Milton Quarterly, Vol. 39, No.

2, 2005

Beyond Parody: Satan as Aeneas in Paradise Lost

Katherine Calloway

Education consists in finding sources obscure enough to imitate so that they

will be perfectly safe. Ernest Hemingway
(Reynolds 3)

Although the critical search for classical echo and allusion in Paradise Lost is
no longer in vogue, creative writers like Hemingway have not forgotten that there
is nothing new under the sun.1 John Milton’s opinion on the subject of inter-
textuality must have been significantly different from Hemingway’s, though, if
early criticism of Paradise Lost indicates at all the kind of response he expected
his work to receive.2 And discussion of Milton’s reworking his classical predeces-
sors into his own epic shows no sign of slowing, largely because readers of Milton
recognize that his use of classical literature was not intended to be hidden and
remote, but apparent and even instructive. The resulting numerous parallels
that have been drawn between Milton and Virgil notwithstanding, readers of
Milton have yet to consider together the clear and recurring allusions to Virgil’s
Aeneas in Milton’s Satan.3 Such a study is beneficial not only because it high-
lights the similarities and differences among the various allusions, but also because
their existence likely points to more than merely so many textual echoes. Repeat-
edly mapping Aeneas’s words and actions onto his Satan, Milton begins to draw
a comparison between characters rather than passages. And one can hardly
encounter the suggestion that Milton’s villain is a reworking of this particular clas-
sical hero without pausing to consider why he would have drawn such a com-
parison. As is often the case, the solution to this riddle is found not in the
similarities between Aeneas and Satan, but in the differences (or, as it shall turn
out, the single difference) that stand out against the backdrop of those similarities.
Thus far, Francis Blessington has given us the most sustained discussion of Aeneas
and Satan—and his remarks are often perceptive and helpful. His conclusion,
though, is inadequate and borders on self-contradiction: noting that “again and
again Satan’s resemblances to Aeneas are undercut,” he declares, “Satan is not a
classical hero but a classical villain who [. . .] would have no place in the Greek
or Roman epics” (18).4 I contest that Satan is rather the classical hero as he
would be if he acted wholly on his own volition, with no deference to a higher
authority.
Certainly, Satan is not the only character in Paradise Lost in whom Aeneas
finds expression—the behavior of Adam or the Son is often fruitfully compared
with that of Aeneas.5 These studies tend to focus only on one scene from the
Aeneid, however: the battle for control of Latium in Book 12. The richest com-
parison here is that of Aeneas’s slaying Turnus with the Son’s throwing Satan out
of heaven, which imposes the ambiguity of Turnus’s death onto Satan’s demise.6
82
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 Milton Quarterly 83
Obviously, Aeneid 4 is outside the scope of such studies; in fact, the very relevance
of the crucial drama between Aeneas and Dido to Paradise Lost has been ques-
tioned.7 However, such skepticism is characteristic of the minority, as the multi-
ple similarities between Eve and Dido have been the object of much discussion
since they first surfaced in 1712 (Arber 123–24). From the (now fairly established)
catalogue of textual and thematic similarities between Dido and Eve, the cave scene
and the Fall, readers have drawn a range of conclusions. Davis P. Harding con-
cludes that Eve is, like Dido, doomed, and that Adam’s succumbing to Eve and
eating the apple is evidence that he is not as strong as Aeneas was in leaving Dido
(88). By contrast, André Verbart, also comparing Aeneas and Adam, deems the
situation of Adam and Eve much more positive than that of Aeneas and Dido
(126).8 Following suit, the few critics who have compared Aeneas and Satan at
any length have arrived at somewhat disparate conclusions. George F. Butler
decides that, although the Son most closely resembles Aeneas, Aeneas’s baser char-
acter qualities are found in Satan (115). As mentioned, Francis Blessington con-
cludes that Satan is a parody of Aeneas as a whole, rather than an expression of
his negative traits.
And these are just a few examples of the complexity discovered through the
process of tracing classical references in Paradise Lost. Attempts to define precisely
Milton’s reworking of classical literature are often thwarted because of the tension
between his evident admiration for the gravity and splendor of classical epics and
his contention that, as non-Christian literature, their assessment of the human con-
dition is ultimately inadequate. Rather than seeking to resolve that tension, I hope
to demonstrate how Milton preserves it, and to ask instead whether his many allu-
sions pay Virgil a back-handed compliment or a genuine one. Milton clearly
wished to Christianize his pagan sources, but this does not necessarily imply that
he saw his text as in competition with its predecessors. Protesting this, one might
cite passages in which Milton claims to supersede the classical epic, such as his
declaration that the demonic army is unrivaled by any that the classical world has
produced (1.573–88), but such claims have less to do with the artistic merit than
with content. Poetically speaking, it is probably accurate to say that Milton aspired
to be Virgil’s peer, not his better. And even as concerns his “superior” subject
matter, Milton knowingly oversimplifies the classical heroic ethos in order to
advertise his own, as we shall see later. In short, he must have seen the pious clas-
sical hero as more laudable than his Satan, whose deliberate inversion of good and
evil renders him emphatically impius. And Milton’s incorporating of Aeneas’s speech
and behavior into the character of Satan provides a great deal of insight regard-
ing his attitude toward the relationship between his epic and those from which its
form derives.
The first allusion to discuss has, remarkably, received little attention.9 Given
the amount of time and effort that have been dedicated to the ferreting out of
any significant similarities between the Aeneid and Paradise Lost, this might seem
rather telling evidence that no significant allusion actually exists; however, the fol-
lowing description of Aeneas after landing at Carthage and rallying his men is one
of the most famous passages in the Aeneid:

Talia voce refert, curisque ingentibus aeger

Spem vultu simulat, permit altum corde dolorem.
(1.208–09)

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84 Katherine Calloway
With such words he replied, and, ill with heavy cares, he feigned
hope in his countenance, he repressed anguish deep in his heart.

Milton’s “fit reader” would certainly have been familiar enough with the lines to
hear the echo after Satan addressed Beelzebub: “So spake th’ Apostate Angel,
though in pain, / Vaunting aloud, but rackt with deep despare” (1.125–26). Most
Virgilians agree that the picture of Aeneas is a positive one; R.G. Austin notes that
“critics of Aeneas would do well to note his courage and unselfishness here” (84).
Is the same true for “critics” of Satan, a group that would comprise the vast major-
ity of Milton’s readers over the past three hundred years? Such a defense of Satan
is weakened by the fact that his feigned confidence is actually directed at Beelze-
bub alone and not his troops of fallen angels; he appears to be pulling himself
together rather than trying to boost the morale of his followers.10
But the more significant difference between Satan and Aeneas here is to be
found in the speech each gives as he feigns an optimistic countenance. Both begin
by outlining past shared experiences: Satan reminds Beelzebub of their former
splendor, their “Glorious Enterprize” (1.89), and their subsequent fall, and Aeneas
also lists several ante mali. Then Satan utters a crucial “yet” (94)—and proceeds to
affirm his act of rebellion, proclaiming that he shall never repent and, perhaps, shall
“wage by force or guile eternal Warr / Irreconcileable” (1.121–22). His tone is
defiant, aggressive, and willful. Aeneas, by contrast, exhorts his men to endure
(durate, 1.207) until their troubles are over.While Satan rages at the “Potent Victor,”
Aeneas declares dabit his deus quoque finem—“to these things too shall the god give
an end” (1.199). Conceding control of the situation to the concerned deity, Aeneas
does just the opposite of Satan even as both feign confidence in the face of dire
circumstances. This particular allusion to Aeneas thus does not work to Satan’s
advantage in the mind of the reader.11
An intriguing complication arises as Belial claims in Book 2 that when
someone “In what he counsels and in what excels / Mistrustful, grounds his
courage on despair,” an “Ominous conjecture” is “cast” “on the whole success” of
the venture (125–26, 122–23). This statement condemns Aeneas’s behavior as well
as Satan’s, but Milton’s own judgment remains unclear, since he puts the observa-
tion in the mouth of one who “could make the worse appear / The better reason”
(2.113–14). In any case, Belial speaks more truthfully than he knows: his intent is
to contest Moloch’s suggestion of open war, not to chide Satan for his defiant
declaration to Beelzebub. The pronouncement that founding one’s courage on
despair invites doom is telling, as Satan’s chances of success are indeed small.
Notably, the statement occupies the same lines in Book 2 as does “So spake th’
apostate angel, though in pain, / Vaunting aloud, but rackt with deep despare” in
Book 1.
Despite this, Satan ventures to earth and sets into motion the tragic events
of Book 9. Although the notion that Milton employed the drama of Aeneid 4 in
the temptation is not new, any parallels between Satan and Aeneas here have been
largely overlooked.12 Regarding Dido and Eve, there are two generally agreed
upon, but crucial, observations: first, Dido’s fall and the ensuing enmity between
Carthage and Rome echo in some ways Eve’s fall and the resulting breach between
man and nature, man and God; second, for Milton the latter is (understandably)
far more significant than the former.13 Adam is more complicated, as he plays no
direct role in Eve’s temptation and fall and is indeed separated from the event in

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 Milton Quarterly 85
Paradise Lost more than the biblical narrative implies. He has been identified with
14
both Aeneas and Dido.
However, those comparisons that include Adam are weakened by the fact that,
at the fateful moment for both women, neither is accompanied by her husband.
For comparison, here are the often-quoted lines describing Eve’s fall:

she pluck’d, she eat:

Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all her Works gave signs of woe.
(9.781–83)

And here are those describing Dido’s “marriage” to Aeneas in the cave:

Prima et Tellus et pronuba Iuno

Dant signum; fulsere ignes et conscius aether
Conubiis, summoque ulularunt vertice nymphae.
(4.166–68)

Both Mother Earth and Juno, preparer of the bride, give a sign; fires
flash and the aether is conscious of the marriage; nymphs wail from
the highest peak.

The shuddering of nature, often cited as evidence that the two unfortunate events
are linked, is convincing. But it is important to note that Adam’s relationship with
Eve is not parallel to that of Dido and Aeneas; while it is clear that Adam and
Eve were meant to be together, both Aeneas and Dido had been previously
married, and both deeply regretted the loss of their first spouses. And, just as
Adam was not present when Eve ate the apple, Sychaeus did not witness Dido’s
union with Aeneas in the cave. Following this line of reasoning, the logical par-
allel for Aeneas at the moment of Eve’s fall is not Adam, but Satan. Several critics
have noted the sexual language in which Milton describes the interaction between
Satan and Eve.15 It is Satan, not Adam, who acts to bring about Eve’s fallen state,
just as it is Aeneas, not Sychaeus, who leads Dido to break her vow to remain
chaste.
A note of caution is warranted here. It might seem that this similarity between
Aeneas and Satan is not, like their feigned courage, vexed by the fact that an obvi-
ously pious action on the part of Aeneas is being repeated by Milton’s arch-villain.
Joining himself to Dido, only to depart suddenly and to her destruction, is now
seen as one of Aeneas’s more dubious exploits, and it seems natural that, if Milton
wanted to represent Aeneas in Satan at all, this is the sort of episode from the
Aeneid that he would choose. One must be careful when making such assump-
tions, though: a typical early modern reading of this episode was harsher on Dido
than it was on Aeneas, reading his quitting Carthage at the behest of Jupiter as
evidence of his piety and her behavior toward him in the cave as an impious vio-
lation of chastity.16
Whether or not Aeneas’s fidelity to Dido was under question, however, a great
disparity exists between his behavior in the cave and Satan’s in the garden. Aeneas

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86 Katherine Calloway
does not will Dido’s demise, but Satan has methodically planned, and overcome
much difficulty to execute, Eve’s fall. Afterward, while Satan returns to hell to boast
of his feat, Aeneas finds himself hiding his cares once again (obnixus curam sub corde
premebat) as he attempts to explain to Dido that he is sorry and had not wished
to leave Troy in the first place (4.332, 340–44). In this speech, he further distances
himself from Satan’s rebellious refusal to admit any higher authority by appealing
specifically to Priam: “Me si Fata meis paterentur ducere vitam / auspiciis [. . .]
Priami tecta alta manerent” [“Had the Fates allowed me to live as I liked [. . .]
the lofty dwellings of Priam would still stand” (4.340–41, 343]). Aeneas, then, does
not intend any harm in uniting with Dido; he merely submits to fate–and to the
will of his divine mother.Venus is thus more Satan-like in motive than is her son.
But, because Aeneas is more Satan-like in function, it is perhaps most accurate to
say that Satan functions in the fall of Eve as Venus and Aeneas together function
in the fall of Dido. The idea that Satan is more completely explained as a com-
bination of Venus and Aeneas is given further credence when one considers
Milton’s tendency to equate his demons with pagan gods. The ruler of demons
certainly appears to be linked to them as well, as the first time the Virgilian ques-
tion tantaene animis caelestibus irae? (“Does such great anger exist in heavenly
spirits?”) is raised in Paradise Lost, the “heav’nly Spirit” that Raphael has in mind
is Satan himself (Aen. 1.11, PL 6.788).
Satan’s appearance in his throne room in Book 10 of Paradise Lost is the third
point at which his behavior resembles that of Aeneas. The allusion to Virgil here
has not yet been noted, probably because emergence from a cloud is found in
both Homer and Virgil and is thus an epic convention rather than a Virgilian inno-
vation.17 However, the echo of Aeneas’s appearance in Dido’s throne room in Book
1 of the Aeneid is not thematic only, but also philological. Consider the lines
describing Satan’s return to his throne in hell:

Down a while
He sate, and round about him saw unseen:
At last as from a Cloud his fulgent head
And shape Starr bright appeer’d, or brighter.
(10.447–50)

And Virgil’s description of Aeneas’s emergence in Dido’s throne room:

Vix ea fatus erat, cum circumfuse repente

Scindit se nubes, et in aethera purgat apertum.
Restitit Aeneas, claraque in luce refulsit.
(1.586–88)

Scarcely had he said these things, when suddenly the cloud envelop-
ing him split itself, and uncovered him—exposed in the air Aeneas
stood, and he shone with bright light.

As their respective clouds dissolve, both Satan and Aeneas appear bright (compare
clarus to “Starr bright”). Milton also describes Satan with the Latinate adjective
“fulgent,” the cognate of the verb that Virgil applies to Aeneas: refulgeo, “to shine,
flash forth” or, as some Virgilians translate it, “glitter.”18 The Homeric episode that

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 Milton Quarterly 87
most closely resembles Satan’s emergence is the appearance of Odysseus in the
court of Alcinous in Odyssey 7.142–5:

)
μφ δ r Arτης β λε γονασι χε ι υας Oδυσσες,
)
kα ττε δ r%  ατο ι ο p λιυ χτο θσφατοε r.
ο δ νε ω. γνοντο, δμον k τα φ ω̂τα δντες.
θαμαζον δ’ "rωντες. " δ$ λιτ νενεν Oδυσσες.

Then he laid his hands upon the knees of the queen, and at that
moment the miraculous darkness fell away from him and he became
visible. Every one was speechless with surprise at seeing a man there.
(Samuel Butler 60)

Odysseus is neither bright nor shining, nor indeed do the Phaeacians appear struck
by anything besides the fact that a man has suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
The distinct, philological resemblance to Milton’s text disappears, leaving only the
plot device itself. Further, no one in the court of Alcinous expects Odysseus, but
the demons in Pandemonium wish to see Satan (“whom they wish’d beheld”
[10.454]), just as Aeneas’s lost comrades, and indeed Dido, wish to see Aeneas just
before he appears: “Atque utinam rex ipse [. . .] / adforet Aeneas!” (“Would that
king Aeneas himself had been borne here!” [1.575–76]). Certainly, Virgil imitated
this Homeric passage with his own cloud scene—for both Aeneas and Odysseus
are concealed by helpful goddesses so they might enter foreign palaces unnoticed—
but Milton’s allusion approximates Virgil’s text so much better than it does Homer’s
that to say that Satan resembles both Odysseus and Aeneas is to miss a pointed
resemblance.19
Once again, the particular allusion allows Milton not simply to connect Satan
with Aeneas, but to combine the actions of Venus and Aeneas in Satan: for Satan
wills his own concealment in, and emergence from, the cloud. Aeneas thus submits
again to the will of someone greater while Satan refuses to concede the existence
of such a person. This difference in attitude is evident in the way each behaves
after his miraculous appearance. Satan immediately begins to boast, not entirely
truthfully, of his many brave exploits and the success of his journey.20 Aeneas, on
the other hand, shining and god-like as he is, describes his band as worn-out
(exhaustos [1.599]) and unable even to thank Dido properly for her welcome
(1.600–01). As was the case when both Satan and Aeneas suppressed despair in
order to speak courageously, Satan’s tone is arrogant while Aeneas’s is forbearing.
Satan’s resemblance to Aeneas, then, is not confined to only one scene, nor
indeed to only one book, in Paradise Lost. From soon after he awakens in Hell to
the temptation in the garden to his homecoming, Satan’s words and actions par-
allel those of Aeneas.21 The corresponding passages in the Aeneid are not as evenly
distributed: two are found in Book 1, the other, in Book 4, and all three deal with
the pre-katabasis Aeneas, who is in many ways less focused on the founding of a
city in Latium than on the recent loss of Troy. It is odd that Milton would choose
such a pagan character to critique by comparison with Satan because Aeneas, out
of all the heroes in the Iliad, the Odyssey, and the Aeneid, poses the strongest chal-
lenge to Milton’s assertion that “Warrs” had been “hitherto the onely Argument
/ Heroic deem’d” (9.28–29). A few lines later, when he declares that “the better

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88 Katherine Calloway
fortitude / Of Patience and Heroic Martyrdom” remains “Unsung” (9.31–33), one
feels that he is selling short Virgil’s depiction of Aeneas in the first half of the
Aeneid. Indeed, if Milton meant “patience” to carry any of its etymological force,
Aeneas seems well on his way to living up to the standard of “better fortitude”
(Porter 88–89).
Yet it is Aeneas whom Milton chooses to imitate in his arch-villain, who fits
neither the classical nor the Miltonic ideal of a hero. The fact that Satan is no
classical hero because he “never lands a successful blow” (Blessington 10), however,
is not the vital issue, nor is this failing especially evident where he resembles
Aeneas. The far more marked difference is the one in attitude, which I have
described: Aeneas accepts and makes the best of those situations into which he is
thrown by fate and the gods, while Satan fiercely opposes, and indeed denies, any
authority that supersedes his own. Satan is, in effect, the hero that Virgil would
have created had his text been completely divorced from those qualities that render
it “the most Christian of all pagan epics” (George Butler 104). And as a result,
Aeneas supersedes Satan in “Patience / and Heroic Martyrdom” (9.32) as much
as in martial prowess. In fact, even the wrathful Achilles, whom Milton named first
among those his new heroic standard would supersede, understands post facto that
it is not “Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav’n” (1.263).22
Nevertheless, Milton accuses his classical forerunners of adhering to standards
of heroism that are inferior to his own. He does so in earnest: the Christian ideals
that he wishes to set forth are indeed fundamentally different from those found
in the classical epic, even the Aeneid, for all its moral perspicuity. Milton would
say that the classical hero, for all his classical virtue, still falls short of the “better
fortitude” (9.31) of the Christian hero, in whom we find the cardinal virtues as
well. Choosing Aeneas as the classical hero to imitate in Satan, he argues that even
the most Christian of all pagan heroes fails to realize this higher standard. It is the
same point that Dante made in the Divine Comedy: he admired and respected Virgil
enough to make him the guide through hell and purgatory, but he could not
allow him to enter paradise. Critics point out that Satan lacks several of Aeneas’s
positive traits: the ability to maintain a heroic stance, true leadership, courage and
prowess in battle, and, of course, piety.23 Milton certainly emphasized Aeneas’s laud-
able qualities by contrast with Satan, but he could not call him a Christian hero.
In Milton’s epic landscape, with its advantage of Christian revelation, for a char-
acter to try to be the kind of hero Aeneas was is no less than diabolical.
This is not to say that Milton’s poem is a mere parody, attempting to make
classical epics look ridiculous. A glance at his prefatory note on the verse of Par-
adise Lost challenges the notion that he undertook such an onerous task for that
purpose.24 Milton proclaims he shall deal with his pagan predecessors by soaring
“Above” them (1.14–15), not by making them look silly. He plans to undertake
“Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime” (1.16). None of Milton’s characters
would have a place in Greek or Roman epics, for he has transformed the pagan
into Christian. Samuel Barrow’s injunction, “Cedite Romani Scriptores, cedite Graii”
“Yield, writings of the Roman, yield, those of the Greek” [line 39] does not imply
that Milton wished to downplay the genius of his classical predecessors, or even
to declare himself the better artist. His concern is rather to Christianize their
message while largely imitating their form.
An excellent example of how Milton used allusion to effect this “Christian-
ization” is his reiteration of the question first raised by Virgil’s invocation—

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 Milton Quarterly 89
Tantaene animis caelestibus irae?—in Paradise Lost (Martindale 3–4). It is first raised
by Raphael as he narrates Satan’s rebellion: “In heav’nly Spirits could such per-
verseness dwell?” (6.788). The answer to this question is a clear “yes”; Satan has
proven himself capable of prideful wrath.25 The second time the question is raised,
Satan himself poses it to Eve, asking “can envie dwell / In heav’nly brests?”
(9.729–30).The answer here is once again “yes,” but, ironically, the “heav’nly brest”
that has proven capable of envy is not God, but Lucifer. It is in the inclusion of
a third permutation of Virgil’s question that Paradise Lost differs so drastically from
the Aeneid. Once God has declared the need for someone to meet the require-
ments of justice for man’s sin, he asks, “Dwels in all Heaven charitie so deare?”
(3.216). Aeneas could not have supplied a positive answer to this question and was
left to behave as heroically as possible; but Satan could, and he scorned the divine
authority who was capable of “charitie so deare.” It is this discrepancy that renders
Aeneas’s behavior more praiseworthy than Satan’s even as his world is subsumed
by the Christian one that Milton creates.

Baylor University

Notes
I would like to thank Phillip J. Donnelly for his helpful suggestions in revising this essay, and Alden
Smith, Department of Classics, Baylor University, for a number of useful observations on the Aeneid.
All translations from Latin are my own. Citations from Virgil are by line number to the Latin text-
edited by Charles Knapp (see Virgil).
1
In his discussion of classical allusion in Paradise Lost, William Porter notes the distinction drawn by
T.S. Eliot: “Immature poets imitate: mature poets steal” (30). More recently still, Tom Stoppard
engaged the subject of reworking old art into new; his Arcadia is a tribute to this very practice.
2
Patrick Hume’s annotations to Milton’s epic provide a list of cross-references to biblical and clas-
sical texts in which, as was characteristic of that period, the commentator’s presence was strongly
felt. Milton found another early critic in Joseph Addison, whose comments on Paradise Lost in The
Spectator primarily dealt with Milton’s debts to classical literature (see Arber).
3
Although most of these specific allusions have been briefly noted by one critic or another, Bless-
ington’s more sustained discussion of Satan and Aeneas addresses primarily each character’s perfor-
mance in battle. Other works in this vein, including those of Harding, Martindale, and Porter, focus
less on the similarities between Satan and Aeneas than those between other characters in the epics.
4
I say “self-contradictory” here because it seems to me that a “classical villain” would be likely to
find himself in a Greek or Roman epic if anywhere.
5
Book 6 of Paradise Lost, better known as a source of Homeric allusion, has also been the object of
comparison with war narrative in the Aeneid. And Book 6 does seem to invite such comparison—
C.S. Lewis’s 1942 declaration that “If we are to have another epic it must go on from Virgil” (38),
has been taken up by George F. Butler, who justified his setting the war in heaven against Book 10
of the Aeneid by pointing out that the Aeneid is “the most Christian of all pagan epics” (104).
6
Using the final lines of the Aeneid to identify Satan with Turnus, Herman has reminded his readers
that “Turnus’s death [. . .] is not altogether deserved” (193). Interestingly in light of this, Butler asserts
that the Son generally, “as a type of Aeneas [. . .] embodies those elements of classical heroism most

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90 Katherine Calloway
consistent with Christianity” (116–17). He also notes, however, that Aeneas can be likened to Satan
as well, as both at times display impius fury—this negative portrayal is evidence of the ambiguity
already present in the character of Aeneas (115).
7
Harding has proclaimed that “Milton does not make any direct use, and very little indirect use, of
the Dido episode” (87). Verbart contests this assertion (112).
8
Observing that Aeneas’s last words to Dido– –quem fugis? (Aen. 6.646)– –are also Adam’s first words
to Eve (“Whom fli’st thou?” [Paradise Lost 4.482]),Verbart makes the case that the stories of the two
couples are antithetical: while Adam and Eve are united in the end, Aeneas and Dido are profoundly
and irrevocably separated (126).
9
Cardinale points out that none of the major critical editions of the poem note this similarity (183),
and Martindale questions the validity of this particular allusion (4). Steadman also briefly mentions
the resemblance between the two scenes (178, 235).
10
Cardinale mistakenly remarks that both characters are rallying their followers (183).
11
The few who mention it have noted as much. Martindale concludes that, if this allusion is in
fact intentional, it is intended to be ironic. “Aeneas,” he says, “is a true leader who conceals his
private emotions in the interest of his public duties; Satan by contrast speaks out of mere bravado,
and his concealment serves his own evil desires, not the true interests of those he has misled” (4).
Cardinale modifies this interpretation slightly, supposing that Milton intends to equate Satan’s polit-
ical shrewdness with that of Aeneas, while implying that Satan lacks “Aeneas’s defining trait, piety”
(183).
12
See Addison in Arber 123–24, Porter 110–15, Verbart 113, and Harding 88–89.
13
See Blessington 63 and Harding 85.
14
Verbart makes use of Adam’s status as Eve’s lover to place him in the role of Aeneas, a compari-
son which is warranted to some extent, especially considering the exact correspondence of Adam’s
first words to Eve with Aeneas’s last words to Dido, and both Verbart and Porter note that there are
similarities between Dido and Adam as well.
15
See Labriola 298, Rudat 111, and Lehnhof 58.
16
In keeping with the Italian Renaissance view that poetry was didactic, praising virtue and blaming
vice, Aeneas was the exemplum to be imitated for his pious submission to fate and the gods, and
Dido’s demise was a warning to women who might be inclined to behave as she did (Kallendorf
102–03). This is not to say that no one had yet thought to read Dido sympathetically: one finds a
searching discussion of Aeneas’s behavior in Book 4 in Chaucer’s House of Fame, for example.
17
Not appearing in any major critical edition of Paradise Lost, the epic emergence from a cloud has
been, to my knowledge, pointed out only once. Verbart footnotes the thematic similarity, mention-
ing that Milton “make[s] use of the highly epic and highly theatrical emergence from a cloud [. . .]
in Paradise Lost, namely in 10.441–53, with respect to Satan’s return to hell,” pointing out that the
device has been used by both Homer and Virgil (118). It is understandable that, missing the philo-
logical echo, he would draw this conclusion, given that conventional devices are more often mis-
taken for significant allusions than vice versa (see Porter 1–11 and Martindale 1–20).
18
“Refulgere” is a rich term in classical literature, often signaling divinity, and denoting a shim-
mering or glittering quality. This sense is echoed in Paradise Lost a few lines later: “With what per-
missive glory since his fall / Was left him, or false glitter” (10.451–52).
19
It is possible that Milton intended Pandemonium to resemble Dido’s palace, which would further
the resemblance between the two scenes. Blessington notes Newton’s comparison of the descrip-
tions of the two places (7); however, Martindale has challenged this comparison (5).

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 Milton Quarterly 91
20
Flannagan notes that “All during his speech, Satan is posing as an epic hero, the subject of a poten-
tial Sataniad” and that “most of what he asserts to his followers is gross exaggeration, if not outright
lying” (638).
21
The fact that these similarities are sustained until late in the poem is even more significant if, as
Porter asserts, “Classical allusions, echoes, borrowings, and reminiscences generally are more abun-
dant in the first two books of Paradise Lost than in the entire remaining ten” (103).
22
Porter points out that Satan’s declaration is exactly opposite to that expressed by the dead Achilles
to Odysseus: “I would prefer to live as a serf in thrall to someone else, even a poor man without
much of an estate, than be the ruler of all the perished dead” (90–91).
23
Blessington 1–18, Butler 115, Cardinale 183, and Verbart 118.
24
Besides the fact that he cited Virgil and Homer as his artistic models in the prefatory note to Par-
adise Lost, there is ample evidence that Milton bore a great deal of respect for Virgil: Martindale
points out that Milton labeled Virgil a “ ‘summus artifex decori,’ the great master of what is appro-
priate, a quality which Milton rated highly” (107).
25
Assuming that the “divine spirit” in question is God’s rather than Satan’s, Verbart concludes just
the opposite (125).

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