomes clear that he relies upon his father Anchises for guidance
and leadership, especially in interpreting the omens of the gods. When Aeneas receives
specific instructions to go to Italy, he still feels compelled to leave the decision to
Anchises, “Sic ait, et cuncti dicto paremus ovantes”(III.189). Note how this quote by
Aeneas contrasts with the previous one in which he stated that the Trojans had been
relying upon him alone. In this way, the sudden death of Anchises at the end of Book III
leaves him unprepared for leadership. The Trojans had suffered a major setback as well
by beaching on the shores of Carthage, leaving Aeneas emotionally lost and vulnerable to
the wayward influences of the afflicted Dido. It is not a coincidence then that Aeneas
recounts the fall of Troy and his subsequent wanderings at that particular time. The
opportunity for Aeneas to tell his story grants him the ability to take pause and reflect on
how he ended up in present circumstances. Anchises’s death at the end of his narrative is
partially his realization that he is lost without his father.
Mercury’s epiphany in Book IV signals the point in the Aeneid at which Aeneas is
forced to look past his losses and begin to move towards his given purpose. While it may
seem somewhat early in the poem for this change, it actually has a universal place among
interpretations of the Aeneid’s structure. Studying the overall structure of the poem is
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important because major insights can be gained about the character arcs and themes. Otis
splits the Aeneid into two equal halves: the Odyssean preparatory half and the Iliadic
fulfillment half. In addition, each book has a mirrored parallel in the other half (Otis 217).
While Otis sees Book VII as the inauguration of the war in Italy, he considers Book VI as
the turning point: “The sixth book of the Aeneid is the turning point, the death and
resurrection piece, that converts the defeat, passion, and uncertainty of Books 1-5 into the
victorious and unshaken valour of Books 8-12” (Otis 218). Even Otis himself however,
admits the important change that happens in Book IV, noting Aeneas’ renewed pietas
after the epiphany, he elaborates: “The fifth and sixth books, from this point of view,
must be considered the completion of the fourth” (Otis 270). So while he sees Book VI as
the completion of Aeneas’s preparation for fulfilling his duties, he also sees that the
return of Aeneas’ pietas during the epiphany is the first step towards this preparation.
Pöschl takes a somewhat different approach to the structure. He breaks the Aeneid into
even thirds. Books I-IV contain the parts where Aeneas suffers the most, V-VIII present
the optimistic glorification for the future of Rome, and the war of IX-XII betray a mix of
light and dark (Pöschl 172). This interpretation also sees Book IV as the most difficult
and shameful for Aeneas in the poem, at least until he gets turned around by Mercury. In
this way, the interpretation that Book IV functions as a turning point for Aeneas is
compatible with these interpretations. While Aeneas is not entirely ready to begin his
conquest of Italy, he has taken the first step towards independence and the fulfillment of
his fate since losing Anchises. While the epiphany sets Aeneas on his way, his own
motivation for obeying the epiphany is not given until he defends himself to Dido.
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Just on the heels of Mercury’s departure, only three lines go by before the
realization hits Aeneas that he must explain his sudden departure to Dido:
Heu quid agat? Quo nunc reginam ambire furentem
audeat adfatu? Quae prima exordia sumat? IV.283-284
Despite the rush of inspiration from the gods, those first three words signify that Aeneas
is still at something of a loss and not entirely confident in himself. Furthermore, Vergil’s
vocabulary and grammar here exacerbate Aeneas’ uncertainty. He uses consecutive
subjunctives as well as words like “ambire” to show Aeneas’ muddled state of mind and
unwillingness to enter conflict, perhaps communicating that Aeneas himself does not
know whether he can truly justify his sudden flight. Nonetheless, without a chance for
preparation, a raging Dido gets to him first, and he must explain himself. When he gets
the chance to answer, he carefully avoids taking full responsibility for his decision, citing
the gods, the fates, and his father. He does open up, saying that if it were really up to him,
he would have tried to rebuild Troy on the same soil (IV.343-345). This answer seems
appropriate at first, for Aeneas had initially resisted leaving Troy in Book II, preferring to
stay and fight to the death. That answer however, skirts his current situation with Dido,
for he is speaking of a hypothetical situation in which he had never come across her.
Further, Aeneas’ reference to the repeated haunting of his father in his dreams reveals
admittance that he is still unable to break away from him even in memory,
Me patris Anchisae, quotiens umentibus umbris
nox operit terras, quotiens astra ignea surgunt,
admonet in somnis et turbida terret imago; IV.351-353
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Aeneas’s use of the term “imago Anchisae” rather than just “Anchises” suggests he is
speaking of a true vision rather than his own conscience, as the ghost of Creusa in Book
II is described as an “imago” as well as the appearance of Sychaeus to Dido in Venus’s
account of her story in Book I. The anaphora of “quotiens” indicates the extent to which
Aeneas has at the same time been psychologically haunted by the shame of disappointing
his father. He finishes his argument by proclaiming the truth of Mercury’s epiphany and
concludes, “Italiam non sponte sequor” (IV.360). While at first glance this excuse might
make him sympathetic and vulnerable, it also negates everything he said before that. If he
is not setting out for Italy by his own will, then does he not care about defrauding his son
and people of the promised kingdom, as Mercury accused him of? This statement also
seems to negate his immediate reaction after the epiphany, which Vergil narrates, “Ardet
abire fuga dulcisque relinquere terras” (IV.282). The use of “ardet” here is poignant for
this book with its motif of flames for desire. These discrepancies between Aeneas’s
statements and feelings indicate that he may not even be sure what he wants at this point.
Sometimes the command to go to Italy is the right thing to do for him and his people, but
at others it is apparently an undesired necessity. While Aeneas has undeniably accepted
that he must leave Carthage at this point, he is not entirely confident or gracious for his
fate.
The Fall of Dido
While Aeneas entered Carthage as vulnerable and lost man, he leaves with a
refreshed sense of purpose, but Dido experiences an opposite reversal of fortune. Her
story leading up to their meeting mirrors that of Aeneas. She had even surpassed him,
who washed up on her shores to discover a magnificent city in the making. Likewise, her
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pious devotion to her deceased husband makes her a figure of high virtue. From this high
point, she gets used like a pawn by the gods and needlessly forsaken by Juno, her
supposed patron, in a petty attempt to delay the hero from inevitably reaching Italy.
Abandoned by her lover and the gods, Dido was left alone with her dignity stained.
Dido’s undoing functions as the inevitable tragedy of a noble queen tempted and betrayed
by the gods, and as the sacrifice of Aeneas’ personal desire.
Dido’s introduction in Book I puts Aeneas’ pathetic state to shame. She is the
successful, female doppelgänger to Aeneas. Arguing the inevitability of their affair, Otis
states, “At the same time we, as well as Aeneas, have learned of the warm nature of Dido,
her humanity and pity and her special interest in the man who is, in effect, her alter ego:
me quoque…similis fortuna…hac…voluit consistere terra (Otis 67) (his emphasis).
Aeneas gets to hear the story of Dido thanks to Venus. She tells him the story of a woman
devoted to her husband, betrayed by treachery, and forced to lead her people in exile.
Venus’ story places special emphasis on Dido’s devotion to her husband, which plays a
crucial role later. The proem begins with her introducing Sychaeus and describes him,
“…magno miserae [Dido] dilectus amore…” (I.344). Here the tale simultaneously
establishes Dido as a noble woman for Aeneas to admire and lay the foundation for her
inevitable tragedy. Upon seeing the walls of Carthage, Aeneas proclaims,
O fortunati, quorum iam moenia surgunt!
Aeneas ait, et fastigia suspicit urbis (1.437-8)
Aeneas manages to lament his own state while expressing admiration in an unconscious
apostrophe to Dido. When he first actually lays eyes on the queen, Vergil drops these two
lines:
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Regina ad templum, forma pulcherrima Dido
Incessit magna iuvenum stipante caterva (I.486-7)
Dido’s name comes at the end of the line, a conclusion to the proclamation of her title,
“regina”, and attributes, “forma pulcherrima”. We get the sense that Dido is not just
another name like many others thrown around in the poem, but a stately queen. The
placement of her name at the end of the line also puts it in a spondee, adding emphasis.
The Dido that Aeneas meets is the successful female counterpart to Aeneas, being in the
exact position he could only hope for.
When Aeneas finishes the story of his wanderings, the infliction placed upon
Dido by Mercury at the end of Book I has festered into a burning madness, which has
already been discussed above from a divine perspective, but there is still much left to say
of the internal struggle leading to her fatal surrender of modesty. Aeneas’ story of flight
and exile ends on his father’s death, leaving him in a state of uncertainty, into which he
pulls Dido along with him. She is obsessed by his story as well as his features, thinking
of him throughout the night. It is not until the 15th line that Dido’s conscience catches up
to her:
Si mihi non animo fixum immotumque sederet,
ne cui me vinclo vellem sociare iugali,
postquam primus amor deceptam morte fefellit;
si non pertaesum thalami taedaeque fuisset,
huic uni forsan potui succumbere culpae (IV.15-9)
Vergil’s anaphora of contrary to fact statements, “Si mihi non…Si non” suggests she is
flirting with the idea of a relationship with Aeneas but holds back by reminding herself of
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the promises she made to her husband. Though she calls the thought of such an affair a,
“culpae”, she leaves room for ambiguity by trivializing it as “huic uni”. Before long her
troubled mind wanders back to shame,
Sed mihi vel tellus optem prius ima dehiscat,
vel Pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras,
pallentis umbras Erebi noctemque profundam,
ante, Pudor, quam te violo, aut tua iura resolvo” (IV.24-7)
She wishes, with vivid imagery of divine punishment, that Jupiter would strike her down
before she should violate her modesty, which she addresses directly in apostrophe as a
divinity. Cupid may have managed to infatuate her towards Aeneas, but the resilience of
her conscience manages to resist for the time being. With her mind wavering in an
impossible decision, Dido seeks affirmation from Anna, who encourages her to pursue
this new love by appealing both to her logic and emotions. Anna dismisses the memory
of Sychaeus as nothing more than the ashes of the past, “Id cinerem aut manis credit
curare sepultos?” (IV.34). At the same time she encourages Dido to enjoy the fruits of
love while she still can, “Veneris nec praemia noris” (IV.33). Vergil does not provide a
response from Dido, but concludes that Anna manages to “solvitque pudorem” (IV.55).
From this point Dido’s heart is fatally set on Aeneas, but she cannot get herself to act and
becomes stuck. With the image of the walls of Carthage frozen in construction to match
the queen’s stasis, a contrast to the joyous labor seen in Book I, the narrative jumps to
Juno who conspires with Venus to move the ill-fated romance forward at Dido’s expense.
Aeneas’ abandonment of Dido destroys her pride, and leaves her with no option to
live honorably. A lesser person may have been able to withstand the blow of this loss, but
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Dido has too much to lose. Her grief is not for lost love, for she is above that, but the loss
of her own honor. Though under the spell of Cupid, she was quite conscious of the
implications of her affair with Aeneas at the outset. Vergil declares after their tryst in the
cave, “coniugium vocat; hoc praetexit nomine culpam” (IV.172). Her mistake was in
believing that Aeneas would never leave her out of respect for her sacrifice.
Consequently, she has not fallen into a delirium when he abandons her, but makes a
conscious decision to avenge her honor. Pöschl argues, “The queen’s pride, her selfrespect, her sense of dignity, and her thirst for revenge, all demand her death…The very
character of Dido demands that she not seek death because of lost love, but because of
the consciousness of the deep fall” (Pöschl 86). In this way, Dido is truly a tragic heroine,
and her suicide is cathartic violence to her suffering. Upon resolving to die, she visits the
private shrine to Sychaeus, when it is revealed that,
hinc exaudiri voces et verba vocantis
visa viri, nox cum terras obscura teneret (IV.460-1)
The voices and calling of her husband in the night bear a reminiscence of the way Aeneas
claims to be haunted by the shade of his father in dreams (IV.353). Just like Aeneas
suffered the guilt of not heading out for Italy as promised, Dido now cannot escape the
dishonor done to the memory of her husband. She does not name Aeneas directly with
her last words, preferring to curse him as a “Dardanus” (IV.662). However, just before
that, she briefly reviews her greatest accomplishments:
Urbem praeclaram statui; mea moenia vidi;
ulta virum, poenas inimico a fratre recepi (IV.655-6)
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The review serves to clarify that Dido had lived a successful life, securing revenge for her
husband against her brother and establishing a future for her people, before Aeneas ever
arrived. While her city is able to live on, she cannot live with the shame.
Dido and Aeneas experience opposite reversals of fortune that force them to
comprehend their own lack of agency at the hands of the gods and fates. The literal role
of the gods in these events is undeniable and central to the story and struggles of the
characters. Nonetheless, they are still left to their own devices to respond to these higher
influences. More than anywhere else in the Aeneid, Book IV demonstrates Vergil’s
ability to weave subjective and intimate individual experiences with grand, epic drama.
This is a story where Dido is both high queen of Carthage and woman struck madly with
love, while Aeneas is both a man who has lost his way and the patriarch of the future
Roman people.
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Works Cited
Camps, William Anthony. An Introduction to Vergil's Aeneid. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1969.
Print.
Homer. The Odyssey. Ed. A. T. Murray. (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1919) Perseus Digital
Library.http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.
01.0135%3Abook%3D1%3Acard%3D1
Johnson, W. R. Darkness Visible: A Study of Vergil's Aeneid. Berkeley: U of California,
1976. Print.
Otis, Brooks. Virgil: A Study in Civilized Poetry. Oxford: Clarendon, 1963. Print.
Pöschl, Viktor. The Art of Vergil. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan, 1962. Print.
Vergil. The Aeneid. Ed. JB Greenough (Boston. Ginn & Co. 1900) Perseus Digital
Library. http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus:text:1999.02.0055
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