The Preface to the Aeneis of Virgil (1718)

In Short

This work is a robust, academic defense of Virgil’s epic poem, functioning as the preface to a new blank-verse translation. The text argues for the absolute supremacy of Virgil’s judgment and moral vision while critiquing earlier translators—most notably John Dryden—for their tendency to rewrite rather than translate. By situating Virgil alongside Milton and comparing him favorably to Homer, the author establishes a framework for appreciating the Aeneid as a foundational pillar of Western literature, providing a rare glimpse into how Augustan-era intellectuals engaged with the classics.

The Story

The argument moves from an assessment of Virgil’s character to a technical defense of his narrative structure and moral purpose. The author begins by asserting that Virgil’s Aeneid is the most perfect of all human compositions, a product of a mind that balanced profound philosophy with divine poetic genius. He rejects the notion that Virgil was merely a "phlegmatic" or "melancholic" temperament, arguing instead that his work displays an intense, carefully controlled "poetical fire" that matches or exceeds that of Homer.

The central conflict of the text is a scholarly struggle against the "licentious" translation practices of the day. The author contends that translators often prioritize their own rhetorical flair over the original text, leading to egregious errors in tone and meaning. He specifically critiques Dryden for inserting "coarse" or "nauseous" language—such as his descriptions of gods behaving like drunkards—which he insists are entirely absent from Virgil’s dignified Latin. He argues that a translator’s primary duty is to act as a painter of the original, maintaining "likeness" as the first beauty of the work. If a translation is not accurate, he posits, it ceases to be a translation at all and becomes a mere shadow of the poet’s true intent.

From translation, the argument expands into a structural defense of epic poetry. He challenges the "narrow rules" imposed upon the epic by critics who try to force it into the rigid constraints of stage drama. He defends Virgil’s use of episodes, arguing that these diversions are not structural weaknesses but essential elements that provide relief and variety, ultimately enhancing the reader's engagement with the main action. He pushes back against French critics like Bossu, suggesting that their definitions of "necessary" versus "convenient" episodes are overly subtle and ultimately distort the original Greek and Latin intentions.

The narrative concludes with a comparative study of the "moral" of the Aeneid versus the Iliad. He rejects the idea that Homer’s anger-driven plot is more noble than Virgil’s vision of piety, justice, and the glory of Rome. He argues that Virgil’s morality is more expansive and truly heroic, as it aligns human virtue with divine favor. By the end, the author succeeds in positioning his own blank-verse translation as a necessary corrective, inviting the reader to judge his work not by its poetic flourishes, but by its close, reverent adherence to the spirit and letter of the original Latin masterpiece.

How It Unfolds

The portrait of a genius The author establishes his thesis by framing Virgil as a "prodigy" of nature and art. He uses lines from the Georgics to illustrate the poet’s deep, lifelong dedication to both natural philosophy and the Muses.

The battle of temperaments He addresses the long-standing comparison between Homer and Virgil, dismantling the idea that Homer’s "choleric" nature makes him inherently superior in spirit. He insists that Virgil’s "fire" is simply more tempered by judgment, rendering his work more consistent and elevated.

The critique of translation He pivots to a direct confrontation with the standards set by previous translators like Dryden. He catalogs instances where these predecessors sacrificed accuracy for personal style, arguing that such arrogance effectively obscures the true, modest voice of the Roman poet.

The structure of the epic He shifts to technical criticism, debunking the attempt to apply dramatic rules to epic poetry. He defends the use of episodes as essential tools for pacing, effectively arguing that a poem’s "action" is defined by its outcome rather than its initial premise.

The moral superiority of Rome The text culminates in a defense of the Aeneid’s moral framework. He argues that because Virgil’s hero, Aeneas, acts with piety and purpose, the poem offers a more profound model for human conduct than the destructive rage found in Homer’s work.

The People

Virgil emerges as the hero of the text, a figure treated with profound reverence. The author wants us to see him not just as a poet, but as a philosopher whose "judgment" constitutes a form of divine guidance. He is the standard of perfection, and his "modesty" is held up as a corrective to the boisterous, often impious tone of later interpretations.

John Dryden serves as the primary antagonist of the argument. While the author acknowledges his status as a "great refiner" of English, he is criticized for his "licentiousness." The author wants to show that Dryden’s brilliance often became a veil that distorted Virgil’s intent, particularly where Dryden inserted "odious stuff" that reflected his own tastes rather than the poet’s character.

Homer is treated as a formidable, if slightly flawed, peer. The author respects his "fire" and "invention" but argues that his work is less "judicious" than Virgil’s. He finds Homer’s gods to be occasionally unheroic and his structure less coherent, positioning him as an earlier, more chaotic master whom Virgil ultimately surpassed in terms of narrative control and moral depth.

The Critic (or the "Translator") is a shadow figure representing the ideal reader. The author wants this figure to be someone who can distinguish between the "building of a house" and the "building of a universe," someone who values the "likeness" of a translation over the ego of the translator.

In Its Own Voice

"It is true, he here only tells us of his Inclination to Natural Philosophy; but then he tells it us in Poetry: As few Things are more nearly related."

The author makes this observation while analyzing Virgil’s own description of his scholarly pursuits, asserting the inherent harmony between the philosophical and the poetic.

"A Translator should draw the Picture of his Author: And in Painting, we know, Likeness is the first Beauty; so that if it has not That, all the rest are insignificant."

This serves as the foundational principle for his entire critical project, emphasizing that the primary goal of translation is fidelity to the original subject.

"The Quarrel of Achilles and Agamemnon teaches us the ill Consequences of Discord in a State; and the Story of the Dogs, the Sheep, and the Wolf, in Æsop's Fables, does the same."

He uses this comparison to argue that the moral themes in Homer’s work are often too narrow or primitive when compared to the noble, state-building morality found in the Aeneid.

What It's Really About

The central argument is the necessity of humility in the face of classical greatness. The author explores the tension between "poetical fire"—the raw energy of inspiration—and "judgment," the intellectual discipline required to organize that energy into a coherent whole. He posits that true greatness in literature is found not in sudden, violent flashes of brilliance, but in the sustained, consistent application of wisdom. The question underneath the text is whether we serve a masterpiece best by adapting it to current fashions or by attempting to preserve its original, foreign essence. He concludes that the latter is the only path of integrity, arguing that our understanding of an author is inherently tied to our willingness to see them on their own terms.

Why Read It Today

Reading this work feels like stepping into a heated, high-stakes debate in an eighteenth-century university library. It is an essential read for those interested in the history of literary criticism and the evolution of translation theory. The author’s voice is remarkably consistent—warmly devotional toward Virgil yet sharply polemical toward those he believes have failed him.

Modern readers may find the digressions into ancient Greek technicalities and the rigid, period-specific debates about "episodes" and "expletives" challenging. The language, while precise, reflects the dense, formal structures of the early 1700s. However, the passion with which the author defends his subject remains infectious. You do not need to agree with his harsh assessment of Dryden or his preference for Virgil over Homer to appreciate the depth of his commitment to the text.

Ultimately, this is a book for those who love to think about how we read. It forces the reader to confront their own biases—the "ruling passions" of their own minds—and to consider what it means to truly respect a work of art. It stays with you not because of the specific literary judgments, but because of the author’s insistence that a work of art is a sacred entity, demanding a level of reverence and rigor that is often lost in more modern, utilitarian approaches to literature.