J. is well known as a prolific Virgilian scholar, and now we have her complete translation of the Aeneid, the fruit of a lifelong admiration for the poet. The translation ‘attempts to capture some of the effect of the original poem by approximating dactylic hexameter’ (p. xv), and is accompanied by a concise introduction, explanatory footnotes (ranging in number from seventeen to seventy-five per book), maps and pictures (some taken by J.), a comprehensive glossary of names and a select bibliography.
The introduction falls into two parts. The first compactly sketches Virgil's life and œuvre for the uninitiated (the book's target audience). The second presents the translation by first giving an account of the original metre (what is lacking is a treatment of the caesura: this omission likewise affects the translation itself), and then explaining how it is rendered here. ‘Owing to basic differences between the two languages’, the translation will not always strictly follow the scheme of Latin dactylic hexameter: ‘Sometimes English meter will lose a short syllable, particularly in the sixth foot, and sometimes it will add an extra one at the end of the line or at the beginning’ (p. xvi). In principle, this is a welcome licence that aims at mitigating the notorious artificiality of ‘the hideous accentual hexameter’ (D.L. Sayers, The Poetry of Search and the Poetry of Statement [1963], p. 144), but the result is that one often finds oneself wondering how to scan a line at all. One is tempted to follow J.'s advice: ‘If the meter feels uncomfortable, do not force it – better to let the story carry you’ (p. xvii).
Perhaps the most questionable decision was to allow a verse to end with a monosyllabic proclitic, producing a sort of impressionistic enjambement. It was obviously intended to avoid verses beginning with an unaccented syllable (which would destroy dactyl), but the effect is peculiar. To give an example, 1.124–31:
In just eight lines, we have here three the's ending a verse, not to mention the split ‘has | been’, ‘by | waves’, and ‘do | not escape’. Overall the proportion is lower, but still considerable: I noted 59 such the's in Book 1 and 60 in Book 2, possibly having missed, or added, one or two. C. Day Lewis' translation (The Aeneid of Virgil [1952], p. 14), perhaps the closest comparandum for what J. attempts to do with metre, reads more smoothly. To stay with the quoted passage, one may point out the expansion of Virgil's simple dehinc talia fatur to ‘and with these harsh words brings an end to their outburst’, apparently only motivated by the need to fill the line (contrast Day Lewis' ‘and then proceeds to say’). Likewise, one suspects that the reason why Juno is somewhat cryptically referred to as, virtually, ‘her brother's sister’ (‘His sister's wiles and wrath do | not escape her brother's notice’, translating nec latuere doli fratrem Iunonis et irae) may have to do with metrical necessity. Most regrettably, in Neptune's speech that follows, the famous aposiopesis quos ego … (1.135) is entirely left out.
The translation is usefully sectioned by rubrics summing up the main events, which, for those unfamiliar with the story, considerably eases following the flow of the narrative. Further support is provided by footnotes which convey necessary mythological and historical information and are full of other relevant facts. J. frequently cites literary models and parallels (Homer is, not undeservedly, the favourite, but others get an occasional mention, too). J. also makes keen literary observations. For instance, on 2.392–5 (the Trojans putting on the armour of the Greeks they have just killed), she notes that ‘wearing another's armor inevitably leads to disaster’ (p. 35 n. 18), substantiating the claim by the example of Patroclus. She calls attention to the acrostic MARS at 7.601–4, imitated with WAR in the translation. Perhaps most attractively for an unsophisticated reader, J. points out parallels outside the classical world. Such a reader will learn that Mozart's Idomeneo is based on the story of Idomeneus mentioned at 3.401; that Mercury's wand is ‘a symbol retained by the modern medical profession’ (p. 77 n. 6); that the Platonic concept of ‘the soul becom[ing] infected by the body’ was ‘adopted much later by the nineteenth-century Romantic writers’ (p. 136 n. 37); that fascism is derived from fasces (p. 140 n. 55); that ‘[a]s Vergil knew, bees do have feet – six of them’ (p. 147 n. 6); that the classical Golden Age is ‘similar to the biblical Garden of Eden’ (p. 177 n. 10); and so on. However, the footnotes are distributed unevenly. For Book 4 there are seventeen, of which only one is longer than four lines; Book 6 has as many as seventy-five, with nineteen longer than four lines (no doubt a by-product of J.'s work on her new school commentary, Vergil, Aeneid 6 [2012]; in footnotes to Book 6 one occasionally encounters untranslated Latin [p. 134 n. 33; p. 136 n. 37], betraying their provenance). A characteristic feature of the footnotes is their repetitiveness, perhaps excusable by the principle repetitio mater studiorum. To give one example, we are told a revealing fact that ‘Juno is often referred to as the daughter of Saturn when she is planning misfortune for the Trojans’ on p. 4 n. 6, and again, phrased slightly differently, on p. 73 n. 2; and then twice more in the glossary of names, p. 302, s.v. ‘Juno’ and p. 310, s.v. ‘Saturn’. Unfortunately, some comments are puzzling or even misleading: the Helen episode ‘probably was written by Vergil’, but ‘should perhaps be removed’ (p. 40 n. 26); the Scaean Gates were situated at the ‘western side of the city, facing north toward the Greek encampment’ (p. 41 n. 28); ‘The Greek roots of [Polydorus’] name mean “much gold”' (p. 50 n. 2) rather than ‘many gifts’; the Argo ‘was made from pine trees that grew on Mount Ida’ (p. 219 n. 17) rather than Pelion.
The glossary of names is not unlike the footnotes in scope and tone, but often repeats information already given there and is liable to similar shortcomings. The select bibliography is understandably selective, though perhaps slightly out of balance: it lists ten items by J., whereas R.J. Clark and M.C.J. Putnam who come next are only given three each. It also has a curious typo (far from the only one): R.G. Austin's commentary on Book 1 is referred to as P. Vergili Maronis Aeneidos, Liber Unus rather than Primus (and is dated 1977 rather than 1971), and that on Book 2 is not mentioned at all.
J.'s annotated translation of the Aeneid should be used with caution; that by Day Lewis, with R.D. Williams' companion (The Aeneid of Virgil [1985]), might be a safer choice.
