Aeneas

Aeneas, legendary character from Greek and Roman mythology and literature.

Greek vase depicting Aeneas fleeing from burning Troy with his father Anchises on his shoulder.

Quotes on Aeneas:

• Wood and salt. | And clear water of broken mirrors. | Ilium burns behind our backs, no one turns to look. | Hot tears and pregnant hearts for everyone. | Let's go. | There's nothing else to do. | Freshly planed fir and new pitch under the soles of the feet, sails ringed with hope and the sun high. | The smoke remains of the house of the past: it fills the throat and nostrils, it will accompany us forever. | Barefoot exiles, broken souls, old people, women and children. | Let's go. | Defeated, deceived, cold backs under the eyes of bored gods. | Let's go. | My son's curls, the wrinkles of his bent father, the wide open mouths of those who call me "prince". | While the kingdom I never ruled still burns. | My name is Æneas and this is the last day of Ilium. | To cast off is to die twice. | The future smells of wind and fear. | Let's leave. (Simone Sarasso) ^{[citation needed]}

Pietro Metastasio, Dido abandoned:

• No, princess, friend, | it is not indignation, it is not fear that moves | the Phrygian sails and transports me elsewhere. | I know that Dido loves me; | unfortunately I know; nor was I afraid of her. | I love it, and I remember it | how much she did for me: I am not ungrateful. | But let me expose again | to the will of the waves my days | she prescribes my destiny, the gods want it; | and I am so unfortunate, | that fate seems to be my fault."
• If I stay on the beach, | if I untie the sails, | treacherous, cruel | I hear myself called: | and meanwhile confused | in the fatal doubt, | I'm not leaving, I'm not staying, | but I try the martyr | what I would have when leaving, what I would have when staying".
• Torment the cruelest | of every cruel torment | it's the barbaric moment | which divides a cor in two.

Publius Virgilio Marone, Aeneid:

Book I:

• And the time will come | one day, which so many and so many ventures, | nothing else, they will be a sweet reminder to you.
• Suffer, support yourselves, preserve yourselves | to this, which from heaven is reserved for you, | yes glorious and yes happy state.
• I am Aeneas, that pious man who gives enemies | I have escaped with me my patriotic Penates, | up to the stars now known by fame. | Italy I'm looking for, who for homeland | Jupiter assigns me, author of my blood. | With ten and ten well-garnished ships | I left Phrygia, following my destiny | and the splendor of the maternal star.
• Template:NDR Look at Priam! Here even glory has its reward, | and sorrows bring tears, the things of men touch the soul."

Book II:

• Dogliosa history | and of bitter and horrible remembrance, | exalted queen, you invite me to tell the story. | Like the already powerful and glorious | my homeland, now worthy of pity and tears, | was burned and destroyed at the hands of the Greeks. | And what I saw cause ruin and havoc: | that I myself saw it, and I was a large part of it of the case of him unhappy with him. | I'll count it."
• Slammed and tired | of waging war for so many years and being driven back | even by fate, the Greek leaders | they faced the dangers; and from Minerva | divinely instructed, a great horse | of well-contexted and well-confined fir trees | in the likeness of a building mountain. | Then pretend that this was by vote | of their return, of returning semblance | they did so that the cry spread. | Inside her blind womb and in the caves, | which were many and large in such great mass, | he will secretly lock up weapons and warriors | elected to this by fate and valor.
• Now listen | the malice of the Greeks: and from this one | know them all.
• M'agghiado | to tell it.
• To follow this immediately, | let's ruin the door, let's open the walls, | we adapt to the horse ordnance and beams, | and wheels and chariots on their feet, and ropes around their necks. | So moved and pulled easily | the fatal machine the wall ascends, | full of weapons and armed men, around whom | a choir of virgins and children, | sacred praises singing, with delight | they held out their hands on the rope. She through | she talks about the city, while she shakes, | while she who squeaks and trembles as she goes, | it seems to threaten her.
• Allor Sinone, | which to our ruin was from us | and from the evil fate reserved for this, | I approached the horse, and his closed belly he quietly opened them, and took out | the occult ambush. I'll go out in the morning at first | the first bold and happy leaders, | all descended by a rope to the ground: | and fur Tisander and Stènelo and Ulysses, | Athamas and Thoas and Machaon | and Pyrrhus and Menelaus with the cunning | fabricator of this deception, Epeus. | Attack the city, which is already idle | and in sleep and wine she was buried; | the guards attacked; open the doors; | miserable the hosts conspired together: | and dier form to the assault.
• When in a dream (almost as if my eyes were truly in front of me) Hector appeared to me | sorrowful, tearful, and as I saw him | already dragged, bloody and gross | his whole body, and his feet pierced and swollen. | Leave me alone! which and how much he had changed

Book III:

• It was the year | the season before, and the first days in pain, | when, having untied the seamstresses and given them to the twenty | the sails, as his father Anchises wanted, | crying I abandoned the banks and the ports | and the fields where Troy was, my companions | taking with me my son and my gods prey to the waves, and banished from the homeland.
• One of the children | This was the king, who rules the Thracian | it was with much treasure occultly | recommended when by the Trojans | I began to distrust weapons, | and fear the siege. The tyrant rio, | as soon as fortune was seen in Troy turning his back, he too turned, and took up arms and the fate followed the winners; | yes, of friendship and hospice | and every law of humanity is broken, | he took away the life and the gold from the royal boy. [on Polydorus ]
• Ah for the gold impious and despicable hunger! | And who doesn't dare for you, and who doesn't try | this human greed?
• But yes d 'Etna near, that the thunders of him | and its terrible ruins | they bombard him every day. He goes out sometimes | from this mountain to the aura another cloud | mixed with black smoke and red hot | sparks, that of ash and pitch | they make disturbances and rumbles, and sway with tremors | lucid flames vibrate from time to time | that go grazing to discolour the stars; | and sometimes, the very bowels of himself | torn apart by themselves, huge rocks and rocks | liquefied and burned to the heavens vomendo | right from the bottom it rumbles and bubbles.
• It was already the morning of the following day, | and clear dawn had the damp veil | taken from the world; when behold from the woods | one encounters something never seen elsewhere Achaemenides | of strange and miserable appearance, | gaunt, haggard and destroyed: a figure | more of a mummy than of a man. He had a beard | long, unkempt hair, I wear a cloak | sewn up with thorns: all horrid, | and squalid and deformed, with hands | towards the shore stretched out, at a slow pace | venía merci asking.
• Horrible monster, deformed and immeasurable, Polyphemus | who had like a dark cave on his forehead | instead of an eye, and for a stick a pine tree, | whereby the steps he stopped.
• Lies from Sicania to the gulf forward | a small island that in Plemmirio ondoso | is placed towards, and by the ancients it is called | by name Ortigia. This island has fame | who through the streets under the sea the Greek Alphaeus | comes from Dòride intact, to the end of Arcadia | through the mouth of Arethusa to mix | with the waves of Sicily.
• It's on the tip | Once we reached Lilybaeum, we immediately turned around its blind shoals, and the port at last | of the bad sight Drepano we grabbed. | Here, leave me! oppressed by so many worries, | exposed to many, my beloved father Anchises, | I lost my father. Here tired and sad, | father, you abandoned me: and you alone | you were in my many difficult fortunes | how much comfort and support he had. | Alas! who in vain from such great perils | unless you made it."

Book IV:

• To Dido But in Italy my fate calls me. | Italy Apollo in Delos, in Lycia, everywhere | I'll go, or I'll send to spy on him, he promises me. | This is love, this is my homeland. | If you, who came from Phoenicia, | you sit in Cartago, and you delight and enjoy | of your Libyan kingdom, what prohibition, | what envy is yours, that my Trojans | take Ausonia?

Book V:

• I know well that it's hard | it is the contrast of the winds; and ours is in vain. | Turn the sails. And what is more grateful elsewhere, | or more comfortable shore, or safer | never have my tired ships, | of the one who cherishes Aceste, | and does the bone welcome my good father? [to Palinuro]
• To you holy bones, to you ashes love | and famous and happy, soul and shadow | of my father, I return again in vain | to honor you; then that Italy and the Tebro | (even if Tebro is for us) contends for it. | Now, what I can with devoted affection | I adore you and bow to you as something holy."
• Almighty Jupiter, if of the Teucrians | you are not yet, without reserve, in anger | all the people, and if, as you are, pitiful | aim at human worries, at so much fire | take away, father, the evil woods; | take these few afflicted ones back to death | relics of the Trojans, or what remains | you with your own cloth, and with your own hand | (if such is my merit) strike and extinguish.
• Too clear, and too calm | you believed, Palinuro. Now in the arena | from the sea thrown into some strange quarrel | naked and unknown you will lie, | neither will you have anyone who honors you nor anyone who covers you."

Book VI:

• O Palinuro, | and which of the Gods took you away from us? and where did he give you?
• So, Dido unhappy, and it was true | that wicked woman who heard the news of you, | that you ended your days with iron? | Ah, I was the cause of it!

Book X:

• Miserable child! and what help, | which the compassionate Aeneas can honor you | worthy of your praise and omen | what did you give of yourself? The weapons that so much | you liked them, I leave you, and your body to the care of your own, if you care about that | has your impious father [Mezentius], ready for the grave | and I honor you with obsequies. And you, petty, | then you receive death from the great Aeneas, | it consoles you to die. [to Lauso dying]

Book XI:

• Comrades, much has been done. To what remains | fear nothing. Here Mezenzio is dead | for my hands, and these that you see, | the spoils and the first fruits are | of the proud tyrant. Now to the walls | we're going to Latin. Everyone to arms | get ready: everyone trusts and promises | war and victory. You are on point, | because when good wishes hint at it | to move the field, and what purpose there is | to raise the banner, no delay | let it not stop us, either doubt or fear don't delay us. In this midst of the dead | let's give them burial, and what is due to them | it is only after death, eternal honor. | Itene therefore, and those clear souls | that they have with their own blood and life | this purchased homeland and this empire, | of last adorned gifts.
• We hear to other tears called | from the same fate, other battles | we will learn. And you, great Pallas, | go in peace, and with eternal glory | enjoy eternal rest. [to the corpse of Pallas]

Quotes about Aeneas:

Dido and Aeneas (P. Batoni, 1747)

• Virgil, the one whom the professors call the swan of Mantua, certainly because that is not where he was born, appeared to him as one of the most unbearable nuisances that antiquity has ever produced, as well as one of the most terrible pedants . His shepherds all neat and dressed up, who take turns inundating each other with sentient and cold verses, his Orpheus whom he compares to a nightingale in tears, his Aristaeus who whimpers about bees, his Aeneas, character indecisive and inconstant who moves like a Chinese shadow, with wooden gestures, behind the transparent and poorly oiled poem, exasperated him. (Joris-Karl Huysmans) ^{[citation needed]}

Publius Virgilio Marone, Aeneid:

• Aeneas remained clear, he too | of clarity and appearance and stature, | who showed himself as a God: and well to Goddess | he was a son, who is a mother of beauty. | He was breathing from his eyes and from his hair those clear, happy and youthful honors | which she herself, his mother, instilled in him. (book I)
• I can tell you the truth, | My Anna, since what death is the wicked friar | deprive me of Sicheus, who alone moved him | my senses and my heart, and only in him | I know the signs of the ancient flame. ([[Didone] ]: book IV)
• Aeneas, divine lineage, | May Troy bring it back from its enemies and you revive it and keep it eternal; | or from me, from Laurenti and from Latini | already long awaited with so much hope, | this is your home, this is safe- | mind, don't stop, the fatal seat | that is promised to you. The threats and the cry | do not fear war. All hatred, all anger | already ceases from the celestials. (Tiberinus: book VIII)
• Aeneas as soon as he sees him | quickly moves towards them. And he was motionless of courage and body waiting for him | it stands as a pillar founded and solid in itself. (book XII)

Sources:

• Livy, Ab urbe condita Book 1.
• Virgil, Aeneid, Book IX.

Related entries:

• Anchises – father
• Ascanius – son