American Journal of Philology

In his recent monograph True Names: Vergil and the Alexandrian Tradition of Etymological Wordplay (1996) James J. O’Hara discusses what he terms “naming constructions as etymological signposts”; these are points in the text where Vergil calls attention to etymological wordplay by his use of words such as nomen, cognomen, verum nomen, voco, dico, appello, or perhibeo (75–79). O’Hara remarks on a few passages which feature naming constructions even though no etymologizing seems to be involved, and notes Aeneid 1.108–10 as one such example:

tris Notus abreptas in saxa latentia torquet (saxa vocant Itali mediis quae in fluctibus Aras, dorsum immane mari summo). . . .

The South wind snatched up and hurled three ships onto the rocks hiding in midocean, the rocks which the Italians call Altars, a huge spine on the surface of the sea. . . .

The naming construction here—vocant Itali, “the Italians call”—is pronounced, but the etymologizing wordplay has escaped the attention of Vergil’s readers. O’Hara comments: “This is not quite etymologizing, but Vergil uses the naming signpost to call attention to the name of these rocks: Arae, Altars” (78). I would in fact argue that this passage of the Aeneid prominently features etymologizing, of the type which O’Hara elsewhere in his monograph calls “translation with paronomasia” (63). Vergil’s Arae, “Altars,” plays on the Greek arai, “curses, bane, ruin.” ¹ According to Servius, the Greeks called these rocks Bomoi, “Altars” (Serv. Auct. on Aen. 1.108). Vergil, by glossing the Italian name [End Page 599] from a Greek vantage point, alters Bomoi into Arai, “Altars” into “Curses.” The word latentia, “hiding,” in line 108 alerts Vergil’s audience to be on the lookout for hidden meanings, while the repetition of saxa, “rocks,” in lines 108 and 109 highlights the double entendre of the proper name. The phrase vocant Itali serves as a signpost for the punning etymology, for it raises the issue of foreign language and translation.

In Vergil’s punning etymology at Aeneid 1.108–10 the naming construction serves as the gloss itself; Itali calls the reader’s attention to the etymological translation with paronomasia. O’Hara cites another example of this in the Georgics: navita tum stellis numeros et nomina fecit / Pleiadas, Hyadas, claramque Lycaonis Arcton, “Sailors then gave numbers and names to the stars: Pleiades, Hyades, and the illustrious Bear, Lycaon’s daughter” (1.137–38). “By saying it was sailors who named the Pleiades and Hyades, Vergil takes a stand, as it were, and suggests the etymology from sailing for both words” (p. 78). The Itali in Aeneid 1.109 play an analogous role to the navita in Georgics 1.137; the subject of the naming construction simultaneously points to an etymological riddle and provides the clue to its solution.

In Aeneid 1.109 Vergil plays on the name Arae/Arai; he also plays on an alternate name for the Arae, found in Sinnius Capito: hippou nota, the Horse’s Back (Serv. Auct. on Aen. 1.110). O’Hara notes: “In Vergil’s line 110, dorsum is an allusion to this other name, Back; Vergil says, in effect, ‘I am deliberately calling these rocks not “Back,” as some do, but “Altars”’” (78). By playing with the Greek name Horse’s Back, O’Hara argues, Vergil takes a stand on the etymology of these rocks. He is right to characterize Vergil’s allusion to hippou nota as a correction, but he misconstrues its rhetorical force. Vergil does not assert the authority of the Italian name; rather, he signals the Italian name as a variant, and privileges the Greek as the natural, dependable, true name: “the rocks which the Italians call Altars, that is: the Horse’s Back.” This is a bit like saying: “the dish which the Italians call polenta, that is: grits.” One culture is marginalized, while the other is assumed as the norm. The absence of a naming signpost with the word dorsum reasserts the authority of the Greek name Horse’s Back, while the phrase vocant Itali defines the Italian name as foreign.

Both of Vergil’s wordplays...