{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_73078/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_73078","id":"gutenberg_73078","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/73078","summary":null,"tags":["Aesthetics -- Early works to 1800","Agesander. Laoco\u00f6n group","Category: Art","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics"],"text":"LAOCOON.\n           =An Essay upon the Limits of Painting and Poetry.=\n WITH REMARKS ILLUSTRATIVE OF VARIOUS POINTS IN THE HISTORY OF ANCIENT\n                                  ART.\n\n\n                                   BY\n\n                       GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING.\n\n                    TRANSLATED BY ELLEN FROTHINGHAM.\n\n[Illustration: [Logo]]\n\n                                BOSTON:\n                           ROBERTS BROTHERS.\n                                 1890.\n\n\n\n\n       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by\n\n                           ROBERTS BROTHERS,\n\n       In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.\n\n\n                           UNIVERSITY PRESS:\n                     JOHN WILSON & SON, CAMBRIDGE.\n\n\n\n\n                         TRANSLATOR\u2019S PREFACE.\n\n\nA translation of the Laocoon was given to the English public by E. C.\nBEASLEY, one of the tutors of Leamington College, in 1853. Very few\ncopies found their way to America, and the book is now difficult to\nobtain.\n\nThe desire of the present translator has been to make a version which\ncould be easily read by persons ignorant of any language save English.\nTo this end an attempt was made to banish all foreign languages from the\ntext, and substitute for the original quotations their equivalents, as\nnear as possible, in English. This method was found, however, on trial,\nto be incompatible with the closeness of Lessing\u2019s criticism, depending,\nas that in many cases does, on the shade of meaning of the original\nword. For the sake of consistency, therefore, Lessing\u2019s method has been\nadhered to in every instance; the words of the author cited being\nretained in the text, and a translation given in a foot-note wherever\nthe meaning was not sufficiently indicated by the context. The same\ncourse has been pursued with the modern as with the ancient languages.\n\nDryden\u2019s translation of Virgil has been used throughout, and Bryant\u2019s of\nHomer in every case but one, where a quotation from the \u00c6neid and the\nOdyssey stood in close connection. In this single instance Pope\u2019s\nversion was preferred; his style being more in harmony with that of\nDryden, and his want of literalness being here not objectionable.\n\nSuch notes as were not necessary to the understanding of the text have\nbeen transferred to the end of the book.\n\nThe translator would here acknowledge the valuable assistance received\nfrom Mr. W. T. BRIGHAM in the rendering of quotations from the classics.\n\n                                                      ELLEN FROTHINGHAM.\n\n\n  BOSTON, June, 1873.\n\n\n\n\n                                PREFACE.\n\n\nThe first who compared painting with poetry was a man of fine feeling,\nwho was conscious of a similar effect produced on himself by both arts.\nBoth, he perceived, represent absent things as present, give us the\nappearance as the reality. Both produce illusion, and the illusion of\nboth is pleasing.\n\nA second sought to analyze the nature of this pleasure, and found its\nsource to be in both cases the same. Beauty, our first idea of which is\nderived from corporeal objects, has universal laws which admit of wide\napplication. They may be extended to actions and thoughts as well as to\nforms.\n\nA third, pondering upon the value and distribution of these laws, found\nthat some obtained more in painting, others in poetry: that in regard to\nthe latter, therefore, poetry can come to the aid of painting; in regard\nto the former, painting to the aid of poetry, by illustration and\nexample.\n\nThe first was the amateur; the second, the philosopher; the third, the\ncritic.\n\nThe first two could not well make a false use of their feeling or their\nconclusions, whereas with the critic all depends on the right\napplication of his principles in particular cases. And, since there are\nfifty ingenious critics to one of penetration, it would be a wonder if\nthe application were, in every case, made with the caution indispensable\nto an exact adjustment of the scales between the two arts.\n\nIf Apelles and Protogenes, in their lost works on painting, fixed and\nillustrated its rules from the already established laws of poetry, we\nmay be sure they did so with the same moderation and exactness with\nwhich Aristotle, Cicero, Horace, and Quintilian, in their still existing\nwritings, apply the principles and experiences of painting to eloquence\nand poetry. It is the prerogative of the ancients in nothing either to\nexceed or fall short.\n\nBut we moderns have in many cases thought to surpass the ancients by\ntransforming their pleasure-paths into highways, though at the risk of\nreducing the shorter and safer highways to such paths as lead through\ndeserts.\n\nThe dazzling antithesis of the Greek Voltaire, that painting is dumb\npoetry, and poetry speaking painting, stood in no text-book. It was one\nof those conceits, occurring frequently in Simonides, the inexactness\nand falsity of which we feel constrained to overlook for the sake of the\nevident truth they contain.\n\nThe ancients, however, did not overlook them. They confined the saying\nof Simonides to the effect produced by the two arts, not failing to lay\nstress upon the fact that, notwithstanding the perfect similarity of\ntheir effects, the arts themselves differ both in the objects and in the\nmethods of their imitation, \u1f55\u03bb\u1fc3 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u03c1\u03cc\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03bc\u03b9\u03bc\u03ae\u03c3\u03b5\u03c9\u03c2.\n\nBut, as if no such difference existed, many modern critics have drawn\nthe crudest conclusions possible from this agreement between painting\nand poetry. At one time they confine poetry within the narrower limits\nof painting, and at another allow painting to fill the whole wide sphere\nof poetry. Whatever is right in one must be permitted to the other;\nwhatever pleases or displeases in one is necessarily pleasing or\ndispleasing in the other. Full of this idea they, with great assurance,\ngive utterance to the shallowest judgments, whenever they find that poet\nand painter have treated the same subject in a different way. Such\nvariations they take to be faults, and charge them on painter or poet,\naccording as their taste more inclines to the one art or the other.\n\nThis fault-finding criticism has partially misled the virtuosos\nthemselves. In poetry, a fondness for description, and in painting, a\nfancy for allegory, has arisen from the desire to make the one a\nspeaking picture without really knowing what it can and ought to paint,\nand the other a dumb poem, without having considered in how far painting\ncan express universal ideas without abandoning its proper sphere and\ndegenerating into an arbitrary method of writing.\n\nTo combat that false taste and those ill-grounded criticisms is the\nchief object of the following chapters. Their origin was accidental, and\nin their growth they have rather followed the course of my reading than\nbeen systematically developed from general principles. They are,\ntherefore, not so much a book as irregular _collectanea_ for one.\n\nYet I flatter myself that, even in this form, they will not be wholly\nwithout value. We Germans suffer from no lack of systematic books. No\nnation in the world surpasses us in the faculty of deducing from a\ncouple of definitions whatever conclusions we please, in most fair and\nlogical order.\n\nBaumgarten acknowledged that he was indebted to Gesner\u2019s dictionary for\na large proportion of the examples in his \u201c\u00c6sthetics.\u201d If my reasoning\nbe less close than that of Baumgarten, my examples will, at least, savor\nmore of the fountain.\n\nSince I made the Laocoon my point of departure, and return to it more\nthan once in the course of my essay, I wished him to have a share in the\ntitle-page. Other slight digressions on various points in the history of\nancient art, contribute less to the general design of my work, and have\nbeen retained only because I never can hope to find a better place for\nthem.\n\nFurther, I would state that, under the name of painting, I include the\nplastic arts generally; as, under that of poetry, I may have allowed\nmyself sometimes to embrace those other arts, whose imitation is\nprogressive.\n\n\n\n\n                                LAOCOON.\n\n\n\n\n                                   I.\n\n\nThe chief and universal characteristic of the Greek masterpieces in\npainting and sculpture consists, according to Winkelmann, in a noble\nsimplicity and quiet grandeur, both of attitude and expression. \u201cAs the\ndepths of the sea,\u201d he says,[1] \u201cremain always at rest, however the\nsurface may be agitated, so the expression in the figures of the Greeks\nreveals in the midst of passion a great and steadfast soul.\u201d\n\n\u201cSuch a soul is depicted in the countenance of the Laocoon, under\nsufferings the most intense. Nor is it depicted in the countenance only:\nthe agony betrayed in every nerve and muscle,\u2014we almost fancy we could\ndetect it in the painful contraction of the abdomen alone, without\nlooking at the face and other parts of the body,\u2014this agony, I say, is\nyet expressed with no violence in the face and attitude. He raises no\nterrible cry, as Virgil sings of his Laocoon. This would not be\npossible, from the opening of the mouth, which denotes rather an anxious\nand oppressed sigh, as described by Sadolet. Bodily anguish and moral\ngreatness are diffused in equal measure through the whole structure of\nthe figure; being, as it were, balanced against each other. Laocoon\nsuffers, but he suffers like the Philoctetes of Sophocles. His\nsufferings pierce us to the soul, but we are tempted to envy the great\nman his power of endurance.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo express so noble a soul far outruns the constructive art of natural\nbeauty. The artist must have felt within himself the mental greatness\nwhich he has impressed upon his marble. Greece united in one person\nartist and philosopher, and had more than one Metrodorus. Wisdom joined\nhands with art and inspired its figures with more than ordinary souls.\u201d\n\nThe remark which lies at the root of this criticism\u2014that suffering is\nnot expressed in the countenance of Laocoon with the intensity which its\nviolence would lead us to expect\u2014is perfectly just. That this very\npoint, where a shallow observer would judge the artist to have fallen\nshort of nature and not to have attained the true pathos of suffering,\nfurnishes the clearest proof of his wisdom, is also unquestionable. But\nin the reason which Winkelmann assigns for this wisdom, and the\nuniversality of the rule which he deduces from it, I venture to differ\nfrom him.\n\nHis depreciatory allusion to Virgil was, I confess, the first thing that\naroused my doubts, and the second was his comparison of Laocoon with\nPhiloctetes. Using these as my starting-points, I shall proceed to write\ndown my thoughts in the order in which they have occurred to me.\n\n\u201cLaocoon suffers like the Philoctetes of Sophocles.\u201d How does\nPhiloctetes suffer? Strange that his sufferings have left such different\nimpressions upon our minds. The complaints, the screams, the wild\nimprecations with which his pain filled the camp, interrupting the\nsacrifices and all offices of religion, resounded not less terribly\nthrough the desert island to which they had been the cause of his\nbanishment. Nor did the poet hesitate to make the theatre ring with the\nimitation of these tones of rage, pain, and despair.\n\nThe third act of this play has been regarded as much shorter than the\nothers. A proof, say the critics,[2] that the ancients attached little\nimportance to the equal length of the acts. I agree with their\nconclusion, but should choose some other example in support of it. The\ncries of pain, the moans, the broken exclamations, \u1f06, \u1f06! \u03c6\u03b5\u1fe6! \u1f00\u03c4\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u1fd6! \u1f62\n\u03bc\u03bf\u1f76, \u03bc\u03bf\u03af! the \u03c0\u03b1\u03c0\u03b1\u1fd6, \u03c0\u03b1\u03c0\u03b1\u1fd6! filling whole lines, of which this act is\nmade up, would naturally require to be prolonged in the delivery and\ninterrupted by more frequent pauses than a connected discourse. In the\nrepresentation, therefore, this third act must have occupied about as\nmuch time as the others. It seems shorter on paper to the reader than it\ndid to the spectator in the theatre.\n\nA cry is the natural expression of bodily pain. Homer\u2019s wounded heroes\nnot infrequently fall with a cry to the ground. Venus screams aloud[3]\nat a scratch, not as being the tender goddess of love, but because\nsuffering nature will have its rights. Even the iron Mars, on feeling\nthe lance of Diomedes, bellows as frightfully as if ten thousand raging\nwarriors were roaring at once, and fills both armies with terror.[4]\n\nHigh as Homer exalts his heroes in other respects above human nature,\nthey yet remain true to it in their sensitiveness to pain and injuries\nand in the expression of their feelings by cries or tears or revilings.\nJudged by their deeds they are creatures of a higher order; in their\nfeelings they are genuine human beings.\n\nWe finer Europeans of a wiser posterity have, I know, more control over\nour lips and eyes. Courtesy and decency forbid cries and tears. We have\nexchanged the active bravery of the first rude ages for a passive\ncourage. Yet even our ancestors were greater in the latter than the\nformer. But our ancestors were barbarians. To stifle all signs of pain,\nto meet the stroke of death with unaverted eye, to die laughing under\nthe adder\u2019s sting, to weep neither over our own sins nor at the loss of\nthe dearest of friends, are traits of the old northern heroism.[5] The\nlaw given by Palnatoko to the Jomsburghers was to fear nothing, nor even\nto name the word fear.\n\nNot so the Greek. He felt and feared. He expressed his pain and his\ngrief. He was ashamed of no human weakness, yet allowed none to hold him\nback from the pursuit of honor or the performance of a duty. Principle\nwrought in him what savageness and hardness developed in the barbarian.\nGreek heroism was like the spark hidden in the pebble, which sleeps till\nroused by some outward force, and takes from the stone neither clearness\nnor coldness. The heroism of the barbarian was a bright, devouring\nflame, ever raging, and blackening, if not consuming, every other good\nquality.\n\nWhen Homer makes the Trojans advance to battle with wild cries, while\nthe Greeks march in resolute silence, the commentators very justly\nobserve that the poet means by this distinction to characterize the one\nas an army of barbarians, the other of civilized men. I am surprised\nthey have not perceived a similar characteristic difference in another\npassage.[6]\n\nThe opposing armies have agreed upon an armistice, and are occupied, not\nwithout hot tears on both sides (\u03b4\u03ac\u03ba\u03c1\u03c5\u03b1 \u03b8\u03b5\u03c1\u03bc\u1f70 \u03c7\u03ad\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2), with the burning\nof their dead. But Priam forbids his Trojans to weep (\u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u2019 \u03b5\u1f34\u03b1 \u03ba\u03bb\u03b1\u03af\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\n\u03a0\u03c1\u03af\u03b1\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1\u03c2), \u201cand for this reason,\u201d says Madame Dacier; \u201che feared\nthey might become too tender-hearted, and return with less spirit to the\nmorrow\u2019s fight.\u201d Good; but I would ask why Priam alone should apprehend\nthis. Why does not Agamemnon issue the same command to his Greeks? The\npoet has a deeper meaning. He would show us that only the civilized\nGreek can weep and yet be brave, while the uncivilized Trojan, to be\nbrave, must stifle all humanity. I am in no wise ashamed to weep\n(\u039d\u03b5\u03bc\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u1ff6\u03bc\u03b1\u03af \u03b3\u03b5 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u1f72\u03bd \u03ba\u03bb\u03b1\u03af\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd), he elsewhere[7] makes the prudent son\nof wise Nestor say.\n\nIt is worthy of notice that, among the few tragedies which have come\ndown to us from antiquity, there should be two in which bodily pain\nconstitutes not the least part of the hero\u2019s misfortunes. Besides\nPhiloctetes we have the dying Hercules, whom also Sophocles represents\nas wailing, moaning, weeping, and screaming. Thanks to our well-mannered\nneighbors, those masters of propriety, a whimpering Philoctetes or a\nscreaming Hercules would now be ridiculous and not tolerated upon the\nstage. One of their latest poets,[8] indeed, has ventured upon a\nPhiloctetes, but he seems not to have dared to show him in his true\ncharacter.\n\nAmong the lost works of Sophocles was a Laocoon. If fate had but spared\nit to us! From the slight references to the piece in some of the old\ngrammarians, we cannot determine how the poet treated his subject. Of\none thing I am convinced,\u2014that he would not have made his Laocoon more\nof a Stoic than Philoctetes and Hercules. Every thing stoical is\nuntheatrical. Our sympathy is always proportionate with the suffering\nexpressed by the object of our interest. If we behold him bearing his\nmisery with magnanimity, our admiration is excited; but admiration is a\ncold sentiment, wherein barren wonder excludes not only every warmer\nemotion, but all vivid personal conception of the suffering.\n\nI come now to my conclusion. If it be true that a cry, as an expression\nof bodily pain, is not inconsistent with nobility of soul, especially\naccording to the views of the ancient Greeks, then the desire to\nrepresent such a soul cannot be the reason why the artist has refused to\nimitate this cry in his marble. He must have had some other reason for\ndeviating in this respect from his rival, the poet, who expresses it\nwith deliberate intention.\n\n\n\n\n                                  II.\n\n\nBe it truth or fable that Love made the first attempt in the imitative\narts, thus much is certain: that she never tired of guiding the hand of\nthe great masters of antiquity. For although painting, as the art which\nreproduces objects upon flat surfaces, is now practised in the broadest\nsense of that definition, yet the wise Greek set much narrower bounds to\nit. He confined it strictly to the imitation of beauty. The Greek artist\nrepresented nothing that was not beautiful. Even the vulgarly beautiful,\nthe beauty of inferior types, he copied only incidentally for practice\nor recreation. The perfection of the subject must charm in his work. He\nwas too great to require the beholders to be satisfied with the mere\nbarren pleasure arising from a successful likeness or from consideration\nof the artist\u2019s skill. Nothing in his art was dearer to him or seemed to\nhim more noble than the ends of art.\n\n\u201cWho would want to paint you when no one wants to look at you?\u201d says an\nold epigrammatist[9] to a misshapen man. Many a modern artist would say,\n\u201cNo matter how misshapen you are, I will paint you. Though people may\nnot like to look at you, they will be glad to look at my picture; not as\na portrait of you, but as a proof of my skill in making so close a copy\nof such a monster.\u201d\n\nThe fondness for making a display with mere manual dexterity, ennobled\nby no worth in the subject, is too natural not to have produced among\nthe Greeks a Pauson and a Pyreicus. They had such painters, but meted\nout to them strict justice. Pauson, who confined himself to the beauties\nof ordinary nature, and whose depraved taste liked best to represent the\nimperfections and deformities of humanity,[10] lived in the most\nabandoned poverty;[11] and Pyreicus, who painted barbers\u2019 rooms, dirty\nworkshops, donkeys, and kitchen herbs, with all the diligence of a Dutch\npainter, as if such things were rare or attractive in nature, acquired\nthe surname of Rhyparographer,[12] the dirt-painter. The rich\nvoluptuaries, indeed, paid for his works their weight in gold, as if by\nthis fictitious valuation to atone for their insignificance.\n\nEven the magistrates considered this subject a matter worthy their\nattention, and confined the artist by force within his proper sphere.\nThe law of the Thebans commanding him to make his copies more beautiful\nthan the originals, and never under pain of punishment less so, is well\nknown. This was no law against bunglers, as has been supposed by critics\ngenerally, and even by Junius himself,[13] but was aimed against the\nGreek Ghezzi, and condemned the unworthy artifice of obtaining a\nlikeness by exaggerating the deformities of the model. It was, in fact,\na law against caricature.\n\nFrom this same conception of the beautiful came the law of the Olympic\njudges. Every conqueror in the Olympic games received a statue, but a\nportrait-statue was erected only to him who had been thrice victor.[14]\nToo many indifferent portraits were not allowed among works of art. For\nalthough a portrait admits of being idealized, yet the likeness should\npredominate. It is the ideal of a particular person, not the ideal of\nhumanity.\n\nWe laugh when we read that the very arts among the ancients were subject\nto the control of civil law; but we have no right to laugh. Laws should\nunquestionably usurp no sway over science, for the object of science is\ntruth. Truth is a necessity of the soul, and to put any restraint upon\nthe gratification of this essential want is tyranny. The object of art,\non the contrary, is pleasure, and pleasure is not indispensable. What\nkind and what degree of pleasure shall be permitted may justly depend on\nthe law-giver.\n\nThe plastic arts especially, besides the inevitable influence which they\nexercise on the character of a nation, have power to work one effect\nwhich demands the careful attention of the law. Beautiful statues\nfashioned from beautiful men reacted upon their creators, and the state\nwas indebted for its beautiful men to beautiful statues. With us the\nsusceptible imagination of the mother seems to express itself only in\nmonsters.\n\nFrom this point of view I think I detect a truth in certain old stories\nwhich have been rejected as fables. The mothers of Aristomenes, of\nAristodamas, of Alexander the Great, Scipio, Augustus, and Galerius,\neach dreamed during pregnancy that she was visited by a serpent. The\nserpent was an emblem of divinity.[15] Without it Bacchus, Apollo,\nMercury, and Hercules were seldom represented in their beautiful\npictures and statues. These honorable women had been feasting their eyes\nupon the god during the day, and the bewildering dream suggested to them\nthe image of the snake. Thus I vindicate the dream, and show up the\nexplanation given by the pride of their sons and by unblushing flattery.\nFor there must have been some reason for the adulterous fancy always\ntaking the form of a serpent.\n\nBut I am wandering from my purpose, which was simply to prove that among\nthe ancients beauty was the supreme law of the imitative arts. This\nbeing established, it follows necessarily that whatever else these arts\nmay aim at must give way completely if incompatible with beauty, and, if\ncompatible, must at least be secondary to it.\n\nI will confine myself wholly to expression. There are passions and\ndegrees of passion whose expression produces the most hideous\ncontortions of the face, and throws the whole body into such unnatural\npositions as to destroy all the beautiful lines that mark it when in a\nstate of greater repose. These passions the old artists either refrained\naltogether from representing, or softened into emotions which were\ncapable of being expressed with some degree of beauty.\n\nRage and despair disfigured none of their works. I venture to maintain\nthat they never represented a fury.[16] Wrath they tempered into\nseverity. In poetry we have the wrathful Jupiter, who hurls the\nthunderbolt; in art he is simply the austere.\n\nAnguish was softened into sadness. Where that was impossible, and where\nthe representation of intense grief would belittle as well as disfigure,\nhow did Timanthes manage? There is a well-known picture by him of the\nsacrifice of Iphigenia, wherein he gives to the countenance of every\nspectator a fitting degree of sadness, but veils the face of the father,\non which should have been depicted the most intense suffering. This has\nbeen the subject of many petty criticisms. \u201cThe artist,\u201d says one,[17]\n\u201chad so exhausted himself in representations of sadness that he\ndespaired of depicting the father\u2019s face worthily.\u201d \u201cHe hereby\nconfessed,\u201d says another,[18] \u201cthat the bitterness of extreme grief\ncannot be expressed by art.\u201d I, for my part, see in this no proof of\nincapacity in the artist or his art. In proportion to the intensity of\nfeeling, the expression of the features is intensified, and nothing is\neasier than to express extremes. But Timanthes knew the limits which the\ngraces have imposed upon his art. He knew that the grief befitting\nAgamemnon, as father, produces contortions which are essentially ugly.\nHe carried expression as far as was consistent with beauty and dignity.\nUgliness he would gladly have passed over, or have softened, but since\nhis subject admitted of neither, there was nothing left him but to veil\nit. What he might not paint he left to be imagined. That concealment was\nin short a sacrifice to beauty; an example to show, not how expression\ncan be carried beyond the limits of art, but how it should be subjected\nto the first law of art, the law of beauty.\n\nApply this to the Laocoon and we have the cause we were seeking. The\nmaster was striving to attain the greatest beauty under the given\nconditions of bodily pain. Pain, in its disfiguring extreme, was not\ncompatible with beauty, and must therefore be softened. Screams must be\nreduced to sighs, not because screams would betray weakness, but because\nthey would deform the countenance to a repulsive degree. Imagine\nLaocoon\u2019s mouth open, and judge. Let him scream, and see. It was,\nbefore, a figure to inspire compassion in its beauty and suffering. Now\nit is ugly, abhorrent, and we gladly avert our eyes from a painful\nspectacle, destitute of the beauty which alone could turn our pain into\nthe sweet feeling of pity for the suffering object.\n\nThe simple opening of the mouth, apart from the violent and repulsive\ncontortions it causes in the other parts of the face, is a blot on a\npainting and a cavity in a statue productive of the worst possible\neffect. Montfaucon showed little taste when he pronounced the bearded\nface of an old man with wide open mouth, to be a Jupiter delivering an\noracle.[19] Cannot a god foretell the future without screaming? Would a\nmore becoming posture of the lips cast suspicion upon his prophecies?\nValerius cannot make me believe that Ajax was painted screaming in the\nabove-mentioned picture of Timanthes.[20] Far inferior masters, after\nthe decline of art, do not in a single instance make the wildest\nbarbarian open his mouth to scream, even though in mortal terror of his\nenemy\u2019s sword.[21]\n\nThis softening of the extremity of bodily suffering into a lesser degree\nof pain is apparent in the works of many of the old artists. Hercules,\nwrithing in his poisoned robe, from the hand of an unknown master, was\nnot the Hercules of Sophocles, who made the Locrian rocks and the Eub\u0153an\npromontory ring with his horrid cries. He was gloomy rather than\nwild.[22] The Philoctetes of Pythagoras Leontinus seemed to communicate\nhis pain to the beholder, an effect which would have been destroyed by\nthe slightest disfigurement of the features. It may be asked how I know\nthat this master made a statue of Philoctetes. From a passage in Pliny,\nwhich ought not to have waited for my emendation, so evident is the\nalteration or mutilation it has under gone.[23]\n\n\n\n\n                                  III.\n\n\nBut, as already observed, the realm of art has in modern times been\ngreatly enlarged. Its imitations are allowed to extend over all visible\nnature, of which beauty constitutes but a small part. Truth and\nexpression are taken as its first law. As nature always sacrifices\nbeauty to higher ends, so should the artist subordinate it to his\ngeneral purpose, and not pursue it further than truth and expression\nallow. Enough that truth and expression convert what is unsightly in\nnature into a beauty of art.\n\nAllowing this idea to pass unchallenged at present for whatever it is\nworth, are there not other independent considerations which should set\nbounds to expression, and prevent the artist from choosing for his\nimitation the culminating point of any action?\n\nThe single moment of time to which art must confine itself, will lead\nus, I think, to such considerations. Since the artist can use but a\nsingle moment of ever-changing nature, and the painter must further\nconfine his study of this one moment to a single point of view, while\ntheir works are made not simply to be looked at, but to be contemplated\nlong and often, evidently the most fruitful moment and the most fruitful\naspect of that moment must be chosen. Now that only is fruitful which\nallows free play to the imagination. The more we see the more we must be\nable to imagine; and the more we imagine, the more we must think we see.\nBut no moment in the whole course of an action is so disadvantageous in\nthis respect as that of its culmination. There is nothing beyond, and to\npresent the uttermost to the eye is to bind the wings of Fancy, and\ncompel her, since she cannot soar beyond the impression made on the\nsenses, to employ herself with feebler images, shunning as her limit the\nvisible fulness already expressed. When, for instance, Laocoon sighs,\nimagination can hear him cry; but if he cry, imagination can neither\nmount a step higher, nor fall a step lower, without seeing him in a more\nendurable, and therefore less interesting, condition. We hear him merely\ngroaning, or we see him already dead.\n\nAgain, since this single moment receives from art an unchanging\nduration, it should express nothing essentially transitory. All\nphenomena, whose nature it is suddenly to break out and as suddenly to\ndisappear, which can remain as they are but for a moment; all such\nphenomena, whether agreeable or otherwise, acquire through the\nperpetuity conferred upon them by art such an unnatural appearance, that\nthe impression they produce becomes weaker with every fresh observation,\ntill the whole subject at last wearies or disgusts us. La Mettrie, who\nhad himself painted and engraved as a second Democritus, laughs only the\nfirst time we look at him. Looked at again, the philosopher becomes a\nbuffoon, and his laugh a grimace. So it is with a cry. Pain, which is so\nviolent as to extort a scream, either soon abates or it must destroy the\nsufferer. Again, if a man of firmness and endurance cry, he does not do\nso unceasingly, and only this apparent continuity in art makes the cry\ndegenerate into womanish weakness or childish impatience. This, at\nleast, the sculptor of the Laocoon had to guard against, even had a cry\nnot been an offence against beauty, and were suffering without beauty a\nlegitimate subject of art.\n\nAmong the old painters Timomachus seems to have been the one most fond\nof choosing extremes for his subject. His raving Ajax and infanticide\nMedea were famous. But from the descriptions we have of them it is clear\nthat he had rare skill in selecting that point which leads the observer\nto imagine the crisis without actually showing it, and in uniting with\nthis an appearance not so essentially transitory as to become offensive\nthrough the continuity conferred by art. He did not paint Medea at the\nmoment of her actually murdering her children, but just before, when\nmotherly love is still struggling with jealousy. We anticipate the\nresult and tremble at the idea of soon seeing Medea in her unmitigated\nferocity, our imagination far outstripping any thing the painter could\nhave shown us of that terrible moment. For that reason her prolonged\nindecision, so far from displeasing us, makes us wish it had been\ncontinued in reality. We wish this conflict of passions had never been\ndecided or had lasted at least till time and reflection had weakened her\nfury and secured the victory to the maternal sentiments. This wisdom on\nthe part of Timomachus won for him great and frequent praise, and raised\nhim far above another artist unknown, who was foolish enough to paint\nMedea at the height of her madness, thus giving to this transient access\nof passion a duration that outrages nature. The poet[24] censures him\nfor this, and says very justly, apostrophizing the picture, \u201cArt thou\nthen for ever thirsting for the blood of thy children? Is there always a\nnew Jason and a new Creusa to inflame thy rage? To the devil with the\nvery picture of thee!\u201d he adds angrily.\n\nOf Timomachus\u2019 treatment of the raving Ajax, we can judge by what\nPhilostratus tells us.[25] Ajax was not represented at the moment when,\nraging among the herds, he captures and slays goats and oxen, mistaking\nthem for men. The master showed him sitting weary after these crazy\ndeeds of heroism, and meditating self-destruction. That was really the\nraving Ajax, not because he is raving at the moment, but because we see\nthat he has been raving, and with what violence his present reaction of\nshame and despair vividly portrays. We see the force of the tempest in\nthe wrecks and corpses with which it has strewn the beach.\n\n\n\n\n                                  IV.\n\n\nA review of the reasons here alleged for the moderation observed by the\nsculptor of the Laocoon in the expression of bodily pain, shows them to\nlie wholly in the peculiar object of his art and its necessary\nlimitations. Scarce one of them would be applicable to poetry.\n\nWithout inquiring here how far the poet can succeed in describing\nphysical beauty, so much at least is clear, that since the whole\ninfinite realm of perfection lies open for his imitation, this visible\ncovering under which perfection becomes beauty will be one of his least\nsignificant means of interesting us in his characters. Indeed, he often\nneglects it altogether, feeling sure that if his hero have gained our\nfavor, his nobler qualities will either so engross us that we shall not\nthink of his body, or have so won us that, if we think of it, we shall\nnaturally attribute to him a beautiful, or, at least, no unsightly one.\nLeast of all will he have reference to the eye in every detail not\nespecially addressed to the sense of sight. When Virgil\u2019s Laocoon\nscreams, who stops to think that a scream necessitates an open mouth,\nand that an open mouth is ugly? Enough that \u201cclamores horrendos ad\nsidera tollit\u201d is fine to the ear, no matter what its effect on the eye.\nWhoever requires a beautiful picture has missed the whole intention of\nthe poet.\n\nFurther, nothing obliges the poet to concentrate his picture into a\nsingle moment. He can take up every action, if he will, from its origin,\nand carry it through all possible changes to its issue. Every change,\nwhich would require from the painter a separate picture, costs him but a\nsingle touch; a touch, perhaps, which, taken by itself, might offend the\nimagination, but which, anticipated, as it has been, by what preceded,\nand softened and atoned for by what follows, loses its individual effect\nin the admirable result of the whole. Thus were it really unbecoming in\na man to cry out in the extremity of bodily pain, how can this momentary\nweakness lower in our estimation a character whose virtues have\npreviously won our regard? Virgil\u2019s Laocoon cries; but this screaming\nLaocoon is the same we know and love as the most far-seeing of patriots\nand the tenderest of fathers. We do not attribute the cry to his\ncharacter, but solely to his intolerable sufferings. We hear in it only\nthose, nor could they have been made sensible to us in any other way.\n\nWho blames the poet, then? Rather must we acknowledge that he was right\nin introducing the cry, as the sculptor was in omitting it.\n\nBut Virgil\u2019s is a narrative poem. Would the dramatic poet be included in\nthis justification? A very different impression is made by the mention\nof a cry and the cry itself. The drama, being meant for a living picture\nto the spectator, should therefore perhaps conform more strictly to the\nlaws of material painting. In the drama we not only fancy we see and\nhear a crying Philoctetes, we actually do see and hear him. The more\nnearly the actor approaches nature, the more sensibly must our eyes and\nears be offended, as in nature they undoubtedly are when we hear such\nloud and violent expressions of pain. Besides, physical suffering in\ngeneral possesses in a less degree than other evils the power of\narousing sympathy. The imagination cannot take hold of it sufficiently\nfor the mere sight to arouse in us any corresponding emotion. Sophocles,\ntherefore, might easily have overstepped the bounds not only of\nconventional propriety, but of a propriety grounded in the very nature\nof our sensibilities, in letting Philoctetes and Hercules moan and weep,\nscream and roar. The by-standers cannot possibly feel such concern for\ntheir suffering as these excessive outbreaks seem to demand. To us\nspectators the lookers-on will seem comparatively cold; and yet we\ncannot but regard their sympathy as the measure of our own. Add to this\nthat the actor can rarely or never carry the representation of bodily\npain to the point of illusion, and perhaps the modern dramatic poets are\nrather to be praised than blamed for either avoiding this danger\naltogether or skirting it at a safe distance.\n\nMuch would in theory appear unanswerable if the achievements of genius\nhad not proved the contrary. These observations are not without good\nfoundation, yet in spite of them Philoctetes remains one of the\nmasterpieces of the stage. For a portion of our strictures do not apply\nto Sophocles, and by a disregard of others he has attained to beauties\nwhich the timid critic, but for this example, would never have dreamed\nof. The following remarks will make this apparent:\u2014\n\n1. The poet has contrived wonderfully to intensify and ennoble the idea\nof physical pain. He chose a wound,\u2014for we may consider the details of\nthe story dependent upon his choice, in so far as he chose the subject\nfor their sake,\u2014he chose, I say, a wound and not an inward distemper,\nbecause the most painful sickness fails to impress us as vividly as an\noutward hurt. The inward sympathetic fire which consumed Meleager when\nhis mother sacrificed him in the brand to her sisterly fury, would\ntherefore be less dramatic than a wound. This wound, moreover, was a\ndivine punishment. In it a fiercer than any natural poison raged\nunceasingly, and at appointed intervals an access of intenser pain\noccurred, always followed by a heavy sleep, wherein exhausted nature\nacquired the needed strength for entering again upon the same course of\npain. Chateaubrun represents him as wounded simply by the poisoned arrow\nof a Trojan. But so common an accident gives small scope for\nextraordinary results. Every one was exposed to it in the old wars; why\nwere the consequences so terrible only in the case of Philoctetes? A\nnatural poison that should work for nine years without destroying life\nis far more improbable than all the fabulous miraculous elements with\nwhich the Greek decked out his tale.\n\n2. But great and terrible as he made the physical sufferings of his\nhero, he was well aware that these alone would not suffice to excite any\nsensible degree of sympathy. He joined with them, therefore, other\nevils, also insufficient of themselves to move us greatly, but receiving\nfrom this connection a darker hue of tragedy, which in turn reacted upon\nthe bodily pain. These evils were complete loss of human companionship,\nhunger, and all the discomforts attendant on exposure to an inclement\nsky when thus bereft.[26] Imagine a man under these circumstances, but\nin possession of health, strength, and industry, and we have a Robinson\nCrusoe, who has little claim to our compassion, though we are by no\nmeans indifferent to his fate. For we are seldom so thoroughly content\nwith human society as not to find a certain charm in thinking of the\nrepose to be enjoyed without its pale; more particularly as every one\nflatters himself with the idea of being able gradually to dispense\naltogether with the help of others. Again, imagine a man suffering from\nthe most painful of incurable maladies, but surrounded by kind friends\nwho let him want for nothing, who relieve his pain by all the means in\ntheir power, and are always ready to listen to his groans and\ncomplaints; we should pity him undoubtedly, but our compassion would\nsoon be exhausted. We should presently shrug our shoulders and counsel\npatience. Only when all these ills unite in one person, when to solitude\nis added physical infirmity, when the sick man not only cannot help\nhimself, but has no one to help him, and his groans die away on the\ndesert air,\u2014then we see a wretch afflicted by all the ills to which\nhuman nature is exposed, and the very thought of putting ourselves in\nhis place for a moment fills us with horror. We see before us despair in\nits most dreadful shape, and no compassion is stronger or more melting\nthan that connected with the idea of despair. Such we feel for\nPhiloctetes, especially at the moment when, robbed of his bow, he loses\nthe only means left him of supporting his miserable existence. Alas for\nthe Frenchman who had not the sense to perceive this nor the heart to\nfeel it! or, if he had, was petty enough to sacrifice it all to the\npitiful taste of his nation! Chateaubrun gives Philoctetes companionship\nby introducing a princess into his desert island. Neither is she alone,\nbut has with her a lady of honor: a thing apparently as much needed by\nthe poet as by the princess. All the admirable play with the bow he has\nleft out and introduced in its stead the play of bright eyes. The heroic\nyouth of France would in truth have made themselves very merry over a\nbow and arrows, whereas nothing is more serious to them than the\ndispleasure of bright eyes. The Greek harrows us with fear lest the\nwretched Philoctetes should be forced to remain on the island without\nhis bow, and there miserably perish. The Frenchman found a surer way to\nour hearts by making us fear that the son of Achilles would have to\ndepart without his princess. And this is called by the Parisian critics\ntriumphing over the ancients. One of them even proposed to name\nChateaubrun\u2019s piece \u201cLa difficult\u00e9 vaincue.\u201d[27]\n\n3. Turning now from the effect of the whole, let us examine the separate\nscenes wherein Philoctetes is no longer the forsaken sufferer, but has\nhope of leaving the dreary island and returning to his kingdom. His ills\nare therefore now confined entirely to his painful wound. He moans, he\ncries, he goes through the most hideous contortions. Against this scene\nobjections on the score of offended propriety may with most reason be\nbrought. They come from an Englishman, a man, therefore, not readily to\nbe suspected of false delicacy. As already hinted, he supports his\nobjections by very good arguments. \u201cAll feelings and passions,\u201d he says,\n\u201cwith which others can have little sympathy, become offensive if too\nviolently expressed.\u201d[28] \u201cIt is for the same reason that to cry out\nwith bodily pain, how intolerable soever, appears always unmanly and\nunbecoming. There is, however, a good deal of sympathy even with bodily\npain. If I see a stroke aimed and just ready to fall upon the leg or arm\nof another person, I naturally shriek and draw back my own leg or my own\narm; and when it does fall, I feel it in some measure and am hurt by it\nas well as the sufferer. My hurt, however, is no doubt excessively\nslight, and, upon that account, if he makes any violent outcry, as I\ncannot go along with him, I never fail to despise him.\u201d\n\nNothing is more deceptive than the laying down of general laws for our\nemotions. Their web is so fine and intricate that the most cautious\nspeculation is hardly able to take up a single thread and trace it\nthrough all its interlacings. And if it could, what should we gain?\nThere is in nature no single, unmixed emotion. With every one spring up\na thousand others, the most insignificant of which essentially modifies\nthe original one, so that exception after exception arises until our\nsupposed universal law shrinks into a mere personal experience in a few\nindividual cases. We despise a man, says the Englishman, whom we hear\ncrying out under bodily pain. But not always; not the first time; not\nwhen we see that the sufferer does all in his power to suppress\nexpressions of pain; not when we know him to be otherwise a man of\nresolution: still less when we see him giving proof of firmness in the\nmidst of his suffering; when we see that pain, though it extort a cry,\ncan extort nothing further; that he submits to a continuance of the\nanguish rather than yield a jot of his opinions or resolves, although\nsuch a concession would end his woes. All this we find in Philoctetes.\nTo the old Greek mind moral greatness consisted in unchanging love of\nfriends as well as unfaltering hatred of enemies. This greatness\nPhiloctetes preserves through all his tortures. His own griefs have not\nso exhausted his tears that he has none to shed over the fate of his old\nfriends. His sufferings have not so enervated him that, to be free from\nthem, he would forgive his enemies and lend himself to their selfish\nends. And did this man of rock deserve to be despised by the Athenians,\nbecause the waves, that could not shake him, wrung from him a moan?\n\nI confess to having little taste for the philosophy of Cicero in\ngeneral, but particularly distasteful to me are his views with regard to\nthe endurance of bodily pain set forth in the second book of his\nTusculan Disputations. One would suppose, from his abhorrence of all\nexpressions of bodily pain, that he was training a gladiator. He seems\nto see in such expressions only impatience, not considering that they\nare often wholly involuntary, and that true courage can be shown in none\nbut voluntary actions. In the play of Sophocles he hears only the cries\nand complaints of Philoctetes and overlooks altogether his otherwise\nresolute bearing. Else what excuse for his rhetorical outbreak against\nthe poets? \u201cThey would make us effeminate by introducing the bravest of\ntheir warriors as complaining.\u201d They should complain, for the theatre is\nno arena. The condemned or hired gladiator was bound to do and bear with\ngrace. No sound of lamentation must be heard, no painful contortion\nseen. His wounds and death were to amuse the spectators, and art must\ntherefore teach the suppression of all feeling. The least manifestation\nof it might have aroused compassion, and compassion often excited would\nsoon have put an end to the cruel shows. But what is to be avoided in\nthe arena is the very object of the tragic stage, and here, therefore,\ndemeanor of exactly the opposite kind is required. The heroes on the\nstage must show feeling, must express their sufferings, and give free\ncourse to nature. Any appearance of art and constraint represses\nsympathy. Boxers in buskin can at most excite our admiration. This term\nmay fitly be applied to the so-called Senecan tragedies. I am convinced\nthat the gladiatorial shows were the chief reason why the Romans never\nattained even to mediocrity in their tragedies. In the bloody\namphitheatre the spectators lost all acquaintance with nature. A Ctesias\nmight have studied his art there, never a Sophocles. The greatest tragic\ngenius, accustomed to these artificial death scenes, could not help\ndegenerating into bombast and rodomontade. But as these were incapable\nof inspiring true heroism, so were the complaints of Philoctetes\nincapable of producing effeminacy. The complaints are human, while the\ndeeds are heroic. Both together make the human hero, who is neither\neffeminate nor callous, but appears first the one and then the other, as\nnow Nature sways him, and now principle and duty triumph. This is the\nhighest type that wisdom can create and art imitate.\n\n4. Sophocles, not content with securing his suffering Philoctetes\nagainst contempt, has even shielded him beforehand from such hostile\ncriticism as that employed by the Englishman. Though we may not always\ndespise a man who cries out under bodily pain, we certainly do not feel\nthat degree of sympathy with him which his cry seems to demand. How then\nshould those comport themselves who are about this screaming\nPhiloctetes? Should they appear to be greatly moved? That were contrary\nto nature. Should they seem as cold and embarrassed as the by-stander on\nsuch occasions is apt actually to be? Such a want of harmony would\noffend the spectator. Sophocles, as I have said, anticipated this and\nguarded against it in the following way,\u2014he gave to each of the\nby-standers a subject of personal interest. They are not solely occupied\nwith Philoctetes and his cries. The attention of the spectator,\ntherefore, is directed to the change wrought in each person\u2019s own views\nand designs by the sympathy excited in him, whether strong or weak, not\nto the disproportion between the sympathy itself and its exciting cause.\nNeoptolemus and the chorus have deceived the unhappy Philoctetes, and\nwhile perceiving the despair they are bringing upon him they behold him\noverpowered by one of his accesses of pain. Even should this arouse no\ngreat degree of sympathy in them, it must at least lead them to\nself-examination and prevent their increasing by treachery a misery\nwhich they cannot but respect. This the spectator looks for; nor is his\nexpectation disappointed by the magnanimous Neoptolemus. Had Philoctetes\nbeen master of his suffering, Neoptolemus would have persevered in his\ndeceit. Philoctetes, deprived by pain of all power of dissimulation,\nnecessary as that seems to prevent his future travelling companion from\nrepenting too soon of his promise to take him with him, Philoctetes, by\nhis naturalness, recalls Neoptolemus to nature. The conversion is\nadmirable, and all the more affecting for being brought about by unaided\nhuman nature. The Frenchman had recourse again here to the bright eyes.\n\u201cDe mes d\u00e9guisements que penserait Sophie?\u201d says the son of Achilles.\nBut I will think no more of this parody.\n\nSophocles, in \u201cThe Trachini\u00e6,\u201d makes use of this same expedient of\ncombining in the by-standers another emotion with the compassion excited\nby a cry of physical pain. The pain of Hercules has no enervating\neffect, but drives him to madness. He thirsts for vengeance, and, in his\nfrenzy, has already seized upon Lichas and dashed him in pieces against\nthe rock. The chorus is composed of women who are naturally overpowered\nwith fear and horror. Their terror, and the doubt whether a god will\nhasten to Hercules\u2019 relief, or whether he will fall a victim to his\nmisfortune, make the chief interest of the piece with but a slight tinge\nof compassion. As soon as the issue has been decided by the oracle,\nHercules grows calm, and all other feelings are lost in our admiration\nof his final decision. But we must not forget, when comparing the\nsuffering Hercules with the suffering Philoctetes, that one is a\ndemi-god, the other but a man. The man is never ashamed to complain; but\nthe demi-god feels shame that his mortal part has so far triumphed over\nhis immortal, that he should weep and groan like a girl.[29] We moderns\ndo not believe in demi-gods, but require our most insignificant hero to\nfeel and act like one.\n\nThat an actor can imitate the cries and convulsions of pain so closely\nas to produce illusion, I neither deny nor affirm. If our actors cannot,\nI should want to know whether Garrick found it equally impossible; and,\nif he could not succeed, I should still have the right to assume a\ndegree of perfection in the acting and declamation of the ancients of\nwhich we of to-day can form no idea.\n\n\n\n\n                                   V.\n\n\nSome critics of antiquity argue that the Laocoon, though a work of Greek\nart, must date from the time of the emperors, because it was copied from\nthe Laocoon of Virgil. Of the older scholars who have held this opinion\nI will mention only Bartolom\u00e6us Martiani,[30] and of the moderns,\nMontfaucon.[31] They doubtless found such remarkable agreement between\nthe work of art and the poem that they could not believe the same\ncircumstances, by no means selfsuggesting ones, should have occurred by\naccident to both sculptor and poet. The question then arose to whom the\nhonor of invention belonged, and they assumed the probabilities to be\ndecidedly in favor of the poet.\n\nThey appear, however, to have forgotten that a third alternative is\npossible. The artist may not have copied the poet any more than the poet\nthe artist; but both perhaps drew their material from some older source,\nwhich, Macrobius suggests, might have been Pisander.[32] For, while the\nworks of this Greek writer were still in existence, the fact was\nfamiliar to every schoolboy that the Roman poet\u2019s whole second book, the\nentire conquest and destruction of Troy, was not so much imitated as\nliterally translated from the older writer. If then Pisander was\nVirgil\u2019s predecessor in the history of Laocoon also, the Greek artists\ndid not need to draw their material from a Latin poet, and this theory\nof the date of the group loses its support.\n\nIf I were forced to maintain the opinion of Martiani and Montfaucon, I\nshould escape from the difficulty in this way. Pisander\u2019s poems are\nlost, and we can never know with certainty how he told the story of\nLaocoon. Probably, however, he narrated it with the same attendant\ncircumstances of which we still find traces in the Greek authors. Now\nthese do not in the least agree with the version of Virgil, who must\nhave recast the Greek tradition to suit himself. The fate of Laocoon, as\nhe tells it, is quite his own invention, so that the artists, if their\nrepresentation harmonize with his, may fairly be supposed to have lived\nafter his time, and have used his description as their model.\n\nQuintus Calaber indeed, like Virgil, makes Laocoon express suspicion of\nthe wooden horse; but the wrath of Minerva, which he thereby incurs, is\nvery differently manifested. As the Trojan utters his warning, the earth\ntrembles beneath him, pain and terror fall upon him; a burning pain\nrages in his eyes; his brain gives way; he raves; he becomes blind.\nAfter his blindness, since he still continues to advise the burning of\nthe wooden horse, Minerva sends two terrible dragons, which, however,\nattack only Laocoon\u2019s children. In vain they stretch out their hands to\ntheir father. The poor blind man cannot help them. They are torn and\nmangled, and the serpents glide away into the ground, doing no injury to\nLaocoon himself. That this was not peculiar to Quintus,[33] but must\nhave been generally accepted, appears from a passage in Lycophron, where\nthese serpents receive the name of \u201cchildeaters.\u201d[34]\n\nBut if this circumstance were generally accepted among the Greeks, Greek\nartists would hardly have ventured to depart from it. Or, if they made\nvariations, these would not be likely to be the same as those of a Roman\npoet, had they not known him and perhaps been especially commissioned to\nuse him as their model. We must insist on this point, I think, if we\nwould uphold Martiani and Montfaucon. Virgil is the first and only\none[35] who represents both father and children as devoured by the\nserpents; the sculptors have done this also, although, as Greeks, they\nshould not; probably, therefore, they did it in consequence of Virgil\u2019s\nexample.\n\nI am well aware that this probability falls far short of historical\ncertainty. But since I mean to draw no historical conclusions from it,\nwe may be allowed to use it as an hypothesis on which to base our\nremarks. Let us suppose, then, that the sculptors used Virgil as their\nmodel, and see in what way they would have copied him. The cry has been\nalready discussed. A further comparison may perhaps lead to not less\ninstructive results.\n\nThe idea of coiling the murderous serpents about both father and sons,\ntying them thus into one knot, is certainly a very happy one, and\nbetrays great picturesqueness of fancy. Whose was it? the poet\u2019s or the\nartist\u2019s? Montfaucon thinks it is not to be found in the poem;[36] but,\nin my opinion, he has not read the passage with sufficient care.\n\n                                Illi agmine certo\n            Laocoonta petunt, et primum parva duorum\n            Corpora natorum serpens amplexus uterque\n            Implicat et miseros morsu depascitur artus.\n            Post ipsum, auxilio subeuntem et tela ferentem,\n            Corripiunt spirisque ligant ingentibus.[37]\n\nThe poet has described the serpents as being of a wonderful length. They\nhave wound their coils about the boys and seize the father also\n(corripiunt) as he comes to their aid. Owing to their great length they\ncould not in an instant have disengaged themselves from the boys. There\nmust therefore have been a moment when the heads and forward parts of\nthe bodies had attacked the father while the boys were still held\nimprisoned in the hindmost coils. Such a moment is unavoidable in the\nprogress of the poetic picture; and the poet makes it abundantly\nmanifest, though that was not the time to describe it in detail. A\npassage in Donatus[38] seems to prove that the old commentators were\nconscious of it; and there was still less likelihood of its escaping the\nnotice of artists whose trained eye was quick to perceive any thing that\ncould be turned to their advantage.\n\nThe poet carefully leaves Laocoon\u2019s arms free that he may have the full\nuse of his hands.\n\n             Ille simul manibus tendit divellere nodos.[39]\n\nIn this point the artist must necessarily have followed him; for nothing\ncontributes more to the expression of life and motion than the action of\nthe hands. In representations of passion, especially, the most speaking\ncountenance is ineffective without it. Arms fastened close to the body\nby the serpents\u2019 coils would have made the whole group cold and dead. We\nconsequently see them in full activity, both in the main figure and the\nlesser ones, and most active where for the moment the pain is sharpest.\n\nWith the exception of this freedom of the arms, there was, however,\nnothing in the poet\u2019s manner of coiling the serpents which could be\nturned to account by the artists. Virgil winds them twice round the body\nand twice round the neck of Laocoon, and lets their heads tower high\nabove him.\n\n          Bis medium amplexi, bis collo squamea circum\n          Terga dati, superant capite et cervicibus altis.[40]\n\nThis description satisfies our imagination completely. The noblest parts\nof the body are compressed to suffocation, and the poison is aimed\ndirectly at the face. It furnished, however, no picture for the artist,\nwho would show the physical effects of the poison and the pain. To\nrender these conspicuous, the nobler parts of the body must be left as\nfree as possible, subjected to no outward pressure which would change\nand weaken the play of the suffering nerves and laboring muscles. The\ndouble coils would have concealed the whole trunk and rendered invisible\nthat most expressive contraction of the abdomen. What of the body would\nbe distinguishable above or below or between the coils would have been\nswollen and compressed, not by inward pain but by outward violence. So\nmany rings about the neck would have destroyed the pyramidal shape of\nthe group which is now pleasing to the eye, while the pointed heads of\nthe serpents projecting far above this huge mass, would have been such a\nviolation of the rules of proportion that the effect of the whole would\nhave been made repulsive in the extreme. There have been designers so\ndevoid of perception as to follow the poet implicitly. One example of\nthe hideous result may be found among the illustrations by Francis\nCleyn.[41] The old sculptors saw at a glance that their art required a\ntotally different treatment. They transferred all the coils from the\ntrunk and neck to the thighs and feet, parts which might be concealed\nand compressed without injury to the expression. By this means they also\nconveyed the idea of arrested flight, and a certain immobility very\nfavorable to the arbitrary continuance of one posture.\n\nI know not how it happens that the critics have passed over in silence\nthis marked difference between the coils in the marble and in the poem.\nIt reveals the wisdom of the artist quite as much as another difference\nwhich they all comment upon, though rather by way of excuse than of\npraise,\u2014the difference in the dress. Virgil\u2019s Laocoon is in his priestly\nrobes, while in the group he, as well as his two sons, appears\ncompletely naked. Some persons, it is said, find a great incongruity in\nthe fact that a king\u2019s son, a priest, should be represented naked when\noffering a sacrifice. To this the critics answer in all seriousness that\nit is, to be sure, a violation of usage but that the artists were driven\nto it from inability to give their figures suitable clothing. Sculpture,\nthey say, cannot imitate stuffs. Thick folds produce a bad effect. Of\ntwo evils they have therefore chosen the lesser, and preferred to offend\nagainst truth rather than be necessarily faulty in drapery.[42] The old\nartists might have laughed at the objection, but I know not what they\nwould have said to this manner of answering it. No greater insult could\nbe paid to art. Suppose sculpture could imitate different textures as\nwell as painting, would Laocoon necessarily have been draped? Should we\nlose nothing by drapery? Has a garment, the work of slavish hands, as\nmuch beauty as an organized body, the work of eternal wisdom? Does the\nimitation of the one require the same skill, involve the same merit,\nbring the same honor as the imitation of the other? Do our eyes require\nbut to be deceived, and is it a matter of indifference to them with what\nthey are deceived?\n\nIn poetry a robe is no robe. It conceals nothing. Our imagination sees\nthrough it in every part. Whether Virgil\u2019s Laocoon be clothed or not,\nthe agony in every fibre of his body is equally visible. The brow is\nbound with the priestly fillet, but not concealed. Nay, so far from\nbeing a hinderance, the fillet rather strengthens our impression of the\nsufferer\u2019s agony.\n\n               Perfusus sanie vittas atroque veneno.[43]\n\nHis priestly dignity avails him nothing. The very badge of it, which\nwins him universal consideration and respect, is saturated and\ndesecrated with the poisonous slaver.\n\nBut this subordinate idea the artist had to sacrifice to the general\neffect. Had he retained even the fillet, his work would have lost in\nexpression from the partial concealment of the brow which is the seat of\nexpression. As in the case of the cry he sacrificed expression to\nbeauty, he here sacrificed conventionality to expression.\nConventionality, indeed, was held of small account among the ancients.\nThey felt that art, in the attainment of beauty, its true end, could\ndispense with conventionalities altogether. Necessity invented clothes,\nbut what has art to do with necessity? There is a beauty of drapery, I\nadmit; but it is nothing as compared with the beauty of the human form.\nWill he who can attain to the greater rest content with the lesser? I\nfear that the most accomplished master in drapery, by his very\ndexterity, proves his weakness.\n\n\n\n\n                                  VI.\n\n\nMy supposition that the artists imitated the poet is no disparagement to\nthem. On the contrary the manner of their imitation reflects the\ngreatest credit on their wisdom. They followed the poet without\nsuffering him in the smallest particular to mislead them. A model was\nset them, but the task of transferring it from one art into another gave\nthem abundant opportunity for independent thought. The originality\nmanifested in their deviations from the model proves them to have been\nno less great in their art than the poet was in his.\n\nNow, reversing the matter, I will suppose the poet to be working after\nthe model set him by the artists. This is a supposition maintained by\nvarious scholars.[44] I know of no historical arguments in favor of\ntheir opinion. The work appeared to them of such exceeding beauty that\nthey could not believe it to be of comparatively recent date. It must\nhave been made when art was at its perfection, because it was worthy of\nthat period.\n\nWe have seen that, admirable as Virgil\u2019s picture is, there are yet\ntraits in it unavailable for the artist. The saying therefore requires\nsome modification, that a good poetical description must make a good\npicture, and that a poet describes well only in so far as his details\nmay be used by the artist. Even without the proof furnished by examples,\nwe should be inclined to predicate such limitation from a consideration\nof the wider sphere of poetry, the infinite range of our imagination,\nand the intangibility of its images. These may stand side by side in the\ngreatest number and variety without concealment or detriment to any,\njust as the objects themselves or their natural symbols would in the\nnarrow limits of time or space.\n\nBut if the smaller cannot contain the greater it can be contained in the\ngreater. In other words, if not every trait employed by the descriptive\npoet can produce an equally good effect on canvas or in marble, can\nevery trait of the artist be equally effective in the work of the poet?\nUndoubtedly; for what pleases us in a work of art pleases not the eye,\nbut the imagination through the eye. The same picture, whether presented\nto the imagination by arbitrary or natural signs, must always give us a\nsimilar pleasure, though not always in the same degree.\n\nBut even granting this, I confess that the idea of Virgil\u2019s having\nimitated the artists is more inconceivable to me than the contrary\nhypothesis. If the artists copied the poet, I can account for all their\ndeviations. Differences would necessarily have arisen, because many\ntraits employed by him with good effect would in their work have been\nobjectionable. But why such deviations in the poet? Would he not have\ngiven us an admirable picture by copying the group faithfully in every\nparticular?[45]\n\nI can perfectly understand how his fancy, working independently, should\nhave suggested to him this and that feature, but I see no reason why his\njudgment should have thought it necessary to transform the beauties that\nwere before his eyes into these differing ones.\n\nIt even seems to me that, had Virgil used this group as his model, he\ncould hardly have contented himself with leaving the general embrace of\nthe three bodies within the serpents\u2019 folds to be thus guessed at. The\nimpression upon his eye would have been so vivid and admirable, that he\ncould not have failed to give the position greater prominence in his\ndescription. As I have said, that was not the time to dwell upon its\ndetails; but the addition of a single word might have put a decisive\nemphasis upon it, even in the shadow in which the poet was constrained\nto leave it. What the artist could present without that word, the poet\nwould not have failed to express by it, had the work of art been before\nhim.\n\nThe artist had imperative reasons for not allowing the sufferings of his\nLaocoon to break out into cries. But if the poet had had before him in\nthe marble this touching union of pain with beauty, he would certainly\nhave been under no necessity of disregarding the idea of manly dignity\nand magnanimous patience arising from it and making his Laocoon suddenly\nstartle us with that terrible cry. Richardson says that Virgil\u2019s Laocoon\nneeded to scream, because the poet\u2019s object was not so much to excite\ncompassion for him as to arouse fear and horror among the Trojans. This\nI am ready to grant, although Richardson appears not to have considered\nthat the poet is not giving the description in his own person, but puts\nit into the mouth of \u00c6neas, who, in his narration to Dido, spared no\npains to arouse her compassion. The cry, however, is not what surprises\nme, but the absence of all intermediate stages of emotion, which the\nmarble could not have failed to suggest to the poet if, as we are\nsupposing, he had used that as his model. Richardson goes on to say,\nthat the story of Laocoon was meant only as an introduction to the\npathetic description of the final destruction of Troy, and that the poet\nwas therefore anxious not to divert to the misfortunes of a private\ncitizen the attention which should be concentrated on the last dreadful\nnight of a great city.[46] But this is a painter\u2019s point of view, and\nhere inadmissible. In the poem, the fate of Laocoon and the destruction\nof the city do not stand side by side as in a picture. They form no\nsingle whole to be embraced at one glance, in which case alone there\nwould have been danger of having the eye more attracted by the Laocoon\nthan by the burning city. The two descriptions succeed each other, and I\nfail to see how the deepest emotion produced by the first could\nprejudice the one that follows. Any want of effect in the second must be\nowing to its inherent want of pathos.\n\nStill less reason would the poet have had for altering the serpents\u2019\ncoils. In the marble they occupy the hands and encumber the feet, an\narrangement not less impressive to the imagination than satisfactory to\nthe eye. The picture is so distinct and clear that words can scarcely\nmake it plainer than natural signs.\n\n                                   Micat alter et ipsum\n             Laocoonta petit, totumque infraque supraque\n             Implicat et rabido tandem ferit ilia morsu.\n\n                    \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7\n\n             At serpens lapsu crebro redeunte subintrat\n             Lubricus, intortoque ligat genua infima nodo.\n\nThese lines are by Sadolet. They would doubtless have come with greater\npicturesqueness from Virgil, had his fancy been fired by the visible\nmodel. Under those circumstances he would certainly have written better\nlines than those we now have of him.\n\n            Bis medium amplexi, bis collo squamea circum\n            Terga dati, superant capite et cervicibus altis.\n\nThese details satisfy the imagination, it is true; but not if we dwell\nupon them and try to bring them distinctly before us. We must look now\nat the serpents, and now at Laocoon. The moment we try to combine them\ninto one picture, the grouping begins to displease, and appear in the\nhighest degree unpicturesque.\n\nBut these deviations from his supposed model, even if not unfortunate,\nwere entirely arbitrary. Imitation is intended to produce likeness, but\nhow can likeness result from needless changes? Such changes rather show\nthat the intention was not to produce likeness, consequently that there\nhas been no imitation.\n\nPerhaps not of the whole, some may urge, but of certain parts. Good; but\nwhat are the parts so exactly corresponding in the marble and in the\npoem, that the poet might seem to have borrowed them from the sculptor?\nThe father, the children, and the serpents, both poet and sculptor\nreceived from history. Except what is traditional in both, they agree in\nnothing but the single circumstance that father and sons are bound by\nthe serpents\u2019 coils into a single knot. But this arose from the new\nversion, according to which father and sons were involved in a common\ndestruction,\u2014a version, as already shown, to be attributed rather to\nVirgil, since the Greek traditions tell the story differently. If, then,\nthere should have been any imitation here, it is more likely to have\nbeen on the side of the artist than of the poet. In all other respects\ntheir representations differ, but in such a way that the deviations, if\nmade by the artist, are perfectly consistent with an intention to copy\nthe poet, being such as the sphere and limitations of his art would\nimpose on him. They are, on the contrary, so many arguments against the\nsupposed imitation of the sculptor by the poet. Those who, in the face\nof these objections, still maintain this supposition, can only mean that\nthe group is older than the poem.\n\n\n\n\n                                  VII.\n\n\nWhen we speak of an artist as imitating a poet or a poet an artist, we\nmay mean one of two things,\u2014either that one makes the work of the other\nhis actual model, or that the same original is before them both, and one\nborrows from the other the manner of copying it.\n\nWhen Virgil describes the shield of \u00c6neas, his imitation of the artist\nwho made the shield is of the former kind. The work of art, not what it\nrepresents, is his model. Even if he describe the devices upon it they\nare described as part of the shield, not as independently existing\nobjects. Had Virgil, on the other hand, copied the group of the Laocoon,\nthis would have been an imitation of the second kind. He would then have\nbeen copying, not the actual group, but what the group represents, and\nwould have borrowed from the marble only the details of his copy.\n\nIn imitations of the first kind the poet is an originator, in those of\nthe second a copyist. The first is part of the universal imitation which\nconstitutes the very essence of his art, and his work is that of a\ngenius, whether his model be nature or the product of other arts. The\nsecond degrades him utterly. Instead of the thing itself, he imitates\nits imitations, and gives us a lifeless reflection of another\u2019s genius\nfor original touches of his own.\n\nIn the by no means rare cases where poet and artist must study their\ncommon original from the same point of view, their copies cannot but\ncoincide in many respects, although there may have been no manner of\nimitation or emulation between them. These coincidences among\ncontemporaneous artists and poets may lead to mutual illustrations of\nthings no longer present to us. But to try to help out these\nillustrations by tracing design where was only chance, and especially by\nattributing to the poet at every detail a reference to this statue or\nthat picture, is doing him very doubtful service. Nor is the reader a\ngainer by a process which renders the beautiful passages perfectly\nintelligible, no doubt, but at the sacrifice of all their life.\n\nThis is the design and the mistake of a famous English work by the Rev.\nMr. Spence, entitled, \u201cPolymetis; or, An inquiry concerning the\nagreement between the works of the Roman poets and the remains of the\nancient artists, being an attempt to illustrate them mutually from one\nanother.\u201d[47] Spence has brought to his work great classical learning\nand a thorough knowledge of the surviving works of ancient art. His\ndesign of using these as means to explain the Roman poets, and making\nthe poets in turn throw light on works of art hitherto imperfectly\nunderstood, has been in many instances happily accomplished. But I\nnevertheless maintain that to every reader of taste his book must be\nintolerable.\n\nWhen Valerius Flaccus describes the winged thunderbolts on the shields\nof the Roman soldiers,\u2014\n\n              Nec primus radios, miles Romane, corusci\n              Fulminis et rutilas scutis diffuderis alas,\n\nthe description is naturally made more intelligible to me by seeing the\nrepresentation of such a shield on an ancient monument.[48] It is\npossible that the old armorers represented Mars upon helmets and shields\nin the same hovering attitude that Addison thought he saw him in with\nRhea on an ancient coin,[49] and that Juvenal had such a helmet or\nshield in mind in that allusion of his which, till Addison, had been a\npuzzle to all commentators.\n\nThe passage in Ovid where the wearied Cephalus invokes Aura, the cooling\nzephyr,\u2014\n\n          \u201cAura ... venias ...\n          Meque juves, intresque sinus, gratissima, nostros,\u201d\n\nand his Procris takes this Aura for the name of a rival,\u2014this passage, I\nconfess, seems to me more natural when I see that the ancients in their\nworks of art personified the gentle breezes, and, under the name Aur\u00e6,\nworshipped certain female sylphs.[50]\n\nI acknowledge that when Juvenal compares an idle patrician to a\nHermes-column, we should hardly perceive the point of the comparison\nunless we had seen such a column and knew it to be a poorly cut pillar,\nbearing the head, or at most the trunk, of the god, and, owing to the\nwant of hands and feet, suggesting the idea of inactivity.[51]\n\nIllustrations of this kind are not to be despised, though neither always\nnecessary nor always conclusive. Either the poet regarded the work of\nart not as a copy but as an independent original, or both artist and\npoet were embodying certain accepted ideas. Their representations would\nnecessarily have many points of resemblance, which serve as so many\nproofs of the universality of the ideas.\n\nBut when Tibullus describes Apollo as he appeared to him in a dream,\u2014the\nfairest of youths, his temples wreathed with the chaste laurel, Syrian\nodors breathing from his golden hair that falls in ripples over his long\nneck, his whole body as pink and white as the cheek of the bride when\nled to her bridegroom,\u2014why need these traits have been borrowed from\nfamous old pictures? Echion\u2019s \u201cnova nupta verecundia notabilis\u201d may have\nbeen in Rome and been copied thousands of times: did that prove virgin\nmodesty itself to have vanished from the world? Since the painter saw\nit, was no poet to see it more save in the painter\u2019s imitation?[52] Or\nwhen another poet speaks of Vulcan as wearied and his face reddened by\nthe forge, did he need a picture to teach him that labor wearies and\nheat reddens?[53] Or when Lucretius describes the alternations of the\nseasons and brings them before us in the order of nature, with their\nwhole train of effects on earth and air, was Lucretius the creature of a\nday? had he lived through no entire year and seen its changes, that he\nmust needs have taken his description from a procession of statues\nrepresenting the seasons? Did he need to learn from statues the old\npoetic device of making actual beings out of such abstractions?[54] Or\nVirgil\u2019s \u201cpontem indignatus Araxes,\u201d that admirable poetic picture of a\nriver overflowing its banks and tearing down the bridge that spans\nit,\u2014do we not destroy all its beauty by making it simply a reference to\nsome work of art, wherein the river god was represented as actually\ndemolishing a bridge?[55] What do we want of such illustrations which\nbanish the poet from his own clearest lines to give us in his place the\nreflection of some artist\u2019s fancy?\n\nI regret that this tasteless conceit of substituting for the creations\nof the poet\u2019s own imagination a familiarity with those of others should\nhave rendered a book, so useful as the Polymetis might have been made,\nas offensive as the feeblest commentaries of the shallowest quibblers,\nand far more derogatory to the classic authors. Still more do I regret\nthat Addison should in this respect have been the predecessor of Spence,\nand, in his praiseworthy desire to make the old works of art serve as\ninterpreters, have failed to discriminate between those cases where\nimitation of the artist would be becoming in the poet, and those where\nit would be degrading to him.[56]\n\n\n\n\n                                 VIII.\n\n\nSpence has the strangest notions of the resemblance between painting and\npoetry. He believes the two arts to have been so closely connected among\nthe ancients that they always went hand in hand, the poet never losing\nsight of the painter, nor the painter of the poet. That poetry has the\nwider sphere, that beauties are within her reach which painting can\nnever attain, that she may often see reason to prefer unpicturesque\nbeauties to picturesque ones,\u2014these things seem never to have occurred\nto him. The slightest difference, therefore, between the old poets and\nartists throws him into an embarrassment from which it taxes all his\ningenuity to escape.\n\nThe poets generally gave Bacchus horns. Spence is therefore surprised\nthat we seldom see these appendages on his statues.[57] He suggests one\nreason and another; now the ignorance of the antiquarians, and again\n\u201cthe smallness of the horns themselves, which were very likely to be hid\nunder the crown of grapes or ivy which is almost a constant ornament of\nthe head of Bacchus.\u201d He goes all round the true cause without ever\nsuspecting it. The horns of Bacchus were not a natural growth like those\nof fauns and satyrs. They were ornaments which he could assume or lay\naside at pleasure.\n\n                    Tibi, cum sine cornibus adstas,\n                    Virgineum caput est, ...\n\nsays Ovid in his solemn invocation to Bacchus.[58] He could therefore\nshow himself without horns, and did, in fact, thus show himself when he\nwished to appear in his virgin beauty. In this form artists would choose\nto represent him, and necessarily omitted all disagreeable\naccompaniments. Horns fastened to the diadem, as we see them on a head\nin the royal museum in Berlin,[59] would have been a cumbersome\nappendage, as would also the diadem itself, concealing the beautiful\nbrow. For this reason the diadem appears as rarely as the horns on the\nstatues of Bacchus, although, as its inventor, he is often crowned with\nit by the poets. In poetry both horns and diadem served as subtle\nallusions to the deeds and character of the god: in a picture or statue\nthey would have stood in the way of greater beauties. If Bacchus, as I\nbelieve, received the name of Biformis, \u0394\u03af\u03bc\u03bf\u03c1\u03c6\u03bf\u03c2, from having an aspect\nof beauty as well as of terror, the artists would naturally have chosen\nthe shape best adapted to the object of their art.\n\nIn the Roman poets Minerva and Juno often hurl the thunderbolt. Why are\nthey not so represented in art? asks Spence.[60] He answers, \u201cThis power\nwas the privilege of these two goddesses, the reason of which was,\nperhaps, first learnt in the Samothracian mysteries. But since, among\nthe ancient Romans, artists were considered as of inferior rank, and\ntherefore rarely initiated into them, they would doubtless know nothing\nof them; and what they knew not of they clearly could not represent.\u201d I\nshould like to ask Spence whether these common people were working\nindependently, or under the orders of superiors who might be initiated\ninto the mysteries; whether the artists occupied such a degraded\nposition among the Greeks; whether the Roman artists were not for the\nmost part Greeks by birth; and so on.\n\nStatius and Valerius Flaccus describe an angry Venus with such terrible\nfeatures that we should take her at the moment for a fury rather than\nfor the goddess of love. Spence searches in vain for such a Venus among\nthe works of ancient art. What is his conclusion? That more is allowed\nto the poet than to the sculptor and painter? That should have been his\ninference. But he has once for all established as a general rule that\n\u201cscarce any thing can be good in a poetical description which would\nappear absurd if represented in a statue or picture.\u201d[61] Consequently\nthe poets must be wrong. \u201cStatius and Valerius Flaccus belong to an age\nwhen Roman poetry was already in its decline. In this very passage they\ndisplay their bad judgment and corrupted taste. Among the poets of a\nbetter age such a repudiation of the laws of artistic expression will\nnever be found.\u201d[62]\n\nSuch criticism shows small power of discrimination. I do not propose to\nundertake the defence of either Statius or Valerius, but will simply\nmake a general remark. The gods and other spiritual beings represented\nby the artist are not precisely the same as those introduced by the\npoet. To the artist they are personified abstractions which must always\nbe characterized in the same way, or we fail to recognize them. In\npoetry, on the contrary, they are real beings, acting and working, and\npossessing, besides their general character, qualities and passions\nwhich may upon occasion take precedence. Venus is to the sculptor simply\nlove. He must therefore endow her with all the modest beauty, all the\ntender charms, which, as delighting us in the beloved object, go to make\nup our abstract idea of love. The least departure from this ideal\nprevents our recognizing her image. Beauty distinguished more by majesty\nthan modesty is no longer Venus but Juno. Charms commanding and manly\nrather than tender, give us, instead of a Venus, a Minerva. A Venus all\nwrath, a Venus urged by revenge and rage, is to the sculptor a\ncontradiction in terms. For love, as love, never is angry, never avenges\nitself. To the poet, Venus is love also, but she is the goddess of love,\nwho has her own individuality outside of this one characteristic, and\ncan therefore be actuated by aversion as well as affection. What wonder,\nthen, that in poetry she blazes into anger and rage, especially under\nthe provocation of insulted love?\n\nThe artist, indeed, like the poet, may, in works composed of several\nfigures, introduce Venus or any other deity, not simply by her one\ncharacteristic, but as a living, acting being. But the actions, if not\nthe direct results of her character, must not be at variance with it.\nVenus delivering to her son the armor of the gods is a subject equally\nsuitable to artist and poet. For here she can be endowed with all the\ngrace and beauty befitting the goddess of love. Such treatment will be\nof advantage as helping us the more easily to recognize her. But when\nVenus, intent on revenging herself on her contemners, the men of Lemnos,\nwild, in colossal shape, with cheeks inflamed and dishevelled hair,\nseizes the torch, and, wrapping a black robe about her, flies downward\non the storm-cloud,\u2014that is no moment for the painter, because he has no\nmeans of making us recognize her. The poet alone has the privilege of\navailing himself of it. He can unite it so closely with some other\nmoment when the goddess is the true Venus, that we do not in the fury\nforget the goddess of love. Flaccus does this,\u2014\n\n                      Neque enim alma videri\n          Jam tumet; aut tereti crinem subnectitur auro,\n          Sidereos diffusa sinus. Eadem effera et ingens\n          Et maculis suffecta genas; pinumque sonantem\n          Virginibus Stygiis, nigramque simillima pallam.[63]\n\nAnd Statius also,\u2014\n\n            Illa Paphon veterem centumque altaria linquens,\n            Nec vultu nec crine prior, solvisse jugalem\n            Ceston, et Idalias procul ablegasse volucres\n            Fertur. Erant certe, media qui noctis in umbra\n            Divam, alios ignes majoraque tela gerentem,\n            Tartarias inter thalamis volitasse sorores\n            Vulgarent: utque implicitis arcana domorum\n            Anguibus, et s\u00e6va formidine cuncta replerit\n            Limina.[64]\n\nOr, we may say, the poet alone possesses the art of so combining\nnegative with positive traits as to unite two appearances in one. No\nlonger now the tender Venus, her hair no more confined with golden\nclasps, no azure draperies floating about her, without her girdle, armed\nwith other flames and larger arrows, the goddess hastes downward,\nattended by furies of like aspect with herself. Must the poet abstain\nfrom the use of this device because artists are debarred from it? If\npainting claim to be the sister of poetry, let the younger at least not\nbe jealous of the elder, nor seek to deprive her of ornaments unbecoming\nto herself.\n\n\n\n\n                                  IX.\n\n\nWhen we compare poet and painter in particular instances, we should be\ncareful to inquire whether both have had entire freedom, and been\nallowed to labor for the highest results of their art without the\nexercise of any constraint from without.\n\nReligion often exercised such constraint upon the old artists. A work,\ndevotional in character, must often be less perfect than one intended\nsolely to produce pleasure. Superstition loaded the gods with symbols\nwhich were not always reverenced in proportion to their beauty.\n\nIn the temple of Bacchus at Lemnos, from which the pious Hypsipyle\nrescued her father under the guise of the deity,[65] the god was\nrepresented horned. So he doubtless appeared in all his temples, the\nhorns being symbols typical of his nature and functions. The unfettered\nartist, whose Bacchus was not designed for a temple, omitted the symbol.\nIf, among the statues of the god that remain to us, we find none with\nhorns,[66] that circumstance perhaps proves that none of them were\nsacred statues, representing the god in the shape under which he was\nworshipped. We should naturally expect, too, that against such the fury\nof the pious iconoclasts in the first centuries of Christianity would\nhave been especially directed. Only here and there a work of art was\nspared, because it had never been desecrated by being made an object of\nworship.\n\nBut since, among the antiques that have been unburied, there are\nspecimens of both kinds, we should discriminate and call only those\nworks of art which are the handiwork of the artist, purely as artist,\nthose where he has been able to make beauty his first and last object.\nAll the rest, all that show an evident religious tendency, are unworthy\nto be called works of art. In them Art was not working for her own sake,\nbut was simply the tool of Religion, having symbolic representations\nforced upon her with more regard to their significance than their\nbeauty. By this I do not mean to deny that religion often sacrificed\nmeaning to beauty, or so far ceased to emphasize it, out of regard for\nart and the finer taste of the age, that beauty seemed to have been the\nsole end in view.\n\nIf we make no such distinction, there will be perpetual strife between\nconnoisseurs and antiquarians from their failure to understand each\nother. When the connoisseur maintains, according to his conception of\nthe end and aim of art, that certain things never could have been made\nby one of the old artists, meaning never by one working as artist from\nhis own impulse, the antiquarian will understand him to say that they\ncould never have been fashioned by the artist, as workman, under the\ninfluence of religion or any other power outside the domain of art. He\nwill therefore think to confute his antagonist by showing some figure\nwhich the connoisseur, without hesitation, but to the great vexation of\nthe learned world, will condemn back to the rubbish from which it had\nbeen dug.[67]\n\nBut there is danger, on the other hand, of exaggerating the influence of\nreligion on art. Spence furnishes a remarkable instance of this. He\nfound in Ovid that Vesta was not worshipped in her temple under any\nhuman image, and he thence drew the conclusion that there had never been\nany statues of the goddess. What had passed for such must be statues,\nnot of Vesta, but of a vestal virgin.[68] An extraordinary conclusion!\nBecause the goddess was worshipped in one of her temples under the\nsymbol of fire, did artists therefore lose all right to personify after\ntheir fashion a being to whom the poets give distinct personality,\nmaking her the daughter of Saturn and Ops, bringing her into danger of\nfalling under the ill treatment of Priapus, and narrating yet other\nthings in regard to her? For Spence commits the further error of\napplying to all the temples of Vesta and to her worship generally what\nOvid says only of a certain temple at Rome.[69] She was not everywhere\nworshipped as in this temple at Rome. Until Numa erected this particular\nsanctuary, she was not so worshipped even in Italy. Numa allowed no\ndeity to be represented in the shape of man or beast. In this\nprohibition of all personal representations of Vesta consisted,\ndoubtless, the reformation which he introduced into her rites. Ovid\nhimself tells us that, before the time of Numa, there were statues of\nVesta in her temple, which, when her priestess Sylvia became a mother,\ncovered their eyes with their virgin hands.[70] Yet further proof that\nin the temples of the goddess outside the city, in the Roman provinces,\nher worship was not conducted in the manner prescribed by Numa, is\nfurnished by various old inscriptions, where mention is made of a priest\nof Vesta (Pontificis Vest\u00e6).[71] At Corinth, again, was a temple of\nVesta without statues, having only an altar whereon sacrifices were\noffered to the goddess.[72] But did the Greeks, therefore, have no\nstatues of Vesta? There was one at Athens in the Prytaneum, next to the\nstatue of Peace.[73] The people of Iasos boasted of having one in the\nopen air, upon which snow and rain never fell.[74] Pliny mentions one in\na sitting posture, from the chisel of Scopas, in the Servilian gardens\nat Rome, in his day.[75] Granting that it is difficult for us now to\ndistinguish between a vestal virgin and the goddess herself, does that\nprove that the ancients were not able or did not care to make the\ndistinction? Certain attributes point evidently more to one than the\nother. The sceptre, the torch, and the palladium would seem to belong\nexclusively to the goddess. The tympanum, attributed to her by Codinus,\nbelongs to her, perhaps, only as the Earth. Or perhaps Codinus himself\ndid not know exactly what it was he saw.[76]\n\n\n\n\n                                   X.\n\n\nSpence\u2019s surprise is again aroused in a way that shows how little he has\nreflected on the limits of poetry and painting.\n\n\u201cAs to the muses in general,\u201d he says, \u201cit is remarkable that the poets\nsay but little of them in a descriptive way; much less than might indeed\nbe expected for deities to whom they were so particularly obliged.\u201d[77]\n\nWhat is this but expressing surprise that the poets, when they speak of\nthe muses, do not use the dumb language of the painter? In poetry,\nUrania is the muse of astronomy. Her name and her employment reveal her\noffice. In art she can be recognized only by the wand with which she\npoints to a globe of the heavens. The wand, the globe, and the attitude\nare the letters with which the artist spells out for us the name Urania.\nBut when the poet wants to say that Urania had long read her death in\nthe stars,\u2014\n\n               Ipsa diu positis lethum pr\u00e6dixerat astris\n               Urania.[78]\n\nWhy should he add, out of regard to the artist,\u2014Urania, wand in hand,\nwith the heavenly globe before her? Would that not be as if a man, with\nthe power and privilege of speech, were to employ the signs which the\nmutes in a Turkish seraglio had invented to supply the want of a voice?\n\nSpence expresses the same surprise in regard to the moral beings, or\nthose divinities who, among the ancients, presided over the virtues and\nundertook the guidance of human life.[79] \u201cIt is observable,\u201d he says,\n\u201cthat the Roman poets say less of the best of these moral beings than\nmight be expected. The artists are much fuller on this head; and one who\nwould know how they were each set off must go to the medals of the Roman\nemperors. The poets, in fact, speak of them very often as persons; but\nof their attributes, their dress, and the rest of their figure they\ngenerally say but little.\u201d\n\nWhen a poet personifies abstractions he sufficiently indicates their\ncharacter by their name and employment.\n\nThese means are wanting to the artist, who must therefore give to his\npersonified abstractions certain symbols by which they may be\nrecognized. These symbols, because they are something else and mean\nsomething else, constitute them allegorical figures.\n\nA female figure holding a bridle in her hand, another leaning against a\ncolumn, are allegorical beings. But in poetry Temperance and Constancy\nare not allegorical beings, but personified abstractions.\n\nNecessity invented these symbols for the artist, who could not otherwise\nindicate the significance of this or that figure. But why should the\npoet, for whom no such necessity exists, be obliged to accept the\nconditions imposed upon the artist?\n\nWhat excites Spence\u2019s surprise should, in fact, be prescribed as a law\nto all poets. They should not regard the limitations of painting as\nbeauties in their own art, nor consider the expedients which painting\nhas invented in order to keep pace with poetry, as graces which they\nhave any reason to envy her. By the use of symbols the artist exalts a\nmere figure into a being of a higher order. Should the poet employ the\nsame artistic machinery he would convert a superior being into a doll.\n\nConformity to this rule was as persistently observed by the ancients as\nits studious violation is by the viciousness of modern poets. All their\nimaginary beings go masked, and the writers who have most skill in this\nmasquerade generally understand least the real object of their work,\nwhich is to let their personages act, and by their actions reveal their\ncharacter.\n\nAmong the attributes by which the artist individualizes his\nabstractions, there is one class, however, better adapted to the poet\nthan those we have been considering, and more worthy of his use. I refer\nto such as are not strictly allegorical, but may be regarded as\ninstruments which the beings bearing them would or could use, should\nthey ever come to act as real persons. The bridle in the hand of\nTemperance, the pillar which supports Constancy are purely allegorical,\nand cannot therefore be used by the poet. The scales in the hand of\nJustice are less so, because the right use of the scales is one of the\nduties of Justice. The lyre or flute in the hand of a muse, the lance in\nthe hand of Mars, hammer and tongs in the hands of Vulcan, are not\nsymbols at all, but simply instruments without which none of the actions\ncharacteristic of these beings could be performed. To this class belong\nthe attributes sometimes woven by the old poets into their descriptions,\nand which, in distinction from those that are allegorical, I would call\nthe poetical. These signify the thing itself, while the others denote\nonly some thing similar.[80]\n\n\n\n\n                                  XI.\n\n\nCount Caylus also seems to require that the poet should deck out the\ncreatures of his imagination with allegorical attributes.[81] The Count\nunderstood painting better than poetry.\n\nBut other points more worthy of remark have struck me in the same work\nof his, some of the most important of which I shall mention here for\ncloser consideration.\n\nThe artist, in the Count\u2019s opinion, should make himself better\nacquainted with Homer, that greatest of all word painters,\u2014that second\nnature, in fact. He calls attention to the rich and fresh material\nfurnished by the narrative of the great Greek, and assures the painter\nthat the more closely he follows the poet in every detail, the nearer\nhis work will approach to perfection.\n\nThis is confounding the two kinds of imitation mentioned above. The\npainter is not only to copy the same thing that the poet has copied, but\nhe is to copy it with the same touches. He is to use the poet not only\nas narrator, but as poet.\n\nBut why is not this second kind of imitation, which we have found to be\ndegrading to the poet, equally so to the artist? If there had existed\nprevious to Homer such a series of pictures as he suggests to Count\nCaylus, and we knew that the poet had composed his work from them, would\nhe not lose greatly in our estimation? Why should we not in like manner\ncease to admire the artist who should do no more than translate the\nwords of the poet into form and color?\n\nThe reason I suppose to be this. In art the difficulty appears to lie\nmore in the execution than in the invention, while with poetry the\ncontrary is the case. There the execution seems easy in comparison with\nthe invention. Had Virgil copied the twining of the serpents about\nLaocoon and his sons from the marble, then his description would lose\nits chief merit; for what we consider the more difficult part had been\ndone for him. The first conception of this grouping in the imagination\nis a far greater achievement than the expression of it in words. But if\nthe sculptor have borrowed the grouping from the poet, we still consider\nhim deserving of great praise, although he have not the merit of the\nfirst conception. For to give expression in marble is incalculably more\ndifficult than to give it in words. We weigh invention and execution in\nopposite scales, and are inclined to require from the master as much\nless of one as he has given us more of the other.\n\nThere are even cases where the artist deserves more credit for copying\nNature through the medium of the poet\u2019s imitation than directly from\nherself. The painter who makes a beautiful landscape from the\ndescription of a Thomson, does more than one who takes his picture at\nfirst hand from nature. The latter sees his model before him; the former\nmust, by an effort of imagination, think he sees it. One makes a\nbeautiful picture from vivid, sensible impressions, the other from the\nfeeble, uncertain representations of arbitrary signs.\n\nFrom this natural readiness to excuse the artist from the merit of\ninvention, has arisen on his part an equally natural indifference to it.\nPerceiving that invention could never be his strong point, but that his\nfame must rest chiefly on execution, he ceased to care whether his theme\nwere new or old, whether it had been used once or a hundred times,\nbelonged to himself or another. He kept within the narrow range of a few\nsubjects, grown familiar to himself and the public, and directed all his\ninvention to the introducing of some change in the treatment, some new\ncombination of the old objects. That is actually the meaning attached to\nthe word \u201cinvention\u201d in the old text-books on painting. For although\nthey divide it into the artistic and the poetic, yet even the poetic\ndoes not extend to the originating of a subject, but solely to the\narrangement or expression.[82] It is invention, not of the whole, but of\nthe individual parts and their connection with one another; invention of\nthat inferior kind which Horace recommended to his tragic poet:\n\n                                Tuque\n            Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus,\n            Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus.[83]\n\nRecommended, I say, but not commanded. He recommended it as easier for\nhim, more convenient, more advantageous: he did not command it as\nintrinsically nobler and better.\n\nThe poet, indeed, has a great advantage when he treats of familiar\nhistorical facts and well-known characters. He can omit a hundred\ntiresome details otherwise indispensable to an understanding of the\npiece. And the sooner he is understood, the sooner he can interest his\nreaders. The same advantage is possessed by the painter when his subject\nis so familiar to us that we take in at a glance the meaning and design\nof his whole composition, and can not only see that his characters are\nspeaking, but can even hear what they say. On that first glance the\nchief effect depends. If that necessitate a tiresome guessing and\npondering, our readiness to be touched is chilled. We take revenge upon\nthe unwise artist by hardening ourselves against his expression; and\nalas for him, if to that expression he have sacrificed beauty! No\ninducement remains for us to linger before his work. What we see does\nnot please us, and what it means we do not understand.\n\nConsidering now these two points: first, that invention and novelty in\nthe subject are by no means what we chiefly require from the painter;\nand secondly, that a familiar subject helps and quickens the effect of\nhis art, I think we shall find a deeper reason for his avoidance of new\nsubjects than indolence or ignorance or absorption of his whole industry\nand time in the mechanical difficulties of his art, which are the causes\nassigned for it by Count Caylus. We may even be inclined to praise as a\nwise and, as far as we are concerned, a beneficent forbearance on the\npart of the artist, what seemed to us at first a deficiency in art and a\ncurtailment of our enjoyment.\n\nI have no fear that experience will contradict me. Painters will be\ngrateful to the Count for his good intentions, but will hardly make as\ngeneral use of his advice as he expects. Should such, however, be the\ncase, a new Caylus would be needed at the end of a hundred years to\nremind us of the old themes and recall the artist to a field where\nothers before him have reaped undying laurels. Or shall we expect the\npublic to be as learned as the connoisseur with his books, and familiar\nwith all the scenes of history and fable that offer fit subjects for\nart? I grant that artists, since the time of Raphael, would have done\nbetter to take Homer for their manual than Ovid. But since, once for\nall, they have not done so, let us leave the public in its old ruts, and\nnot throw more difficulties in the way of its pleasure than are\nnecessary to make the pleasure worth having.\n\nProtogenes had painted the mother of Aristotle. I know not how much the\nphilosopher paid for the picture, but instead of the full payment, or\nperhaps over and above it, he gave the painter a piece of advice which\nwas of more value than the money. Not, as I believe, in the way of\nflattery, but because he knew that art needed to make itself universally\nintelligible, he advised him to paint the exploits of Alexander. The\nwhole world was ringing with the fame of them, and he could foresee that\ntheir memory would remain to all posterity. But Protogenes was not wise\nenough to follow this counsel. \u201cImpetus animi,\u201d says Pliny, \u201cet qu\u00e6dam\nartis libido,\u201d[84] a certain presumption in art, and a craving after\nsomething new and strange, led him to the choice of other subjects. He\npreferred the story of Ialysus,[85] of Cydippe, and others of like kind,\nwhose meaning we can now scarce even conjecture.\n\n\n\n\n                                  XII.\n\n\nHomer treats of two different classes of beings and actions,\u2014the visible\nand the invisible. This distinction cannot be made on canvas, where\nevery thing is visible, and visible in precisely the same way.\n\nWhen Count Caylus, therefore, makes pictures of invisible actions follow\nimmediately upon pictures of visible ones; and in scenes of mixed\nactions, participated in by beings of both kinds, does not, and perhaps\ncannot, indicate how those figures which only we who look at the picture\nare supposed to see, shall be so represented that the characters in the\npicture shall not see them, or at least shall not look as if they could\nnot help seeing them, he makes the whole series, as well as many\nseparate pictures, in the highest degree confused, unintelligible, and\nself-contradictory.\n\nWith the book before us this difficulty might finally be overcome. The\ngreat objection would be that, with the loss of all distinction to the\neye between the visible and the invisible beings, all the characteristic\ntraits must likewise disappear, which serve to elevate the higher order\nof beings above the lower.\n\nWhen, for instance, the gods who take different sides in the Trojan war\ncome at last to actual blows, the contest goes on in the poem\nunseen.[86] This invisibility leaves the imagination free play to\nenlarge the scene at will, and picture the gods and their movements on a\nscale far grander than the measure of common humanity. But painting must\naccept a visible theatre, whose various fixed parts become a scale of\nmeasurement for the persons acting upon it. This scale is always before\nthe eye, and the disproportionate size of any superhuman figures makes\nbeings that were grand in the poem monstrous on canvas.\n\nMinerva, on whom Mars had made the first attack, steps backward and with\nmighty hand lifts from the ground an enormous stone, black and rough,\nwhich, in old times, had required the strength of many men to be rolled\ninto its place and set up as a landmark.[87]\n\n          \u1f21 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03c7\u03b1\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7 \u03bb\u03af\u03b8\u03bf\u03bd \u03b5\u1f35\u03bb\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf \u03c7\u03b5\u03b9\u03c1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c7\u03b5\u03af\u1fc3\n          \u03ba\u03b5\u03af\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd \u03c0\u03b5\u03b4\u03af\u1ff3, \u03bc\u03ad\u03bb\u03b1\u03bd\u03b1 \u03c4\u03c1\u03b7\u03c7\u03cd\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5 \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5,\n          \u03c4\u03cc\u03bd \u1fe5\u2019 \u1f04\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u03b5\u03c2 \u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9 \u03b8\u03ad\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd \u1f14\u03bc\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bf\u1f56\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u1f00\u03c1\u03bf\u03cd\u03c1\u03b7\u03c2\u00b7\n\nTo obtain an adequate idea of the size of this stone, we must remember\nthat Homer makes his heroes twice as strong as the mightiest men of his\nday, yet says they were far surpassed in strength by the men whom Nestor\nhad known in his youth. Now if Minerva is to hurl at Mars a stone which\nit had required, not one man, but many men of the time of Nestor\u2019s youth\nto set up as a landmark, what, I ask, should be the stature of the\ngoddess? If her size be proportioned to that of the stone, all marvel\nceases. A being of thrice my size can, of course, throw three times as\nlarge a stone. But if the stature of the goddess be not proportioned to\nthe size of the stone, the result is a palpable improbability in the\npicture which cannot be atoned for by the cold consideration that a\ngoddess is necessarily of supernatural strength.\n\nMars, overthrown by this enormous stone, covered seven hides,\u2014\n\n                     \u1f11\u03c0\u03c4\u1f70 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f10\u03c0\u03ad\u03c3\u03c7\u03b5 \u03c0\u03ad\u03bb\u03b5\u03b8\u03c1\u03b1 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c3\u03ce\u03bd.\n\nIt is impossible for the painter to give the god this extraordinary\nsize. Yet if he do not, we have no Homeric Mars lying on the ground, but\nan ordinary warrior.[88]\n\nLonginus says, it has often seemed to him that Homer\u2019s design was to\nraise his men to gods and degrade his deities to men. Painting\naccomplishes this. On canvas we lose every thing which in poetry exalts\nthe gods above mere godlike men. Size, strength, speed,\u2014qualities which\nHomer has always in store for his gods in miraculous measure, far\nsurpassing any thing he attributes to his most famous heroes,[89]\u2014are\nnecessarily reduced in the picture to the common scale of humanity.\nJupiter and Agamemnon, Apollo and Achilles, Ajax and Mars, are all\nkindred beings, only to be distinguished by some arbitrary outward sign.\n\nThe expedient to which painters have recourse to indicate that a certain\ncharacter is supposed to be invisible, is a thin cloud veiling the side\nof the figure that is turned towards the other actors on the scene. This\ncloud seems at first to be borrowed from Homer himself. For, when in the\nconfusion of battle one of the chief heroes becomes exposed to a danger\nfrom which nothing short of divine aid can save him, the poet makes his\nguardian deity veil him in a thick cloud or in darkness, and so lead him\nfrom the field. Paris is thus delivered by Venus,[90] Id\u00e6us by\nNeptune,[91] Hector by Apollo.[92] Caylus never omits strongly to\nrecommend to the artist this mist or cloud, whenever he is to paint\npictures of such occurrences. But who does not perceive that this\nveiling in mist and darkness is only the poet\u2019s way of saying that the\nhero became invisible? It always seems strange to me, therefore, to find\nthis poetical expression embodied in a picture, and an actual cloud\nintroduced, behind which, as behind a screen, the hero stands hidden\nfrom his enemy. This was not the poet\u2019s meaning. The artist in this\nexceeds the limits of painting. His cloud is a hieroglyphic, a purely\nsymbolic sign, which does not make the rescued hero invisible, but\nsimply says to the observers,\u2014\u201cYou are to suppose this man to be\ninvisible.\u201d It is no better than the rolls of paper with sentences upon\nthem, which issue from the mouth of personages in the old Gothic\npictures.\n\nHomer, to be sure, makes Achilles give three thrusts with his lance at\nthe thick cloud[93] while Apollo is carrying off Hector,\u2014\u03c4\u03c1\u1f76\u03c2 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f20\u03ad\u03c1\u03b1\n\u03c4\u03cd\u03c8\u03b5 \u03b2\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u1fd6\u03b1\u03bd. But that, in the language of poetry, only means that\nAchilles was so enraged that he thrust three times with his lance before\nperceiving that his enemy was no longer before him. Achilles saw no\nactual cloud. The whole secret of this invisibility lay not in the\ncloud, but in the god\u2019s swift withdrawal of the imperilled hero. In\norder to indicate that the withdrawal took place so instantaneously that\nno human eye could follow the retreating form, the poet begins by\nthrowing over his hero a cloud; not because the by-standers saw the\ncloud in the place of the vanished shape, but because to our mind things\nin a cloud are invisible.\n\nThe opposite device is sometimes used, and, instead of the object being\nmade invisible, the subject is smitten with blindness. Thus Neptune\nblinds the eyes of Achilles when he rescues \u00c6neas from his murderous\nhands by transporting him from the thick of the contest to the rear.[94]\nIn reality, the eyes of Achilles were no more blinded in the one case\nthan in the other the rescued heroes were veiled in a cloud. Both are\nmere expressions employed by the poet to impress more vividly on our\nminds the extreme rapidity of the removal; the disappearance, as we\nshould call it.\n\nBut artists have appropriated the Homeric mist not only in those cases\nof concealment or disappearance where Homer himself employed or would\nhave employed it, but in cases where the spectator was to perceive\nsomething which the characters on the canvas, or some of them at least,\nwere not to be conscious of. Minerva was visible to Achilles only, when\nshe restrained him from committing violence against Agamemnon. \u201cI know\nno other way of expressing this,\u201d says Caylus, \u201cthan to interpose a\ncloud between the goddess and the other members of the council.\u201d This is\nentirely contrary to the spirit of the poet. Invisibility was the\nnatural condition of his deities. So far from any stroke of blindness or\nintercepting of the rays of light being necessary to render them\ninvisible,[95] a special illumination, an increased power of human\nvision was needed to see them. Not only, therefore, is this cloud an\narbitrary and not a natural symbol in painting, but it does not possess\nthe clearness which, as an arbitrary sign, it should. It has a double\nmeaning, being employed as well to make the invisible visible as to\nrender the visible invisible.\n\n\n\n\n                                 XIII.\n\n\nIf Homer\u2019s works were completely destroyed, and nothing remained of the\nIliad and Odyssey but this series of pictures proposed by Caylus, should\nwe from these\u2014even supposing them to be executed by the best\nmasters\u2014form the same idea that we now have of the poet\u2019s descriptive\ntalent alone, setting aside all his other qualities as a poet?\n\nLet us take the first piece that comes to hand,\u2014the picture of the\nplague.[96] What do we see on the canvas? Dead bodies, the flame of\nfuneral pyres, the dying busied with the dead, the angry god upon a\ncloud discharging his arrows. The profuse wealth of the picture becomes\npoverty in the poet. Should we attempt to restore the text of Homer from\nthis picture, what can we make him say? \u201cThereupon the wrath of Apollo\nwas kindled, and he shot his arrows among the Grecian army. Many Greeks\ndied, and their bodies were burned.\u201d Now let us turn to Homer\nhimself:[96]\n\n            \u1f6b\u03c2 \u1f14\u03c6\u03b1\u03c4\u2019 \u03b5\u1f50\u03c7\u03cc\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f14\u03ba\u03bb\u03c5\u03b5 \u03a6\u03bf\u1fd6\u03b2\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f08\u03c0\u03cc\u03bb\u03bb\u03c9\u03bd,\n            \u03b2\u1fc6 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u2019 \u039f\u1f50\u03bb\u03cd\u03bc\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf \u03ba\u03b1\u03c1\u03ae\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd \u03c7\u03c9\u03cc\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u03ba\u1fc6\u03c1,\n            \u03c4\u03cc\u03be\u2019 \u1f64\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f14\u03c7\u03c9\u03bd \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u03b7\u03c1\u03b5\u03c6\u03ad\u03b1 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03c6\u03b1\u03c1\u03ad\u03c4\u03c1\u03b7\u03bd.\n            \u1f14\u03ba\u03bb\u03b1\u03b3\u03be\u03b1\u03bd \u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u03c1\u2019 \u1f40\u03ca\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u1f76 \u1f10\u03c0\u2019 \u1f64\u03bc\u03c9\u03bd \u03c7\u03c9\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf,\n            \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03ba\u03b9\u03bd\u03b7\u03b8\u03ad\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2\u00b7 \u1f43 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f24\u03ca\u03b5 \u03bd\u03c5\u03ba\u03c4\u1f76 \u1f10\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03ce\u03c2.\n            \u1f15\u03b6\u03b5\u03c4\u2019 \u1f14\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03c4\u2019 \u1f00\u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03b5\u03c5\u03b8\u03b5 \u03bd\u03b5\u1ff6\u03bd, \u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u1f70 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f30\u1f78\u03bd \u1f15\u03b7\u03ba\u03b5\u03bd\u00b7\n            \u03b4\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u1f74 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03bb\u03b1\u03b3\u03b3\u1f74 \u03b3\u03ad\u03bd\u03b5\u03c4\u2019 \u1f00\u03c1\u03b3\u03c5\u03c1\u03ad\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf \u03b2\u03b9\u03bf\u1fd6\u03bf.\n            \u03bf\u1f50\u03c1\u1fc6\u03b1\u03c2 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03c0\u03c1\u1ff6\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u1ff4\u03c7\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03ba\u03cd\u03bd\u03b1\u03c2 \u1f00\u03c1\u03b3\u03bf\u03cd\u03c2,\n            \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f14\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03c4\u2019 \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c3\u03b9 \u03b2\u03ad\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c7\u03b5\u03c0\u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u1f72\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c6\u03b9\u03b5\u1f76\u03c2\n            \u03b2\u03ac\u03bb\u03bb\u2019\u00b7 \u03b1\u1f30\u03b5\u1f76 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c0\u03c5\u03c1\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bd\u03b5\u03ba\u03cd\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03af\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf \u03b8\u03b1\u03bc\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1\u03af.\n\nThe poet here is as far beyond the painter, as life is better than a\npicture. Wrathful, with bow and quiver, Apollo descends from the\nOlympian towers. I not only see him, but hear him. At every step the\narrows rattle on the shoulders of the angry god. He enters among the\nhost like the night. Now he seats himself over against the ships, and,\nwith a terrible clang of the silver bow, sends his first shaft against\nthe mules and dogs. Next he turns his poisoned darts upon the warriors\nthemselves, and unceasing blaze on every side the corpse-laden pyres. It\nis impossible to translate into any other language the musical painting\nheard in the poet\u2019s words. Equally impossible would it be to infer it\nfrom the canvas. Yet this is the least of the advantages possessed by\nthe poetical picture. Its chief superiority is that it leads us through\na whole gallery of pictures up to the point depicted by the artist.\n\nBut the plague is perhaps not a favorable subject for a picture. Take\nthe council of the gods,[97] which is more particularly addressed to the\neye. An open palace of gold, groups of the fairest and most majestic\nforms, goblet in hand, served by eternal youth in the person of Hebe.\nWhat architecture! what masses of light and shade! what contrasts! what\nvariety of expression! Where shall I begin, where cease, to feast my\neyes? If the painter thus enchant me, how much more will the poet! I\nopen the book and find myself deceived. I read four good, plain lines,\nwhich might very appropriately be written under the painting. They\ncontain material for a picture, but are in themselves none.[97]\n\n              \u039f\u1f31 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03b8\u03b5\u03bf\u1f76 \u03c0\u1f70\u03c1 \u0396\u03b7\u03bd\u1f76 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u03ae\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9 \u1f20\u03b3\u03bf\u03c1\u03cc\u03c9\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\n              \u03c7\u03c1\u03c5\u03c3\u03ad\u1ff3 \u1f10\u03bd \u03b4\u03b1\u03c0\u03ad\u03b4\u1ff3, \u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u1f70 \u03b4\u03ad \u03c3\u03c6\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9 \u03c0\u03cc\u03c4\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1 \u1f2d\u03b2\u03b7\n              \u03bd\u03ad\u03ba\u03c4\u03b1\u03c1 \u1f10\u1ff3\u03bd\u03bf\u03c7\u03cc\u03b5\u03b9\u00b7 \u03c4\u03bf\u1f76 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c7\u03c1\u03c5\u03c3\u03ad\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b5\u03c0\u03ac\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd\n              \u03b4\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u03ad\u03c7\u03b1\u03c4\u2019 \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb\u03ae\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2, \u03a4\u03c1\u03ce\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03cc\u03bb\u03b9\u03bd \u03b5\u1f30\u03c3\u03bf\u03c1\u03cc\u03c9\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2.\n\nApollonius, or a more indifferent poet still, would not have said it\nworse. Here Homer is as far behind the artist as, in the former\ninstance, he surpassed him.\n\nYet, except in these four lines, Caylus finds no single picture in the\nwhole fourth book of the Iliad. \u201cRich as this book is,\u201d he says, \u201cin its\nmanifold exhortations to battle, in the abundance of its conspicuous and\ncontrasting characters, in the skill with which the masses to be set in\nmotion are brought before us, it is yet entirely unavailable for\npainting.\u201d \u201cRich as it otherwise is,\u201d he might have added, \u201cin what are\ncalled poetic pictures.\u201d For surely in this fourth book we find as many\nsuch pictures, and as perfect, as in any of the whole poem. Where is\nthere a more detailed, a more striking picture than that of Pandarus\nbreaking the truce at the instigation of Minerva, and discharging his\narrow at Menelaus? than that of the advance of the Grecian army? or of\nthe mutual attack? or of the deed of Ulysses, whereby he avenges the\ndeath of his friend Leucus?\n\nWhat must we conclude, except that not a few of the finest pictures in\nHomer are no pictures for the artist? that the artist can extract\npictures from him where he himself has none? that such of his as the\nartist can use would be poor indeed did they show us no more than we see\non the canvas? what, in short, but a negative answer to my question?\nPainted pictures drawn from the poems of Homer, however numerous and\nhowever admirable they may be, can give us no idea of the descriptive\ntalent of the poet.\n\n\n\n\n                                  XIV.\n\n\nIf it, then, be true that a poem not in itself picturesque may yet be\nrich in subjects for an artist, while another in a high degree\npicturesque may yield him nothing, this puts an end to the theory of\nCount Caylus, that the test of a poem is its availability for the\nartist, and that a poet\u2019s rank should depend upon the number of pictures\nhe supplies to the painter.[98]\n\nFar be it from us to give this theory even the sanction of our silence.\nMilton would be the first to fall an innocent victim. Indeed, the\ncontemptuous judgment which Caylus passes upon the English poet would\nseem to be the result not so much of national taste as of this assumed\nrule. Milton resembles Homer, he says, in little excepting loss of\nsight. Milton, it is true, can fill no picture galleries. But if, so\nlong as I retained my bodily eye, its sphere must be the measure of my\ninward vision, then I should esteem its loss a gain, as freeing me from\nsuch limitations.\n\nThe fact that \u201cParadise Lost\u201d furnishes few subjects for a painter no\nmore prevents it from being the greatest epic since Homer, than the\nstory of the passion of Christ becomes a poem, because you can hardly\ninsert the head of a pin in any part of the narrative without touching\nsome passage which has employed a crowd of the greatest artists. The\nevangelists state their facts with the dryest possible simplicity, and\nthe painter uses their various details while the narrators themselves\nmanifested not the smallest spark of genius for the picturesque. There\nare picturesque and unpicturesque facts, and the historian may relate\nthe most picturesque without picturesqueness, as the poet can make a\npicture of those least adapted to the painter\u2019s use.\n\nTo regard the matter otherwise is to allow ourselves to be misled by the\ndouble meaning of a word. A picture in poetry is not necessarily one\nwhich can be transferred to canvas. But every touch, or every\ncombination of touches, by means of which the poet brings his subject so\nvividly before us that we are more conscious of the subject than of his\nwords, is picturesque, and makes what we call a picture; that is, it\nproduces that degree of illusion which a painted picture is peculiarly\nqualified to excite, and which we in fact most frequently and naturally\nexperience in the contemplation of the painted canvas.[99]\n\n\n\n\n                                  XV.\n\n\nExperience shows that the poet can produce this degree of illusion by\nthe representation of other than visible objects. He therefore has at\nhis command whole classes of subjects which elude the artist. Dryden\u2019s\n\u201cOde on Cecilia\u2019s Day\u201d is full of musical pictures, but gives no\nemployment to the brush. But I will not lose myself in examples of this\nkind, for they after all teach us little more than that colors are not\ntones, and ears not eyes.\n\nI will confine myself to pictures of visible objects, available alike to\npoet and painter. What is the reason that many poetical pictures of this\nclass are unsuitable for the painter, while many painted pictures lose\ntheir chief effect in the hands of the poet?\n\nExamples may help us. I revert to the picture of Pandarus in the fourth\nbook of the Iliad, as one of the most detailed and graphic in all Homer.\nFrom the seizing of the bow to the flight of the arrow every incident is\npainted; and each one follows its predecessor so closely, and yet is so\ndistinct from it, that a person who knew nothing of the use of a bow\ncould learn it from this picture alone.[100] Pandarus brings forth his\nbow, attaches the string, opens the quiver, selects a well-feathered\narrow never before used, adjusts the notch of the arrow to the string,\nand draws back both string and arrow; the string approaches his breast,\nthe iron point of the arrow nears the bow, the great arched bow springs\nback with a mighty twang, the cord rings, and away leaps the eager arrow\nspeeding towards the mark.\n\nCaylus cannot have overlooked this admirable picture. What, then, did he\nfind which made him judge it no fitting subject for an artist? And what\nin the council and carousal of the gods made that seem more adapted to\nhis purpose? The subjects are visible in one case as in the other, and\nwhat more does the painter need for his canvas?\n\nThe difficulty must be this. Although both themes, as representing\nvisible objects, are equally adapted to painting, there is this\nessential difference between them: one is a visible progressive action,\nthe various parts of which follow one another in time; the other is a\nvisible stationary action, the development of whose various parts takes\nplace in space. Since painting, because its signs or means of imitation\ncan be combined only in space, must relinquish all representations of\ntime, therefore progressive actions, as such, cannot come within its\nrange. It must content itself with actions in space; in other words,\nwith mere bodies, whose attitude lets us infer their action. Poetry, on\nthe contrary\u2014\n\n\n\n\n                                  XVI.\n\n\nBut I will try to prove my conclusions by starting from first\nprinciples.\n\nI argue thus. If it be true that painting employs wholly different signs\nor means of imitation from poetry,\u2014the one using forms and colors in\nspace, the other articulate sounds in time,\u2014and if signs must\nunquestionably stand in convenient relation with the thing signified,\nthen signs arranged side by side can represent only objects existing\nside by side, or whose parts so exist, while consecutive signs can\nexpress only objects which succeed each other, or whose parts succeed\neach other, in time.\n\nObjects which exist side by side, or whose parts so exist, are called\nbodies. Consequently bodies with their visible properties are the\npeculiar subjects of painting.\n\nObjects which succeed each other, or whose parts succeed each other in\ntime, are actions. Consequently actions are the peculiar subjects of\npoetry.\n\nAll bodies, however, exist not only in space, but also in time. They\ncontinue, and, at any moment of their continuance, may assume a\ndifferent appearance and stand in different relations. Every one of\nthese momentary appearances and groupings was the result of a preceding,\nmay become the cause of a following, and is therefore the centre of a\npresent action. Consequently painting can imitate actions also, but only\nas they are suggested through forms.\n\nActions, on the other hand, cannot exist independently, but must always\nbe joined to certain agents. In so far as those agents are bodies or are\nregarded as such, poetry describes also bodies, but only indirectly\nthrough actions.\n\nPainting, in its coexistent compositions, can use but a single moment of\nan action, and must therefore choose the most pregnant one, the one most\nsuggestive of what has gone before and what is to follow.\n\nPoetry, in its progressive imitations, can use but a single attribute of\nbodies, and must choose that one which gives the most vivid picture of\nthe body as exercised in this particular action.\n\nHence the rule for the employment of a single descriptive epithet, and\nthe cause of the rare occurrence of descriptions of physical objects.\n\nI should place less confidence in this dry chain of conclusions, did I\nnot find them fully confirmed by Homer, or, rather, had they not been\nfirst suggested to me by Homer\u2019s method. These principles alone furnish\na key to the noble style of the Greek, and enable us to pass just\njudgment on the opposite method of many modern poets who insist upon\nemulating the artist in a point where they must of necessity remain\ninferior to him.\n\nI find that Homer paints nothing but progressive actions. All bodies,\nall separate objects, are painted only as they take part in such\nactions, and generally with a single touch. No wonder, then, that\nartists find in Homer\u2019s pictures little or nothing to their purpose, and\nthat their only harvest is where the narration brings together in a\nspace favorable to art a number of beautiful shapes in graceful\nattitudes, however little the poet himself may have painted shapes,\nattitudes, or space. If we study one by one the whole series of pictures\nproposed by Caylus, we shall in every case find proof of the justness of\nthese conclusions.\n\nHere, then, I leave the Count with his desire to make the painter\u2019s\ncolor-stone the touchstone of the poet, and proceed to examine more\nclosely the style of Homer.\n\nFor a single thing, as I have said, Homer has commonly but a single\nepithet. A ship is to him at one time the black ship, at another the\nhollow ship, and again the swift ship. At most it is the well-manned\nblack ship. Further painting of the ship he does not attempt. But of the\nship\u2019s sailing, its departure and arrival, he makes so detailed a\npicture, that the artist would have to paint five or six, to put the\nwhole upon his canvas.\n\nIf circumstances compel Homer to fix our attention for a length of time\non any one object, he still makes no picture of it which an artist can\nfollow with his brush. By countless devices he presents this single\nobject in a series of moments, in every one of which it assumes a\ndifferent form. Only in the final one can the painter seize it, and show\nus ready made what the artist has been showing us in the making. If\nHomer, for instance, wants us to see the chariot of Juno, Hebe must put\nit together piece by piece before our eyes. We see the wheels, the axle,\nthe seat, the pole, the traces and straps, not already in place, but as\nthey come together under Hebe\u2019s hands. The wheels are the only part on\nwhich the poet bestows more than a single epithet. He shows us\nseparately the eight brazen spokes, the golden fellies, the tires of\nbrass, and the silver nave. It would almost seem that, as there was more\nthan one wheel, he wished to spend as much more time in the description\nas the putting on would require in reality.[101]\n\n            \u1f2d\u03b2\u03b7 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u2019 \u1f40\u03c7\u03ad\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b9 \u03b8\u03bf\u1ff6\u03c2 \u03b2\u03ac\u03bb\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03bc\u03c0\u03cd\u03bb\u03b1 \u03ba\u03cd\u03ba\u03bb\u03b1,\n            \u03c7\u03ac\u03bb\u03ba\u03b5\u03b1 \u1f40\u03ba\u03c4\u03ac\u03ba\u03bd\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1, \u03c3\u03b9\u03b4\u03b7\u03c1\u03ad\u1ff3 \u1f04\u03be\u03bf\u03bd\u03b9 \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u03af\u03c2.\n            \u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd \u1f24\u03c4\u03bf\u03b9 \u03c7\u03c1\u03c5\u03c3\u03ad\u03b7 \u1f34\u03c4\u03c5\u03c2 \u1f04\u03c6\u03b8\u03b9\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2, \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f55\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd\n            \u03c7\u03ac\u03bb\u03ba\u03b5\u2019 \u1f10\u03c0\u03af\u03c3\u03c3\u03c9\u03c4\u03c1\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03b1\u03c1\u03b7\u03c1\u03cc\u03c4\u03b1, \u03b8\u03b1\u1fe6\u03bc\u03b1 \u1f30\u03b4\u03ad\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9\u00b7\n            \u03c0\u03bb\u1fc6\u03bc\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f00\u03c1\u03b3\u03cd\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b5\u1f30\u03c3\u1f76 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03af\u03b4\u03c1\u03bf\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9 \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u03bf\u03c4\u03ad\u03c1\u03c9\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd.\n            \u03b4\u03af\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c7\u03c1\u03c5\u03c3\u03ad\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f00\u03c1\u03b3\u03c5\u03c1\u03ad\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f31\u03bc\u1fb6\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd\n            \u1f10\u03bd\u03c4\u03ad\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9, \u03b4\u03bf\u03b9\u03b1\u1f76 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03af\u03b4\u03c1\u03bf\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9 \u1f04\u03bd\u03c4\u03c5\u03b3\u03ad\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f30\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd.\n            \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f10\u03be \u1f00\u03c1\u03b3\u03cd\u03c1\u03b5\u03bf\u03c2 \u1fe5\u03c5\u03bc\u1f78\u03c2 \u03c0\u03ad\u03bb\u03b5\u03bd\u00b7 \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f10\u03c0\u2019 \u1f04\u03ba\u03c1\u1ff3\n            \u03b4\u1fc6\u03c3\u03b5 \u03c7\u03c1\u03cd\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u1f78\u03bd \u03b6\u03c5\u03b3\u03cc\u03bd, \u1f10\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03bb\u03ad\u03c0\u03b1\u03b4\u03bd\u03b1\n            \u03ba\u03ac\u03bb\u2019 \u1f14\u03b2\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5, \u03c7\u03c1\u03cd\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u2019\u00b7\n\nWhen Homer wishes to tell us how Agamemnon was dressed, he makes the\nking put on every article of raiment in our presence: the soft tunic,\nthe great mantle, the beautiful sandals, and the sword. When he is thus\nfully equipped he grasps his sceptre. We see the clothes while the poet\nis describing the act of dressing. An inferior writer would have\ndescribed the clothes down to the minutest fringe, and of the action we\nshould have seen nothing.[102]\n\n                                \u03bc\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u1f78\u03bd \u03b4\u2019 \u1f14\u03bd\u03b4\u03c5\u03bd\u03b5 \u03c7\u03b9\u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd\u03b1,\n              \u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u1f78\u03bd \u03bd\u03b7\u03b3\u03ac\u03c4\u03b5\u03bf\u03bd, \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1 \u03b2\u03ac\u03bb\u03bb\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf \u03c6\u1fb6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2\u00b7\n              \u03c0\u03bf\u03c3\u03c3\u1f76 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f51\u03c0\u1f78 \u03bb\u03b9\u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f10\u03b4\u03ae\u03c3\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf \u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u1f70 \u03c0\u03ad\u03b4\u03b9\u03bb\u03b1,\n              \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u1f76 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u03c1\u2019 \u1f64\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u03b2\u03ac\u03bb\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf \u03be\u03af\u03c6\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f00\u03c1\u03b3\u03c5\u03c1\u03cc\u03b7\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd.\n              \u03b5\u1f35\u03bb\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c3\u03ba\u1fc6\u03c0\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u03c0\u03b1\u03c4\u03c1\u03ce\u03ca\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f04\u03c6\u03b8\u03b9\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u03b1\u1f30\u03b5\u03af\u00b7\n\nHow does he manage when he desires to give a more full and minute\npicture of the sceptre, which is here called only ancestral and\nundecaying, as a similar one in another place is only \u03c7\u03c1\u03c5\u03c3\u03ad\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f25\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\n\u03c0\u03b5\u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd,\u2014golden-studded? Does he paint for us, besides the golden\nnails, the wood, and the carved head? He might have done so, had he been\nwriting a description for a book of heraldry, from which at some later\nday an exact copy was to be made. Yet I have no doubt that many a modern\npoet would have given such heraldic description in the honest belief\nthat he was really making a picture himself, because he was giving the\npainter material for one. But what does Homer care how far he outstrips\nthe painter? Instead of a copy, he gives us the history of the sceptre.\nFirst we see it in the workshop of Vulcan; then it shines in the hands\nof Jupiter; now it betokens the dignity of Mercury; now it is the baton\nof warlike Pelops; and again the shepherd\u2019s staff of peace-loving\nAtreus.[103]\n\n             \u03c3\u03ba\u1fc6\u03c0\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd, \u03c4\u1f78 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u1f2d\u03c6\u03b1\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u03ba\u03ac\u03bc\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b5\u03cd\u03c7\u03c9\u03bd\u00b7\n             \u1f2d\u03c6\u03b1\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03b4\u1ff6\u03ba\u03b5 \u0394\u03b9\u1f76 \u039a\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03af\u03c9\u03bd\u03b9 \u1f04\u03bd\u03b1\u03ba\u03c4\u03b9,\n             \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f04\u03c1\u03b1 \u0396\u03b5\u1f7a\u03c2 \u03b4\u1ff6\u03ba\u03b5 \u03b4\u03b9\u03b1\u03ba\u03c4\u03cc\u03c1\u1ff3 \u1f08\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9\u03c6\u03cc\u03bd\u03c4\u1fc3\u00b7\n             \u1f19\u03c1\u03bc\u03b5\u03af\u03b1\u03c2 \u03b4\u1f72 \u1f04\u03bd\u03b1\u03be \u03b4\u1ff6\u03ba\u03b5\u03bd \u03a0\u03ad\u03bb\u03bf\u03c0\u03b9 \u03c0\u03bb\u03b7\u03be\u03af\u03c0\u03c0\u1ff3,\n             \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f43 \u03b1\u1f56\u03c4\u03b5 \u03a0\u03ad\u03bb\u03bf\u03c8 \u03b4\u1ff6\u03ba\u2019 \u1f08\u03c4\u03c1\u03ad\u03ca, \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03b9 \u03bb\u03b1\u1ff6\u03bd\u00b7\n             \u1f08\u03c4\u03c1\u03b5\u1f7a\u03c2 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03b8\u03bd\u03ae\u03c3\u03ba\u03c9\u03bd \u1f14\u03bb\u03b9\u03c0\u03b5\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03cd\u03b1\u03c1\u03bd\u03b9 \u0398\u03c5\u03ad\u03c3\u03c4\u1fc3,\n             \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f43 \u03b1\u1f56\u03c4\u03b5 \u0398\u03c5\u03ad\u03c3\u03c4\u2019 \u1f08\u03b3\u03b1\u03bc\u03ad\u03bc\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd\u03b9 \u03bb\u03b5\u1fd6\u03c0\u03b5 \u03c6\u03bf\u03c1\u1fc6\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9,\n             \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03bb\u1fc7\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u03bd\u03ae\u03c3\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f0c\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03ca \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u1f76 \u1f00\u03bd\u03ac\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd.\n\nAnd so at last I know this sceptre better than if a painter should put\nit before my eyes, or a second Vulcan give it into my hands.\n\nIt would not surprise me to find that some one of Homer\u2019s old\ncommentators had admired this passage as a perfect allegory of the\norigin, progress, establishment, and final inheritance of monarchical\npower among men. I should smile indeed were I to read that the maker of\nthe sceptre, Vulcan, as fire, as that which is of supreme importance to\nthe maintenance of mankind, typified the removal of the necessities\nwhich induced the early races of men to subject themselves to a single\nruler; that the first king was a son of Time (\u0396\u03b5\u1f7a\u03c2 \u039a\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03af\u03c9\u03bd), revered and\nvenerable, who desired to share his power with a wise and eloquent man,\na Mercury (\u0394\u03b9\u03b1\u03ba\u03c4\u03cc\u03c1\u1ff3 \u1f08\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9\u03c6\u03cc\u03bd\u03c4\u1fc3), or to resign it wholly to him; that the\nwise speaker, at the time when the young state was threatened by foreign\nenemies, delivered his supreme authority to the bravest warrior (\u03a0\u03ad\u03bb\u03bf\u03c0\u03b9\n\u03c0\u03bb\u03b7\u03be\u03af\u03c0\u03c0\u1ff3); that the brave warrior, after having subdued the enemies and\nsecured the safety of the realm, let this power play into the hands of\nhis son, who, as a peace-loving ruler, a beneficent shepherd of his\npeople (\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03bc\u1f74\u03bd \u03bb\u03b1\u1ff6\u03bd), introduced comfort and luxury; that thus the way\nwas opened, after his death, for the richest of his relations (\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03cd\u03b1\u03c1\u03bd\u03b9\n\u0398\u03c5\u03ad\u03c3\u03c4\u1fc3) to obtain by gifts and bribery, and finally to secure to his\nfamily for ever, as a piece of property obtained by purchase, that\nauthority which had originally been conferred as a mark of confidence,\nand had been regarded by merit rather as a burden than an honor. I\nshould smile at all this, but it would increase my respect for a poet to\nwhom so much could be attributed.\n\nBut this is a digression. I am now considering the history of the\nsceptre as a device for making us linger over a single object, without\nentering into a tiresome description of its various parts. Again, when\nAchilles swears by his sceptre to be revenged on Agamemnon for his\ncontemptuous treatment, Homer gives us the history of this sceptre. We\nsee it still green upon the mountains, the axe severs it from the parent\ntrunk, strips it of leaves and bark, and makes it ready to serve the\njudges of the people, as the token of their godlike office.[104]\n\n          \u03bd\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bc\u1f70 \u03c4\u03cc\u03b4\u03b5 \u03c3\u03ba\u1fc6\u03c0\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd, \u03c4\u1f78 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03bf\u1f54 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c6\u03cd\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f44\u03b6\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2\n          \u03c6\u03cd\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9, \u1f10\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u1f74 \u03c0\u03c1\u1ff6\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c4\u03bf\u03bc\u1f74\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd \u1f44\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b9 \u03bb\u03ad\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9\u03c0\u03b5\u03bd,\n          \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u2019 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03b8\u03b7\u03bb\u03ae\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u00b7 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 \u03b3\u03ac\u03c1 \u1fe5\u03ac \u1f11 \u03c7\u03b1\u03bb\u03ba\u1f78\u03c2 \u1f14\u03bb\u03b5\u03c8\u03b5\u03bd\n          \u03c6\u03cd\u03bb\u03bb\u03ac \u03c4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c6\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9\u03cc\u03bd\u00b7 \u03bd\u1fe6\u03bd \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03ad \u03bc\u03b9\u03bd \u03c5\u1f37\u03b5\u03c2 \u1f08\u03c7\u03b1\u03b9\u1ff6\u03bd\n          \u1f10\u03bd \u03c0\u03b1\u03bb\u03ac\u03bc\u1fc3\u03c2 \u03c6\u03bf\u03c1\u03ad\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9 \u03b4\u03b9\u03ba\u03b1\u03c3\u03c0\u03cc\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9, \u03bf\u1f35\u03c4\u03b5 \u03b8\u03ad\u03bc\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b1\u03c2\n          \u03c0\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2 \u0394\u03b9\u1f78\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f30\u03c1\u03cd\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9.\n\nHomer\u2019s object was not so much to describe two staves of different shape\nand material, as to give us a graphic picture of the different degrees\nof power which these staves represented. One the work of Vulcan, the\nother cut upon the hills by an unknown hand; one the old possession of a\nnoble house, the other destined to be grasped by the first comer; one\nextended by a monarch over many islands and over all Argos, the other\nborne by one from among the Greeks, who, in connection with others, had\nbeen intrusted with the duty of upholding the laws. This was in fact the\ndifference between Agamemnon and Achilles; and Achilles, even in the\nblindness of his passion, could not but admit it.\n\nNot only when Homer\u2019s descriptions have these higher aims in view, but\neven when his sole object is the picture, he will yet break this up into\na sort of history of the object in order that the various parts, which\nwe see side by side in nature, may just as naturally follow each other\nin his picture, and, as it were, keep pace with the flow of the\nnarrative.\n\nHe wants, for instance, to paint us the bow of Pandarus. It is of horn,\nof a certain length, well polished, and tipped at both ends with gold.\nWhat does he do? Does he enumerate these details thus drily one after\nanother? By no means. That would be telling off such a bow, setting it\nas a copy, but not painting it. He begins with the hunting of the wild\ngoat from whose horns the bow was made. Pandarus had lain in wait for\nhim among the rocks and slain him. Owing to the extraordinary size of\nthe horns, he decided to use them for a bow. They come under the\nworkman\u2019s hands, who joins them together, polishes, and tips them. And\nthus, as I have said, the poet shows us in the process of creation, what\nthe painter can only show us as already existing.[105]\n\n                      \u03c4\u03cc\u03be\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03cd\u03be\u03bf\u03bf\u03bd \u1f30\u03be\u03ac\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b1\u1f30\u03b3\u1f78\u03c2\n            \u1f00\u03b3\u03c1\u03af\u03bf\u03c5, \u1f45\u03bd \u1fe5\u03ac \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u2019 \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f78\u03c2 \u03c3\u03c4\u03ad\u03c1\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf \u03c4\u03c5\u03c7\u03ae\u03c3\u03b1\u03c2\n            \u03c0\u03ad\u03c4\u03c1\u03b7\u03c2 \u1f10\u03ba\u03b2\u03b1\u03af\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1, \u03b4\u03b5\u03b4\u03b5\u03b3\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03b4\u03bf\u03ba\u1fc7\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd,\n            \u03b2\u03b5\u03b2\u03bb\u03ae\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c0\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2 \u03c3\u03c4\u1fc6\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2\u00b7 \u1f41 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f55\u03c0\u03c4\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f14\u03bc\u03c0\u03b5\u03c3\u03b5 \u03c0\u03ad\u03c4\u03c1\u1fc3.\n            \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03ba\u03ad\u03c1\u03b1 \u1f10\u03ba \u03ba\u03b5\u03c6\u03b1\u03bb\u1fc6\u03c2 \u1f11\u03ba\u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\u03b4\u03b5\u03ba\u03ac\u03b4\u03c9\u03c1\u03b1 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c6\u03cd\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9\u00b7\n            \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f70 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u1f00\u03c3\u03ba\u03ae\u03c3\u03b1\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\u03bf\u03be\u03cc\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f24\u03c1\u03b1\u03c1\u03b5 \u03c4\u03ad\u03ba\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd,\n            \u03c0\u1fb6\u03bd \u03b4\u2019 \u03b5\u1f56 \u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03ae\u03bd\u03b1\u03c2, \u03c7\u03c1\u03c5\u03c3\u03ad\u03b7\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u03ad\u03b8\u03b7\u03ba\u03b5 \u03ba\u03bf\u03c1\u03ce\u03bd\u03b7\u03bd.\n\nI should never have done, were I to try to write out all the examples of\nthis kind. They will occur in numbers to every one familiar with Homer.\n\n\n\n\n                                 XVII.\n\n\nBut, it may be urged, the signs employed in poetry not only follow each\nother, but are also arbitrary; and, as arbitrary signs, they are\ncertainly capable of expressing things as they exist in space. Homer\nhimself furnishes examples of this. We have but to call to mind his\nshield of Achilles to have an instance of how circumstantially and yet\npoetically a single object can be described according to its coexistent\nparts.\n\nI will proceed to answer this double objection. I call it double,\nbecause a just conclusion must hold, though unsupported by examples, and\non the other hand the example of Homer has great weight with me, even\nwhen I am unable to justify it by rules.\n\nIt is true that since the signs of speech are arbitrary, the parts of a\nbody can by their means be made to follow each other as readily as in\nnature they exist side by side. But this is a property of the signs of\nlanguage in general, not of those peculiar to poetry. The prose writer\nis satisfied with being intelligible, and making his representations\nplain and clear. But this is not enough for the poet. He desires to\npresent us with images so vivid, that we fancy we have the things\nthemselves before us, and cease for the moment to be conscious of his\nwords, the instruments with which he effects his purpose. That was the\npoint made in the definition given above of a poetical picture. But the\npoet must always paint; and now let us see in how far bodies, considered\nin relation to their parts lying together in space, are fit subjects for\nthis painting.\n\nHow do we obtain a clear idea of a thing in space? First we observe its\nseparate parts, then the union of these parts, and finally the whole.\nOur senses perform these various operations with such amazing rapidity\nas to make them seem but one. This rapidity is absolutely essential to\nour obtaining an idea of the whole, which is nothing more than the\nresult of the conception of the parts and of their connection with each\nother. Suppose now that the poet should lead us in proper order from one\npart of the object to the other; suppose he should succeed in making the\nconnection of these parts perfectly clear to us; how much time will he\nhave consumed?\n\nThe details, which the eye takes in at a glance, he enumerates slowly\none by one, and it often happens that, by the time he has brought us to\nthe last, we have forgotten the first. Yet from these details we are to\nform a picture. When we look at an object the various parts are always\npresent to the eye. It can run over them again and again. The ear,\nhowever, loses the details it has heard, unless memory retain them. And\nif they be so retained, what pains and effort it costs to recall their\nimpressions in the proper order and with even the moderate degree of\nrapidity necessary to the obtaining of a tolerable idea of the whole.\n\nLet us take an example which may be called a masterpiece of its kind.\n\n        Dort ragt das hohe Haupt vom edeln Enziane\n      Weit \u00fcbern niedern Chor der P\u00f6belkr\u00e4uter hin,\n      Ein ganzes Blumenvolk dient unter seiner Fahne,\n      Sein blauer Bruder selbst b\u00fcckt sich und ehret ihn.\n      Der Blumen helles Gold, in Strahlen umgebogen,\n      Th\u00fcrmt sich am Stengel auf, und kr\u00f6nt sein grau Gewand,\n      Der Bl\u00e4tter glattes Weiss mit tiefem Gr\u00fcn durchzogen,\n      Strahlt von dem bunten Blitz von feuchtem Diamant.\n      Gerechtestes Gesetz! dass Kraft sich Zier verm\u00e4hle,\n      In einem sch\u00f6nen Leib wohnt eine sch\u00f6n\u2019re Seele.\n\n        Hier kriecht ein niedrig Kraut, gleich einem grauen Nebel,\n      Dem die Natur sein Blatt im Kreuze hingelegt,\n      Die holde Blume zeigt die zwei verg\u00f6ldten Schn\u00e4bel,\n      Die ein von Amethyst gebildter Vogel tr\u00e4gt.\n      Dort wirft ein gl\u00e4nzend Blatt, in Finger ausgekerbet,\n      Auf einen hellen Bach den gr\u00fcnen Wiederschein;\n      Der Blumen zarten Schnee, den matter Purpur f\u00e4rbet,\n      Schliesst ein gestreifter Stern in weisse Strahlen ein.\n      Smaragd und Rosen bl\u00fchn auch auf zertretner Heide,\n      Und Felsen decken sich mit einem Purpurkleide.[106]\n\nThe learned poet is here painting plants and flowers with great art and\nin strict accordance with nature, but there is no illusion in his\npicture. I do not mean that a person who had never seen these plants and\nflowers could form little or no idea of them from his description.\nPerhaps all poetical pictures require a previous knowledge of their\nsubject. Neither would I deny that a person possessing such knowledge\nmight derive from the poet a more vivid idea of certain details. I only\nask how it is with a conception of the whole. If that is to become more\nvivid, none of the separate details must stand in undue prominence, but\nthe new illumination must be equally shared by all. Our imagination must\nbe able to embrace them all with equal rapidity in order to form from\nthem in an instant that one harmonious whole which the eye takes in at a\nglance. Is that the case here? If not, how can it be said, \u201cthat the\nmost exact copy produced by a painter is dull and faint compared with\nthis poetical description?\u201d[107] It is far inferior to what lines and\ncolors can produce on canvas. The critic who bestowed upon it this\nexaggerated praise must have regarded it from an entirely false point of\nview. He must have looked at the foreign graces which the poet has woven\ninto his description, at his idealization of vegetable life, and his\ndevelopment of inward perfections, to which outward beauty serves but as\nthe shell. These he was considering, and not beauty itself or the degree\nof resemblance and vividness of the image, which painter and poet\nrespectively can give us. Upon this last point every thing depends, and\nwhoever maintains that the lines,\n\n        Der Blumen helles Gold in Strahlen umgebogen,\n        Th\u00fcrmt sich am Stengel auf, und kr\u00f6nt sein grau Gewand,\n        Der Bl\u00e4tter glattes Weiss, mit tiefem Gr\u00fcn durchzogen,\n        Strahlt von dem bunten Blitz von feuchtem Diamant,\n\ncan vie in vividness of impression with a flowerpiece by a Huysum, must\neither never have analyzed his own sensations, or must wilfully ignore\nthem. It might be very pleasant to hear the lines read if we had the\nflowers in our hand; but, taken by themselves, they say little or\nnothing. I hear in every word the laborious poet, but the thing itself I\nam unable to see.\n\nOnce more, then, I do not deny that language has the power of describing\na corporeal whole according to its parts. It certainly has, because its\nsigns, although consecutive, are nevertheless arbitrary. But I deny that\nthis power exists in language as the instrument of poetry. For illusion,\nwhich is the special aim of poetry, is not produced by these verbal\ndescriptions of objects, nor can it ever be so produced. The coexistence\nof the body comes into collision with the sequence of the words, and\nalthough while the former is getting resolved into the latter, the\ndismemberment of the whole into its parts is a help to us, yet the\nreunion of these parts into a whole is made extremely difficult, and not\ninfrequently impossible.\n\nWhere the writer does not aim at illusion, but is simply addressing the\nunderstanding of his readers with the desire of awakening distinct and,\nas far as possible, complete ideas, then these descriptions of corporeal\nobjects, inadmissible as they are in poetry, are perfectly appropriate.\nNot only the prose writer, but the didactic poet (for in as far as he is\ndidactic he is no poet) may use them with good effect. Thus Virgil, in\nhis Georgics, describes a cow fit for breeding:\u2014\n\n                                           Optima torv\u00e6\n           Forma bovis, cui turpe caput, cui plurima cervix,\n           Et crurum tenus a mento palearia pendent.\n           Tum longo nullus lateri modus: omnia magna:\n           Pes etiam, et camuris hirt\u00e6 sub cornibus aures.\n           Nec mihi displiceat maculis insignis et albo,\n           Aut juga detractans interdumque aspera cornu,\n           Et faciem tauro propior; qu\u00e6que ardua tota,\n           Et gradiens ima verrit vestigia cauda.[108]\n\nOr a handsome colt:\u2014\n\n                                        Illi ardua cervix,\n            Argutumque caput, brevis alvus, obesaque terga,\n            Luxuriatque toris animosum pectus, &c.[109]\n\nHere the poet is plainly concerned more with the setting forth of the\nseparate parts than with the effect of the whole. His object is to tell\nus the characteristics of a handsome colt and a good cow, so that we may\njudge of their excellence according to the number of these\ncharacteristics which they possess. Whether or not all these can be\nunited into a vivid picture was a matter of indifference to him.\n\nExcept for this purpose, elaborate pictures of bodily objects, unless\nhelped out by the above-mentioned Homeric device of making an actual\nseries out of their coexistent parts, have always been considered by the\nbest critics as ineffective trifles, requiring little or no genius.\n\u201cWhen a poetaster,\u201d says Horace, \u201ccan do nothing else, he falls to\ndescribing a grove, an altar, a brook winding through pleasant meadows,\na rushing river, or a rainbow.\u201d\n\n                                 Lucus et ara Dian\u00e6,\n         Et properantis aqu\u00e6 per am\u0153nos ambitus agros,\n         Aut flumen Rhenum, aut pluvius describitur arcus.[110]\n\nPope, when a man, looked back with contempt on the descriptive efforts\nof his poetic childhood. He expressly enjoined upon every one, who would\nnot prove himself unworthy the name of poet, to abandon as early as\npossible this fondness for description. A merely descriptive poem he\ndeclared to be a feast made up of sauces.[111] Herr Von Kleist, I know,\nprided himself very little on his \u201cSpring.\u201d Had he lived, he would have\nrefashioned it altogether. He wanted to introduce into it some plan, and\nwas meditating how he could best make the crowd of pictures, which\nseemed to have been drawn at random from the whole vast range of fresh\ncreation, rise in some natural order and follow each other in fitting\nsequence. He would, at the same time, have done what Marmontel,\ndoubtless with reference to his Eclogues, recommended to several German\npoets. He would have converted a series of pictures scantily interwoven\nwith mental emotions, into a series of emotions sparingly interspersed\nwith images.[112]\n\n\n\n\n                                 XVIII.\n\n\nAnd shall Homer nevertheless have fallen into those barren descriptions\nof material objects?\n\nLet us hope that only a few such passages can be cited. And even those\nfew, I venture to assert, will be found really to confirm the rule, to\nwhich they appear to form an exception.\n\nThe rule is this, that succession in time is the province of the poet,\ncoexistence in space that of the artist.\n\nTo bring together into one and the same picture two points of time\nnecessarily remote, as Mazzuoli does the rape of the Sabine women and\nthe reconciliation effected by them between their husbands and\nrelations; or as Titian does, representing in one piece the whole story\nof the Prodigal Son,\u2014his dissolute life, his misery, and repentance,\u2014is\nan encroachment of the painter on the domain of the poet, which good\ntaste can never sanction.\n\nTo try to present a complete picture to the reader by enumerating in\nsuccession several parts or things which in nature the eye necessarily\ntakes in at a glance, is an encroachment of the poet on the domain of\nthe painter, involving a great effort of the imagination to very little\npurpose.\n\nPainting and poetry should be like two just and friendly neighbors,\nneither of whom indeed is allowed to take unseemly liberties in the\nheart of the other\u2019s domain, but who exercise mutual forbearance on the\nborders, and effect a peaceful settlement for all the petty\nencroachments which circumstances may compel either to make in haste on\nthe rights of the other.\n\nI will not bring forward in support of this the fact that, in large\nhistorical pictures the single moment of time is always somewhat\nextended, and that perhaps no piece, very rich in figures, can be found,\nin which every character has exactly the motion and attitude proper to\nhim at that particular moment. The position of some belongs to a\npreceding point of time, that of others to a later. This is a liberty\nwhich the painter must justify by certain subtleties of arrangement,\nsuch as placing his figures more in the foreground or background, and\nthus making them take a more or less immediate interest in what is going\non. I will merely quote, in favor of my view, a criticism of Mengs on\nRaphael\u2019s drapery.[113] \u201cThere is a reason for all his folds, either in\nthe weight of the material or the tension of the limbs. We can often\ninfer from their present condition what they had been previously.\nRaphael indeed aimed at giving them significance in this way. We can\njudge from the folds whether, previously to the present posture, a leg\nor an arm had been more in front or more behind, whether a limb had been\nbent and is now straightening itself, or whether it had been\noutstretched and is now bending.\u201d Here unquestionably the artist unites\ninto one two distinct points of time. For, since the foot in its motion\nforward is immediately followed by that portion of the garment which\nrests upon it,\u2014unless indeed the garment be of exceedingly stiff\nmaterial, in which case it is ill adapted to painting,\u2014there can be no\nmoment at which the drapery assumes in the least degree any other fold\nthan the present posture of the limb demands. If any other be\nrepresented, then the fold is that of the preceding moment while the\nposition of the foot is that of the present. Few, however, will be\ninclined to deal thus strictly with the artist who finds it for his\ninterest to bring these two moments of time before us at once. Who will\nnot rather praise him for having had the wisdom and the courage to\ncommit a slight fault for the sake of greater fulness of expression?\n\nA similar indulgence is due to the poet. The continuity of his imitation\npermits him, strictly speaking, to touch at one moment on only a single\nside, a single property of his corporeal objects. But if the happy\nconstruction of his language enables him to do this with a single word,\nwhy should he not sometimes be allowed to add a second such word? why\nnot a third, if it be worth his while, or even a fourth? As I have said,\na ship in Homer is either simply the black ship, or the hollow ship, or\nthe swift ship; at most the well-manned black ship. That is true of his\nstyle in general. Occasionally a passage occurs where he adds a third\ndescriptive epithet:[114] \u039a\u03b1\u03bc\u03c0\u03cd\u03bb\u03b1 \u03ba\u03cd\u03ba\u03bb\u03b1, \u03c7\u03ac\u03bb\u03ba\u03b5\u03b1, \u1f40\u03ba\u03c4\u03ac\u03ba\u03bd\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1, \u201cround,\nbrazen, eight-spoked wheels.\u201d Even a fourth: \u1f00\u03c3\u03c0\u03af\u03b4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c3\u03b5 \u1f10\u0390\u03c3\u03b7\u03bd,\n\u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03ae\u03bd, \u03c7\u03b1\u03bb\u03ba\u03b5\u03af\u03b7\u03bd, \u1f10\u03be\u03ae\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd,[115] \u201ca uniformly smooth, beautiful, brazen,\nwrought shield.\u201d Who will not rather thank than blame him for this\nlittle luxuriance, when we perceive its good effect in a few suitable\npassages?\n\nThe true justification of both poet and painter shall not, however, be\nleft to rest upon this analogy of two friendly neighbors. A mere analogy\nfurnishes neither proof nor justification. I justify them in this way.\nAs in the picture the two moments of time follow each other so\nimmediately that we can without effort consider them as one, so in the\npoem the several touches answering to the different parts and properties\nin space are so condensed, and succeed each other so rapidly, that we\nseem to catch them all at once.\n\nHere, as I have said, Homer is greatly aided by his admirable language.\nIt not only allows him all possible freedom in multiplying and combining\nhis epithets, but enables him to arrange them so happily that we are\nrelieved of all awkward suspense with regard to the subject. Some of the\nmodern languages are destitute of one or more of those advantages. Those\nwhich, like the French, must have recourse to paraphrase, and convert\nthe \u03ba\u03b1\u03bc\u03c0\u03cd\u03bb\u03b1 \u03ba\u03cd\u03ba\u03bb\u03b1, \u03c7\u03ac\u03bb\u03ba\u03b5\u03b1, \u1f40\u03ba\u03c4\u03ac\u03ba\u03bd\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1 of Homer into \u201cthe round wheels\nwhich were of brass and had eight spokes,\u201d give the meaning, but destroy\nthe picture. The sense is here, however, nothing; the picture every\nthing. The one without the other turns the most graphic of poets into a\ntiresome tattler. This fate has often befallen Homer under the pen of\nthe conscientious Madame Dacier. The German language can generally\nrender the Homeric adjectives by equally short equivalents, but it\ncannot follow the happy arrangement of the Greek. It can say, indeed,\n\u201cthe round, brazen, eight-spoked;\u201d but \u201cwheels\u201d comes dragging after.\nThree distinct predicates before any subject make but a confused,\nuncertain picture. The Greek joins the subject with the first predicate\nand lets the others follow. He says, \u201cround wheels, brazen,\neight-spoked.\u201d Thus we know at once of what he is speaking, and learn\nfirst the thing and then its accidents, which is the natural order of\nour thoughts. The German language does not possess this advantage. Or\nshall I say, what really amounts to the same thing, that, although\npossessing it, the language can seldom use it without ambiguity? For if\nadjectives be placed after the subject (runde R\u00e4der, ehern und\nachtspeichigt) they are indeclinable, differing in nothing from adverbs,\nand if referred, as adverbs, to the first verb that is predicated of the\nsubject, the meaning of the whole sentence becomes always distorted, and\nsometimes entirely falsified.\n\nBut I am lingering over trifles and seem to have forgotten the shield of\nAchilles, that famous picture, which more than all else, caused Homer to\nbe regarded among the ancients as a master of painting.[116] But surely\na shield, it may be said, is a single corporeal object, the description\nof which according to its coexistent parts cannot come within the\nprovince of poetry. Yet this shield, its material, its form, and all the\nfigures which occupied its enormous surface, Homer has described, in\nmore than a hundred magnificent lines, so circumstantially and precisely\nthat modern artists have found no difficulty in making a drawing of it\nexact in every detail.\n\nMy answer to this particular objection is, that I have already answered\nit. Homer does not paint the shield finished, but in the process of\ncreation. Here again he has made use of the happy device of substituting\nprogression for coexistence, and thus converted the tiresome description\nof an object into a graphic picture of an action. We see not the shield,\nbut the divine master-workman employed upon it. Hammer and tongs in hand\nhe approaches the anvil; and, after having forged the plates from the\nrough metal, he makes the pictures designed for its decoration rise from\nthe brass, one by one, under his finer blows. Not till the whole is\nfinished do we lose sight of him. At last it is done; and we wonder at\nthe work, but with the believing wonder of an eyewitness who has seen it\na-making.\n\nThe same cannot be said of the shield of \u00c6neas in Virgil. The Roman poet\neither failed to see the fineness of his model, or the things which he\nwished to represent upon his shield seemed to him not of such a kind as\nto allow of their being executed before our eyes. They were prophecies,\nwhich the god certainly could not with propriety have uttered in our\npresence as distinctly as the poet explains them in his work.\nProphecies, as such, require a darker speech, in which the names of\nthose persons to come, whose fortunes are predicted, cannot well be\nspoken. In these actual names, however, lay, it would seem, the chief\npoint of interest to the poet and courtier.[117] But this, though it\nexcuse him, does not do away with the disagreeable effect of his\ndeparture from the Homeric method, as all readers of taste will admit.\nThe preparations made by Vulcan are nearly the same in Homer as in\nVirgil. But while in Homer we see, besides the preparations for the\nwork, the work itself, Virgil, after showing us the god at work with his\nCyclops,\n\n           Ingentem clypeum informant ...\n           ... Alii ventosis follibus auras\n           Accipiunt, redduntque; alii stridentia tingunt\n           \u00c6ra lacu. Gemit impositis incudibus antrum.\n           Illi inter sese multa vi brachia tollunt\n           In numerum, versantque tenaci forcipe massam,[118]\n\nsuddenly drops the curtain and transports us to a wholly different\nscene. We are gradually led into the valley where Venus appears,\nbringing \u00c6neas the arms that in the mean while have been finished. She\nplaces them against the trunk of an oak; and, after the hero has\nsufficiently stared at them, and wondered over them, and handled them,\nand tried them, the description or picture of the shield begins, which\ngrows so cold and tedious from the constantly recurring \u201chere is,\u201d and\n\u201cthere is,\u201d and \u201cnear by stands,\u201d and \u201cnot far from there is seen,\u201d that\nall Virgil\u2019s poetic grace is needed to prevent it from becoming\nintolerable. Since, moreover, this description is not given by \u00c6neas,\nwho delights in the mere figures without any knowledge of their import,\n\n                  ... rerumque ignarus imagine gaudet,\n\nnor by Venus, although she might be supposed to know as much about the\nfortunes of her dear grandson as her good-natured husband, but by the\npoet himself, the action meanwhile necessarily remains at a stand-still.\nNot a single one of the characters takes part; nor is what follows in\nthe least affected by the representations on the shield. The subtle\ncourtier, helping out his material with every manner of flattering\nallusion, is apparent throughout; but no trace do we see of the great\ngenius, who trusts to the intrinsic merit of his work, and despises all\nextraneous means of awakening interest. The shield of \u00c6neas is\ntherefore, in fact, an interpolation, intended solely to flatter the\npride of the Romans; a foreign brook with which the poet seeks to give\nfresh movement to his stream. The shield of Achilles, on the contrary,\nis the outgrowth of its own fruitful soil. For a shield was needed; and,\nsince even what is necessary never comes from the hands of deity devoid\nof beauty, the shield had to be ornamented. The art was in treating\nthese ornamentations as such, and nothing more; in so weaving them into\nthe material that when we look at that we cannot but see them. This\ncould be accomplished only by the method which Homer adopted. Homer\nmakes Vulcan devise decorations, because he is to make a shield worthy\nof a divine workman. Virgil seems to make him fashion the shield for the\nsake of the decorations, since he deems these of sufficient importance\nto deserve a special description long after the shield is finished.\n\n\n\n\n                                  XIX.\n\n\nThe objections brought against Homer\u2019s shield by the elder Scaliger,\nPerrault, Terrasson, and others, are well known, as are also the answers\nof Madame Dacier, Boivin, and Pope. But these latter, it seems to me,\nhave gone somewhat too far, and confiding in the justness of their cause\nhave asserted things incorrect in themselves and contributing little to\nthe poet\u2019s justification.\n\nIn answer to the chief objection, that Homer had burdened his shield\nwith more figures than there could possibly have been room for, Boivin\nundertook to show in a drawing how the necessary space might be\nobtained. His idea of the various concentric circles was very ingenious,\nalthough there is no foundation for it in the poet\u2019s words and nothing\nanywhere to indicate that shields divided in this way were known to the\nancients. Since Homer calls it (\u03c3\u03ac\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c3\u03b5 \u03b4\u03b5\u03b4\u03b1\u03b9\u03bb\u03c9\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd) a shield,\nartistically wrought on all sides, I should prefer to gain the required\nspace by turning to account the concave surface. A proof that the old\nartists did not leave this empty is furnished in the shield of Minerva\nby Phidias.[119] But not only does Boivin fail to seize this advantage,\nbut, by separating into two or three pictures what the poet evidently\nmeant for one, he unnecessarily multiplies the representations while\ndiminishing the space by one-half. I know the motive which led him to\nthis, but it was one by which he should not have allowed himself to be\ninfluenced. He should have shown his opponents the unreasonableness of\ntheir demands, instead of trying to satisfy them.\n\nAn example will make my meaning clear. When Homer says of one of the two\ncities:[120]\n\n           \u03bb\u03b1\u03bf\u1f76 \u03b4\u2019 \u03b5\u1f30\u03bd \u1f00\u03b3\u03bf\u03c1\u1fc7 \u1f14\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd \u1f00\u03b8\u03c1\u03cc\u03bf\u03b9\u00b7 \u1f14\u03bd\u03b8\u03b1 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03bd\u03b5\u1fd6\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2\n           \u1f60\u03c1\u03ce\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9 \u03b4\u03cd\u03bf \u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u03b5\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd\u03b5\u03af\u03ba\u03b5\u03bf\u03bd \u03b5\u1f35\u03bd\u03b5\u03ba\u03b1 \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03bd\u1fc6\u03c2\n           \u1f00\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2 \u1f00\u03c0\u03bf\u03c6\u03b8\u03b9\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u00b7 \u1f41 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03b5\u1f54\u03c7\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u2019 \u1f00\u03c0\u03bf\u03b4\u03bf\u1fe6\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9,\n           \u03b4\u03ae\u03bc\u1ff3 \u03c0\u03b9\u03c6\u03b1\u03cd\u03c3\u03ba\u03c9\u03bd, \u1f41 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03af\u03bd\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf \u03bc\u03b7\u03b4\u1f72\u03bd \u1f11\u03bb\u03ad\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9\u00b7\n           \u1f04\u03bc\u03c6\u03c9 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f31\u03ad\u03c3\u03b8\u03b7\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u1f76 \u1f34\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b5\u1fd6\u03c1\u03b1\u03c1 \u1f11\u03bb\u03ad\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9.\n           \u03bb\u03b1\u03bf\u1f76 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u03bf\u03c4\u03ad\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u03ae\u03c0\u03c5\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u1f76\u03c2 \u1f00\u03c1\u03c9\u03b3\u03bf\u03af.\n           \u03ba\u03ae\u03c1\u03c5\u03ba\u03b5\u03c2 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u03c1\u03b1 \u03bb\u03b1\u1f78\u03bd \u1f10\u03c1\u03ae\u03c4\u03c5\u03bf\u03bd\u00b7 \u03bf\u1f31 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03b3\u03ad\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2\n           \u03b5\u1f35\u03b1\u03c4\u2019 \u1f10\u03c0\u1f76 \u03be\u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c3\u03b9 \u03bb\u03af\u03b8\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f31\u03b5\u03c1\u1ff7 \u1f10\u03bd\u1f76 \u03ba\u03cd\u03ba\u03bb\u1ff3,\n           \u03c3\u03ba\u1fc6\u03c0\u03c4\u03c1\u03b1 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03b7\u03c1\u03cd\u03ba\u03c9\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd \u03c7\u03ad\u03c1\u03c3\u2019 \u1f14\u03c7\u03bf\u03bd \u1f20\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c6\u03ce\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd\u00b7\n           \u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f14\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03c4\u2019 \u1f24\u03ca\u03c3\u03c3\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f00\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03b2\u03b7\u03b4\u1f76\u03c2 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03b4\u03af\u03ba\u03b1\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd.\n           \u03ba\u03b5\u1fd6\u03c4\u03bf \u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u03c1\u2019 \u1f10\u03bd \u03bc\u03ad\u03c3\u03c3\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9 \u03b4\u03cd\u03c9 \u03c7\u03c1\u03c5\u03c3\u03bf\u1fd6\u03bf \u03c4\u03ac\u03bb\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1,\n\nhe refers, as I understand him, to but a single picture, that of a\npublic lawsuit about the contested payment of a considerable fine for\nthe committal of a murder. The artist, who is to execute this design,\ncan use but a single moment of the action,\u2014that of the accusation, of\nthe examination of witnesses, of the pronouncing of the sentence, or any\nother preceding or following or intervening moment which may seem to him\nmost fitting. This single moment he makes as pregnant as possible, and\nreproduces it with all that power of illusion which in the presentation\nof visible objects art possesses above poetry. Left far behind in this\nrespect, what remains to the poet, if his words are to paint the same\ndesign with any degree of success, but to avail himself of his peculiar\nadvantages? These are the liberty of extending his representation over\nwhat preceded, as well as what was to follow, the artist\u2019s single point\nof time, and the power of showing not only what the artist shows, but\nwhat he has to leave to our imagination. Only by using these advantages\ncan the poet raise himself to a level with the artist. Their works most\nresemble each other when their effect is equally vivid; not when one\nbrings before the imagination through the ear neither more nor less than\nthe other presents to the eye. Had Boivin defended the passage in Homer\naccording to this principle, he would not have divided it into as many\nseparate pictures as he thought he detected distinct points of time. All\nthat Homer relates could not, indeed, be united in a single picture. The\naccusation and the denial, the summoning of the witnesses and the shouts\nof the divided populace, the efforts of the heralds to quiet the tumult\nand the sentence of the judges, are things successive in time, not\ncoexistent in space. But what is not actually in the picture is there\nvirtually, and the only true way of representing an actual picture in\nwords is to combine what virtually exists in it with what is absolutely\nvisible. The poet who allows himself to be bound by the limits of art\nmay furnish data for a picture, but can never create one of his own.\n\nThe picture of the beleaguered city[121] Boivin divides likewise into\nthree. He might as well have made twelve out of it as three. For since\nhe has once for all failed to grasp the spirit of the poet, and requires\nhim to be bound by the unities of a material picture, he might have\ndiscovered many more violations of these unities. In fact he ought\nalmost to have devoted a separate space on the shield to every separate\ntouch of the poet. In my opinion Homer has but ten different pictures on\nthe whole shield, every one of which he introduces with \u1f10\u03bd \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u1f14\u03c4\u03b5\u03c5\u03be\u03b5,\nor \u1f10\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5, or \u1f10\u03bd \u03b4\u2019 \u1f10\u03c4\u03af\u03b8\u03b5\u03b9, or \u1f10\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c0\u03cc\u03b9\u03ba\u03b9\u03bb\u03bb\u03b5 \u1f08\u03bc\u03c6\u03b9\u03b3\u03c5\u03ae\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2, \u201con it\nhe wrought,\u201d \u201con it he placed,\u201d \u201con it he formed,\u201d \u201con it Vulcan\nskilfully fashioned.\u201d[122] In the absence of these introductory words we\nhave no right to suppose a distinct picture. On the contrary every thing\nwhich they cover must be regarded as a single whole, wanting in nothing\nbut the arbitrary concentration into one moment of time, which the poet\nwas in no way bound to observe. Had he observed this, and, by strictly\nlimiting himself to it, excluded every little feature which in the\nmaterial representation would have been inconsistent with this unity of\ntime; had he in fact done what his cavillers require,\u2014these gentlemen\nwould indeed have had no fault to find with him, but neither would any\nperson of taste have found aught to admire.\n\nPope not only accepted Boivin\u2019s drawing, but thought he was doing a\nspecial service by showing that every one of these mutilated pieces was\nin accordance with the strictest rules of painting, as laid down at the\npresent day. Contrast, perspective, the three unities, he found, were\nall observed in the best possible manner. And although well aware that,\naccording to the testimony of good and trustworthy witnesses, painting\nat the time of the Trojan war was still in its cradle, he supposes\neither that Homer, instead of being bound by the achievements of\npainting at that time or in his own day, must in virtue of his godlike\ngenius have anticipated all that art should in future be able to\naccomplish, or else that the witnesses could not have been so entirely\nworthy of faith that the direct testimony of this artistic shield should\nnot be preferred to theirs. Whoever will, may accept the former\nsupposition: the latter, surely, no one will be persuaded to adopt who\nknows any thing more of the history of art than the date of the\nhistorians. That painting in the time of Homer was still in its infancy\nhe believes, not merely on the authority of Pliny, or some other writer,\nbut chiefly because, judging from the works of art mentioned by the\nancients, he sees that even centuries later no great progress had been\nmade. The pictures of Polygnotus, for instance, by no means stand the\ntest which Pope thinks can be successfully applied to Homer\u2019s shield.\nThe two great works by this master at Delphi, of which Pausanias has\nleft a circumstantial description,[123] were evidently wholly wanting in\nperspective. The ancients had no knowledge of this branch of art, and\nwhat Pope adduces as proof that Homer understood it, only proves that he\nhas a very imperfect understanding of it himself.[124]\n\n\u201cThat Homer,\u201d he says, \u201cwas not a stranger to aerial perspective appears\nin his expressly marking the distance of object from object. He tells\nus, for instance, that the two spies lay a little remote from the other\nfigures, and that the oak under which was spread the banquet of the\nreapers stood apart. What he says of the valley sprinkled all over with\ncottages and flocks appears to be a description of a large country in\nperspective. And, indeed, a general argument for this may be drawn from\nthe number of figures on the shield, which could not be all expressed in\ntheir full size; and this is therefore a sort of proof that the art of\nlessening them according to perspective was known at that time.\u201d The\nmere representing of an object at a distance as smaller than it would be\nif nearer the eye, by no means constitutes perspective in a picture.\nPerspective requires a single point of view; a definite, natural\nhorizon; and this was wanting in the old pictures. In the paintings of\nPolygnotus the ground, instead of being level, rose so decidedly at the\nback that the figures which were meant to stand behind seemed to be\nstanding above one another. If this was the usual position of the\nvarious figures and groups,\u2014and that it was so may fairly be concluded\nfrom the old bas-reliefs, where those behind always stand higher than\nthose in front, and look over their heads,\u2014then we may reasonably take\nit for granted in Homer, and should not unnecessarily dismember those\nrepresentations of his, which according to this treatment might be\nunited in a single picture. The double scene in the peaceful city,\nthrough whose streets a joyous marriage train was moving at the same\ntime that an important trial was going on in the market-place, requires\nthus no double picture. Homer could very well think of it as one, since\nhe imagined himself to be overlooking the city from such a height as to\ncommand at once a view of the streets and the market.\n\nMy opinion is that perspective in pictures came incidentally from\nscene-painting, which was already in its perfection. But the\napplications of its rules to a single smooth surface was evidently no\neasy matter; for, even in the later paintings found among the\nantiquities of Herculaneum, there are many and various offences against\nperspective, which would now hardly be excusable even in a\nbeginner.[125]\n\nBut I will spare myself the labor of collecting my desultory\nobservations on a point whereon I may hope to receive complete\nsatisfaction from Winkelmann\u2019s promised \u201cHistory of Art.\u201d[126]\n\n\n\n\n                                  XX.\n\n\nTo return, then, to my road, if a saunterer can be said to have a road.\n\nWhat I have been saying of bodily objects in general applies with even\nmore force to those which are beautiful.\n\nPhysical beauty results from the harmonious action of various parts\nwhich can be taken in at a glance. It therefore requires that these\nparts should lie near together; and, since things whose parts lie near\ntogether are the proper subjects of painting, this art and this alone\ncan imitate physical beauty.\n\nThe poet, who must necessarily detail in succession the elements of\nbeauty, should therefore desist entirely from the description of\nphysical beauty as such. He must feel that these elements arranged in a\nseries cannot possibly produce the same effect as in juxtaposition; that\nthe concentrating glance which we try to cast back over them immediately\nafter their enumeration, gives us no harmonious picture; and that to\nconceive the effect of certain eyes, a certain mouth and nose taken\ntogether, unless we can recall a similar combination of such parts in\nnature or art, surpasses the power of human imagination.\n\nHere again Homer is the model of all models. He says, Nireus was fair;\nAchilles was fairer; Helen was of godlike beauty. But he is nowhere\nbetrayed into a more detailed description of these beauties. Yet the\nwhole poem is based upon the loveliness of Helen. How a modern poet\nwould have revelled in descriptions of it!\n\nEven Constantinus Manasses sought to adorn his bald chronicle with a\npicture of Helen. I must thank him for the attempt, for I really should\nnot know where else to turn for so striking an example of the folly of\nventuring on what Homer\u2019s wisdom forbore to undertake. When I read in\nhim:[127]\n\n            \u1f26\u03bd \u1f21 \u03b3\u03c5\u03bd\u1f74 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9\u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u1f74\u03c2, \u03b5\u1f54\u03bf\u03c6\u03c1\u03c5\u03c2, \u03b5\u1f50\u03c7\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03c4\u03ac\u03c4\u03b7,\n            \u03b5\u1f50\u03c0\u03ac\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2, \u03b5\u1f50\u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2, \u03b2\u03bf\u1ff6\u03c0\u03b9\u03c2, \u03c7\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd\u03cc\u03c7\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2,\n            \u1f11\u03bb\u03b9\u03ba\u03bf\u03b2\u03bb\u03ad\u03c6\u03b1\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, \u1f01\u03b2\u03c1\u1f70, \u03c7\u03b1\u03c1\u03af\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b3\u03ad\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd \u1f04\u03bb\u03c3\u03bf\u03c2,\n            \u03bb\u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u03bf\u03b2\u03c1\u03b1\u03c7\u03af\u03c9\u03bd, \u03c4\u03c1\u03c5\u03c6\u03b5\u03c1\u1f70, \u03ba\u03ac\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f04\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u03c1\u03c5\u03c2 \u1f14\u03bc\u03c0\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03bd,\n            \u03c4\u1f78 \u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03ac\u03bb\u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f21 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9\u1f70 \u1fe5\u03bf\u03b4\u03cc\u03c7\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2,\n            \u03c4\u1f78 \u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u03af\u03c7\u03b1\u03c1\u03b9, \u03c4\u1f78 \u03b2\u03bb\u03ad\u03c6\u03b1\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u1f61\u03c1\u03b1\u1fd6\u03bf\u03bd,\n            \u03ba\u03ac\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b5\u03c0\u03b9\u03c4\u03ae\u03b4\u03b5\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f00\u03b2\u03ac\u03c0\u03c4\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd, \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03cc\u03c7\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03bd,\n            \u1f14\u03b2\u03b1\u03c0\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u03bb\u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u03cc\u03c4\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1 \u1fe5\u03bf\u03b4\u03cc\u03c7\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c5\u03c1\u03c3\u03af\u03bd\u03b7,\n            \u1f61\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f34 \u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u1f10\u03bb\u03ad\u03c6\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03b2\u03ac\u03c8\u03b5\u03b9 \u03bb\u03b1\u03bc\u03c0\u03c1\u1fb7 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c1\u03c6\u03cd\u03c1\u1fb3.\n            \u03b4\u03b5\u03b9\u03c1\u1f74 \u03bc\u03b1\u03ba\u03c1\u03ac, \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03ac\u03bb\u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2, \u1f45\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd \u1f10\u03bc\u03c5\u03b8\u03bf\u03c5\u03c1\u03b3\u03ae\u03b8\u03b7\n            \u03ba\u03c5\u03ba\u03bd\u03bf\u03b3\u03b5\u03bd\u1fc6 \u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u03b5\u1f54\u03bf\u03c0\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u1f19\u03bb\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7\u03bd \u03c7\u03c1\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03af\u03b6\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd,\n\nit is like seeing stones rolled up a mountain,[128] on whose summit they\nare to be built into a gorgeous edifice; but which all roll down of\nthemselves on the other side. What picture does this crowd of words\nleave behind? How did Helen look? No two readers out of a thousand would\nreceive the same impression of her.\n\nBut political verses by a monk are, it is true, no poetry. Let us hear\nAriosto describe his enchantress Alcina:[129]\u2014\n\n              Di persona era tanto ben formata,\n            Quanto mai finger san pittori industri.\n            Con bionda chioma, lunga e annodata,\n            Oro non \u00e8, che piu risplenda e lustri.\n            Spargeasi per la guancia delicata\n            Misto color di rose e di ligustri.\n            Di terso avorio era la fronte lieta,\n            Che lo spazio finia con giusta meta.\n\n              Sotto due negri, e sottilissimi archi\n            Son due negri, occhi, anzi due chiari soli\n            Pietosi a riguardar, a mover parchi,\n            Intorno a cui par ch\u2019 Amor scherzi, e voli,\n            E ch\u2019 indi tutta la faretra scarchi,\n            E che visibilmente i cori involi.\n            Quindi il naso per mezzo il viso scende\n            Che non trova l\u2019 invidia ove l\u2019 emende.\n\n              Sotto quel sta, quasi fra due vallette,\n            La bocca sparsa di natio cinabro,\n            Quivi due filze son di perle elette,\n            Che chiude, ed apre un bello e dolce labro;\n            Quindi escon le cortesi parolette,\n            Da render molle ogni cor rozzo e scabro;\n            Quivi si forma quel soave riso,\n            Ch\u2019 apre a sua posta in terra il paradiso.\n\n              Bianca neve \u00e8 il pel collo, e \u2019l petto latte,\n            Il collo \u00e8 tondo, il petto colmo e largo;\n            Due pome acerbe, e pur d\u2019 avorio fatte,\n            Vengono e van, come onda al primo margo,\n            Quando piacevole aura il mar combatte.\n            Non potria l\u2019 altre parti veder Argo,\n            Ben si pu\u00f2 giudicar, che corrisponde,\n            A quel ch\u2019 appar di fuor, quel che s\u2019 asconde.\n\n              Mostran le braccia sua misura giusta,\n            Et la candida man spesso si vede,\n            Lunghetta alquanto, e di larghezza angusta,\n            Dove n\u00e8 nodo appar, n\u00e8 vena eccede.\n            Si vede al fin de la persona augusta\n            Il breve, asciutto, e ritondetto piede.\n            Gli angelici sembianti nati in cielo\n            Non si ponno celar sotto alcun velo.\n\nMilton, speaking of Pandemonium, says:\u2014\n\n             The work some praise, and some the architect.\n\nPraise of one, then, is not always praise of the other. A work of art\nmay merit great approbation without redounding much to the credit of the\nartist; and, again, an artist may justly claim our admiration, even when\nhis work does not entirely satisfy us. By bearing this in mind we can\noften reconcile contradictory judgments, as in the present case. Dolce,\nin his dialogues on painting, makes Aretino speak in terms of the\nhighest praise of the above-quoted stanzas,[130] while I select them as\nan instance of painting without picture. We are both right. Dolce\nadmires the knowledge of physical beauty which the poet shows: I\nconsider only the effect which this knowledge, conveyed in words,\nproduces on my imagination. Dolce concludes from this knowledge that\ngood poets are no less good painters: I, judging from the effect,\nconclude that what painters can best express by lines and colors is\nleast capable of expression in words. Dolce recommends Ariosto\u2019s\ndescription to all painters as a perfect model of a beautiful woman: I\nrecommend it to all poets as the most instructive of warnings not to\nattempt, with still greater want of success, what could not but fail\nwhen tried by an Ariosto.\n\nIt may be that when the poet says,\u2014\n\n                Di persona era tanto ben formata,\n                Quanto mai finger san pittori industri,\n\nhe proves himself to have had a complete knowledge of the laws of\nperspective, such as only the most industrious artist can acquire from a\nstudy of nature and of ancient art.[131]\n\nIn the words,\u2014\n\n                   Spargeasi per la guancia delicata\n                   Misto color di rose e di ligustri,\n\nhe may show himself to be a perfect master of color,\u2014a very Titian.[132]\nHis comparing Alcina\u2019s hair to gold, instead of calling it golden hair,\nmay be taken as proof that he objected to the use of actual gold in\ncoloring.[133] We may even discover in the descending nose the profile\nof those old Greek noses, afterwards borrowed by Roman artists from the\nGreek masterpieces.[134] Of what use is all this insight and learning to\nus readers who want to fancy we are looking at a beautiful woman, and\ndesire to feel that gentle quickening of the pulses which accompanies\nthe sight of actual beauty? The poet may know the relations from which\nbeauty springs, but does that make us know them? Or, if we know them,\ndoes he show them to us here? or does he help us in the least to call up\na vivid image of them?\n\n            A brow that forms a fitting bound,\n              Che lo spazio finia con giusta meta;\n            A nose where envy itself finds nothing to amend,\n              Che non trova l\u2019 invidia, ove l\u2019 emende;\n            A hand, narrow, and somewhat long,\n              Lunghetta alquanto, e di larghezza angusta;\n\nwhat sort of a picture do these general formul\u00e6 give us? In the mouth of\na drawing-master, directing his pupils\u2019 attention to the beauties of the\nacademic model, they might have some meaning. For the students would\nhave but to look at the model to see the fitting bounds of the gay\nforehead, the fine cut of the nose, and the slenderness of the pretty\nhand. But in the poem I see nothing, and am only tormented by the\nfutility of all my attempts to see any thing.\n\nIn this respect Virgil, by imitating Homer\u2019s reticence, has achieved\ntolerable success. His Dido is only the most beautiful (_pulcherrima_)\nDido. Any further details which he may give, have reference to her rich\nornaments and magnificent dress.\n\n            Tandem progreditur ...\n            Sidoniam picto chlamydem circumdata limbo:\n            Cui pharetra ex auro, crines nodantur in aurum,\n            Aurea purpuream subnectit fibula vestem.[135]\n\nIf, on this account, any should apply to him what the old artist said to\none of his pupils who had painted a gayly decked Helen,\u2014\u201cSince you could\nnot paint her beautiful, you have painted her rich,\u201d\u2014Virgil would\nanswer: \u201cI am not to blame that I could not paint her beautiful. The\nfault lies in the limits of my art, within which it is my merit to have\nkept.\u201d\n\nI must not forget here the two odes of Anacreon wherein he analyzes the\nbeauty of his mistress and of Bathyllus.[136] The device which he uses\nentirely justifies the analysis. He imagines that he has before him a\npainter who is working from his description. \u201cThus paint me the hair,\u201d\nhe says; \u201cthus the brow, the eyes, the mouth; thus the neck and bosom,\nthe thighs and hands.\u201d As the artist could execute but one detail at a\ntime, the poet was obliged to give them to him thus piecemeal. His\nobject is not to make us see and feel, in these spoken directions to the\npainter, the whole beauty of the beloved object. He is conscious of the\ninadequacy of all verbal expression; and for that reason summons to his\naid the expression of art, whose power of illusion he so extols, that\nthe whole song seems rather a eulogium of art than of his lady. He sees\nnot the picture but herself, and fancies she is about to open her mouth\nto speak.\n\n                       \u1f00\u03c0\u03ad\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9\u00b7 \u03b2\u03bb\u03ad\u03c0\u03c9 \u03b3\u1f70\u03c1 \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03ae\u03bd.\n                       \u03c4\u03ac\u03c7\u03b1, \u03ba\u03b7\u03c1\u03ad, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bb\u03b1\u03bb\u03ae\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2.\n\nSo, too, in his ode to Bathyllus, the praises of the beautiful boy are\nso mingled with praises of art and the artist, that we are in doubt in\nwhose honor the song was really written. He selects the most beautiful\nparts from various pictures, the parts for which the pictures were\nremarkable. He takes the neck from an Adonis, breast and hands from a\nMercury, the thighs from a Pollux, the belly from a Bacchus, until he\nhas the whole Bathyllus as a finished Apollo from the artist\u2019s hand.\n\n                        \u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u1f70 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd \u1f14\u03c3\u03c4\u03c9,\n                        \u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u1f08\u03b4\u03ce\u03bd\u03b9\u03b4\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b5\u03bb\u03b8\u1f7c\u03bd,\n                        \u1f10\u03bb\u03b5\u03c6\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c4\u03c1\u03ac\u03c7\u03b7\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2\u00b7\n                        \u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03bc\u03ac\u03b6\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b5\u03b9\n                        \u03b4\u03b9\u03b4\u03cd\u03bc\u03b1\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03c7\u03b5\u1fd6\u03c1\u03b1\u03c2 \u1f19\u03c1\u03bc\u03bf\u1fe6,\n                        \u03a0\u03bf\u03bb\u03c5\u03b4\u03b5\u03cd\u03ba\u03b5\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03bc\u03b7\u03c1\u03bf\u03cd\u03c2,\n                        \u0394\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd\u03c5\u03c3\u03af\u03b7\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03bd\u03b7\u03b4\u03cd\u03bd.\n\n                               \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7\n\n                        \u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u1f08\u03c0\u03cc\u03bb\u03bb\u03c9\u03bd\u03b1 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\n                        \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u03bb\u03ce\u03bd, \u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b5\u03b9 \u0392\u03ac\u03b8\u03c5\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd.\n\nThus Lucian, to give an idea of the beauty of Panthea, points to the\nmost beautiful female statues by the old sculptors.[137] What is this\nbut a confession that here language of itself is powerless; that poetry\nstammers, and eloquence grows dumb, unless art serve as interpreter.\n\n\n\n\n                                  XXI.\n\n\nBut are we not robbing poetry of too much by taking from her all\npictures of physical beauty?\n\nWho seeks to take them from her? We are only warning her against trying\nto arrive at them by a particular road, where she will blindly grope her\nway in the footsteps of a sister art without ever reaching the goal. We\nare not closing against her other roads whereon art can follow only with\nher eyes.\n\nHomer himself, who so persistently refrains from all detailed\ndescriptions of physical beauty, that we barely learn, from a passing\nmention, that Helen had white arms[138] and beautiful hair,[139] even he\nmanages nevertheless to give us an idea of her beauty, which far\nsurpasses any thing that art could do. Recall the passage where Helen\nenters the assembly of the Trojan elders. The venerable men see her\ncoming, and one says to the others:[140]\u2014\n\n            \u039f\u1f50 \u03bd\u03ad\u03bc\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2 \u03a4\u03c1\u1ff6\u03b1\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f10\u03cb\u03ba\u03bd\u03ae\u03bc\u03b9\u03b4\u03b1\u03c2 \u1f08\u03c7\u03b1\u03b9\u03bf\u1f7a\u03c2\n            \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u1fc7\u03b4\u2019 \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u1f76 \u03b3\u03c5\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9\u03ba\u1f76 \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u1f7a\u03bd \u03c7\u03c1\u03cc\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u1f04\u03bb\u03b3\u03b5\u03b1 \u03c0\u03ac\u03c3\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u00b7\n            \u03b1\u1f30\u03bd\u1ff6\u03c2 \u1f00\u03b8\u03b1\u03bd\u03ac\u03c4\u1fc3\u03c3\u03b9 \u03b8\u03b5\u1fc7\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f30\u03c2 \u1f66\u03c0\u03b1 \u1f14\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03b5\u03bd.\n\nWhat can give a more vivid idea of her beauty than that cold-blooded age\nshould deem it well worth the war which had cost so much blood and so\nmany tears?\n\nWhat Homer could not describe in its details, he shows us by its effect.\nPaint us, ye poets, the delight, the attraction, the love, the\nenchantment of beauty, and you have painted beauty itself. Who can think\nof Sappho\u2019s beloved, the sight of whom, as she confesses, robs her of\nsense and thought, as ugly? We seem to be gazing on a beautiful and\nperfect form, when we sympathize with the emotions which only such a\nform can produce. It is not Ovid\u2019s minute description of the beauties of\nhis Lesbia,\u2014\n\n             Quos humeros, quales vidi tetigique lacertos!\n               Forma papillarum quam fuit apta premi!\n             Quam castigato planus sub pectore venter!\n               Quantum et quale latus! quam juvenile femur!\n\nthat makes us fancy we are enjoying the same sight which he enjoyed; but\nbecause he gives the details with a sensuousness which stirs the\npassions.\n\nYet another way in which poetry surpasses art in the description of\nphysical beauty, is by turning beauty into charm. Charm is beauty in\nmotion, and therefore less adapted to the painter than the poet. The\npainter can suggest motion, but his figures are really destitute of it.\nCharm therefore in a picture becomes grimace, while in poetry it remains\nwhat it is, a transitory beauty, which we would fain see repeated. It\ncomes and goes, and since we can recall a motion more vividly and easily\nthan mere forms and colors, charm must affect us more strongly than\nbeauty under the same conditions. All that touches and pleases in the\npicture of Alcina is charm. Her eyes impress us not from their blackness\nand fire, but because they are\u2014\n\n                  Pietosi a riguardar, a mover parchi,\n\nthey move slowly and with gracious glances, because Cupid sports around\nthem and shoots from them his arrows. Her mouth pleases, not because\nvermilion lips enclose two rows of orient pearls, but because of the\ngentle smile, which opens a paradise on earth, and of the courteous\naccents that melt the rudest heart. The enchantment of her bosom lies\nnot so much in the milk and ivory and apples, that typify its whiteness\nand graceful form, as in its gentle heavings, like the rise and fall of\nwaves under a pleasant breeze.\n\n                Due pome acerbe, e pur d\u2019 avorio fatte,\n                Vengono e van, come onda al primo margo,\n                Quando piacevole aura il mar combatte.\n\nI am convinced that such traits as these, compressed into one or two\nstanzas, would be far more effective than the five over which Ariosto\nhas spread them, interspersed with cold descriptions of form much too\nlearned for our sensibilities.\n\nAnacreon preferred the apparent absurdity of requiring impossibilities\nof the artist, to leaving the image of his mistress unenlivened with\nthese mobile charms.\n\n                        \u03c4\u03c1\u03c5\u03c6\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f14\u03c3\u03c9 \u03b3\u03b5\u03bd\u03b5\u03af\u03bf\u03c5\n                        \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 \u03bb\u03c5\u03b3\u03b4\u03af\u03bd\u1ff3 \u03c4\u03c1\u03b1\u03c7\u03ae\u03bb\u1ff3\n                        \u03a7\u03ac\u03c1\u03b9\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2 \u03c0\u03ad\u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf \u03c0\u1fb6\u03c3\u03b1\u03b9.\n\nHe bids the artist let all the graces hover about her tender chin and\nmarble neck. How so? literally? But that is beyond the power of art. The\npainter could give the chin the most graceful curve and the prettiest\ndimple, _Amoris digitulo impressum_ (for the \u1f14\u03c3\u03c9 here seems to me to\nmean dimple); he could give the neck the softest pink, but that is all.\nThe motion of that beautiful neck, the play of the muscles, now\ndeepening and now half concealing the dimple, the essential charm\nexceeded his powers. The poet went to the limits of his art in the\nattempt to give us a vivid picture of beauty, in order that the painter\nmight seek the highest expression in his. Here we have, therefore, a\nfresh illustration of what was urged above, that the poet, even when\nspeaking of a painting or statue, is not bound to confine his\ndescription within the limits of art.\n\n\n\n\n                                 XXII.\n\n\nZeuxis painted a Helen, and had the courage to write beneath his picture\nthose famous lines of Homer wherein the elders express their admiration\nof her beauty. Never did painting and poetry engage in closer rivalry.\nVictory remained undecided, and both deserved to be crowned.\n\nFor as the wise poet showed us only in its effects the beauty which he\nfelt the impossibility of describing in detail, so the equally wise\npainter exhibited beauty solely through its details, deeming it unworthy\nof his art to have recourse to any outward aids. His whole picture was\nthe naked figure of Helen. For it was probably the same that he painted\nfor the people of Cortona.[141]\n\nLet us, for curiosity\u2019s sake, compare with this Caylus\u2019s picture as\nsketched for modern artists from the same lines of Homer.\n\n\u201cHelen, covered with a white veil, appears in the midst of several old\nmen, Priam among the number, who should be at once recognizable by the\nemblems of his royal dignity. The artist must especially exert his skill\nto make us feel the triumph of beauty in the eager glances and\nexpressions of astonished admiration on the countenances of the old men.\nThe scene is over one of the gates of the town. The background of the\npainting may be lost either in the open sky or against the higher\nbuildings of the town. The first would be the bolder, but the one would\nbe as suitable as the other.\u201d\n\nImagine this picture, executed by the greatest master of our time, and\ncompare it with the work of Zeuxis. Which will show the real triumph of\nbeauty? This, where I feel it myself, or that, where I am to infer it\nfrom the grimaces of admiring graybeards? \u201cTurpe senilis amor!\u201d Looks of\ndesire make the most reverend face ridiculous, and an old man who shows\nthe cravings of youth is an object of disgust. This reproach cannot be\nbrought against the Homeric elders. Theirs is but a passing spark of\nfeeling which wisdom instantly stifles; an emotion which does honor to\nHelen without disgracing themselves. They acknowledge their admiration,\nbut add at once,[142]\u2014\n\n             \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb\u1f70 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f63\u03c2, \u03c4\u03bf\u03af\u03b7 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1 \u1f10\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c3\u2019, \u1f10\u03bd \u03bd\u03b7\u03c5\u03c3\u1f76 \u03bd\u03b5\u03ad\u03c3\u03b8\u03c9,\n             \u03bc\u03b7\u03b4\u2019 \u1f21\u03bc\u1fd6\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5\u03ba\u03ad\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u03af \u03c4\u2019 \u1f40\u03c0\u03af\u03c3\u03c3\u03c9 \u03c0\u1fc6\u03bc\u03b1 \u03bb\u03af\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03c4\u03bf.\n\nThis decision saves them from being the old coxcombs which they look\nlike in Caylus\u2019s picture. And what is the sight that fixes their eager\nlooks? A veiled, muffled figure. Is that Helen? I cannot conceive what\ninduced Caylus to make her wear a veil. Homer, to be sure, expressly\ngives her one,\n\n                \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03af\u03ba\u03b1 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f00\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03bd\u03bd\u1fc7\u03c3\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03c5\u03c8\u03b1\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7 \u1f40\u03b8\u03cc\u03bd\u1fc3\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd\n                \u1f61\u03c1\u03bc\u1fb6\u03c4\u2019 \u1f10\u03ba \u03b8\u03b1\u03bb\u03ac\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf,\n\n           \u201cShe left her chamber, robed and veiled in white,\u201d\n\nbut only to cross the street in. And although he makes the elders\nexpress their admiration before she could have had time to take it off\nor throw it back, yet they were not seeing her then for the first time.\nTheir confession need not therefore have been caused by the present\nhasty glance. They might often have felt what, on this occasion, they\nfirst acknowledged. There is nothing of this in the picture. When I\nbehold the ecstasy of those old men, I want to see the cause, and, as I\nsay, am exceedingly surprised to perceive nothing but a veiled, muffled\nfigure, at which they are staring with such devotion. What of Helen is\nthere? Her white veil and something of her outline, as far as outline\ncan be traced beneath drapery. But perhaps the Count did not mean that\nher face should be covered. In that case, although his words\u2014\u201cH\u00e9l\u00e8ne\ncouverte d\u2019un voile blanc\u201d\u2014hardly admit of such an interpretation,\nanother point excites my surprise. He recommends to the artist great\ncare in the expression of the old men\u2019s faces, and wastes not a word\nupon the beauty of Helen\u2019s. This modest beauty, approaching timidly, her\neyes moist with repentant tears,\u2014is, then, the highest beauty so much a\nmatter of course to our artists, that they need not be reminded of it?\nor is expression more than beauty? or is it with pictures as with the\nstage, where we are accustomed to accept the ugliest of actresses for a\nravishing princess, if her prince only express the proper degree of\npassion for her.\n\nTruly this picture of Caylus would be to that of Zeuxis as pantomime to\nthe most sublime of poetry.\n\nHomer was unquestionably more read formerly than now, yet we do not find\nmention of many pictures drawn from him even by the old artists.[143]\nThey seem diligently to have availed themselves of any individual\nphysical beauties which he may have pointed out. They painted these,\nwell knowing that in this department alone they could vie with the poet\nwith any chance of success. Zeuxis painted besides Helen a Penelope, and\nthe Diana of Apelles was the goddess of Homer attended by her nymphs.\n\nI will take this opportunity of saying that the passage in Pliny\nreferring to this picture of Apelles needs correcting.[144] But to paint\nscenes from Homer merely because they afforded a rich composition,\nstriking contrasts, and artistic shading, seems not to have been to the\ntaste of the old artists; nor could it be, so long as art kept within\nthe narrow limits of its own high calling. They fed upon the spirit of\nthe poet, and filled their imagination with his noblest traits. The fire\nof his enthusiasm kindled theirs. They saw and felt with him. Thus their\nworks became copies of the Homeric, not in the relation of portrait to\noriginal, but in the relation of a son to a father,\u2014like, but different.\nThe whole resemblance often lies in a single trait, the other parts\nbeing alike in nothing but in their harmony with that.\n\nSince, moreover, the Homeric masterpieces of poetry were older than any\nmasterpiece of art, for Homer had observed nature with the eye of an\nartist before either Phidias or Apelles, the artists naturally found\nready made in his poems many valuable observations, which they had not\nyet had time to make for themselves. These they eagerly seized upon, in\norder that, through Homer, they might copy nature. Phidias acknowledged\nthat the lines,[145]\u2014\n\n              \u1f2e \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03ba\u03c5\u03b1\u03bd\u03ad\u1fc3\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u2019 \u1f40\u03c6\u03c1\u03cd\u03c3\u03b9 \u03bd\u03b5\u1fe6\u03c3\u03b5 \u039a\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03af\u03c9\u03bd\u00b7\n            \u1f00\u03bc\u03b2\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03b9\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u03c1\u03b1 \u03c7\u03b1\u1fd6\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 \u1f10\u03c0\u03b5\u1fe4\u1fe5\u03ce\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf \u1f04\u03bd\u03b1\u03ba\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2\n            \u03ba\u03c1\u03b1\u03c4\u1f78\u03c2 \u1f00\u03c0\u2019 \u1f00\u03b8\u03b1\u03bd\u03ac\u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf\u00b7 \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1\u03bd \u03b4\u2019 \u1f10\u03bb\u03ad\u03bb\u03b9\u03be\u03b5\u03bd \u1f4c\u03bb\u03c5\u03bc\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd,\n\nserved him as the model of his Olympian Jupiter, and that only through\ntheir help had he succeeded in making a godlike countenance, \u201cpropemodum\nex ipso c\u0153lo petitum.\u201d Whoever understands by this merely that the\nimagination of the artist was fired by the poet\u2019s sublime picture, and\nthus made capable of equally sublime representations, overlooks, I\nthink, the chief point, and contents himself with a general statement\nwhere something very special and much more satisfactory is meant.\nPhidias here acknowledges also, as I understand him, that this passage\nfirst led him to notice how much expression lies in the eyebrows,\n\u201cquanta pars animi\u201d is shown in them. Perhaps it further induced him to\nbestow more attention upon the hair, in order to express in some degree\nwhat Homer calls ambrosial curls. For it is certain that the old artists\nbefore Phidias had very little idea of the language and significance of\nthe features, and particularly neglected the hair. Even Myron was faulty\nin both these respects, as Pliny observes,[146] and, according to the\nsame authority, Pythagoras Leontinus was the first who distinguished\nhimself by the beauty of his hair. Other artists learned from the works\nof Phidias what Phidias had learned from Homer.\n\nI will mention another example of the same kind which has always given\nme particular pleasure. Hogarth passes the following criticism on the\nApollo Belvidere.[147] \u201cThese two masterpieces of art, the Apollo and\nthe Antinous, are seen together in the same palace at Rome, where the\nAntinous fills the spectator with admiration only, whilst the Apollo\nstrikes him with surprise, and, as travellers express themselves, with\nan appearance of something more than human, which they of course are\nalways at a loss to describe; and this effect, they say, is the more\nastonishing, as, upon examination, its disproportion is evident even to\na common eye. One of the best sculptors we have in England, who lately\nwent to see them, confirmed to me what has been now said, particularly\nas to the legs and thighs being too long and too large for the upper\nparts. And Andrea Sacchi, one of the great Italian painters, seems to\nhave been of the same opinion, or he would hardly have given his Apollo,\ncrowning Pasquilini the musician, the exact proportion of the Antinous\n(in a famous picture of his now in England), as otherwise it seems to be\na direct copy from the Apollo.\n\n\u201cAlthough in very great works we often see an inferior part neglected,\nyet here this cannot be the case, because in a fine statue, just\nproportion is one of its essential beauties; therefore it stands to\nreason, that these limbs must have been lengthened on purpose, otherwise\nit might easily have been avoided.\n\n\u201cSo that if we examine the beauties of this figure thoroughly, we may\nreasonably conclude, that what has been hitherto thought so\nunaccountably excellent in its general appearance, hath been owing to\nwhat hath seemed a blemish in a part of it.\u201d\n\nAll this is very suggestive. Homer also, I would add, had already felt\nand noticed the same thing,\u2014that an appearance of nobility is produced\nby a disproportionate size of the foot and thigh. For, when Antenor is\ncomparing the figure of Ulysses with that of Menelaus, he says,[148]\u2014\n\n              \u03c3\u03c4\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u039c\u03b5\u03bd\u03ad\u03bb\u03b1\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f51\u03c0\u03b5\u03af\u03c1\u03b5\u03c7\u03b5\u03bd \u03b5\u1f50\u03c1\u03ad\u03b1\u03c2 \u1f64\u03bc\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2,\n              \u1f04\u03bc\u03c6\u03c9 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f11\u03b6\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03c9, \u03b3\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\u03c1\u03ce\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f26\u03b5\u03bd \u1f48\u03b4\u03c5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03cd\u03c2.\n\n\u201cWhen both were standing Menelaus overtopped him by his broad shoulders;\nbut when both were sitting, Ulysses was the more majestic.\u201d Since, when\nseated, Ulysses gained in dignity what Menelaus lost, we can easily tell\nthe proportion which the upper part of the body in each bore to the feet\nand thighs. In Ulysses the upper part was large in proportion to the\nlower: in Menelaus the size of the lower parts was large in proportion\nto that of the upper.\n\n\n\n\n                                 XXIII.\n\n\nA single incongruous part may destroy the harmonious effect of many\nbeauties, without, however, making the object ugly. Ugliness requires\nthe presence of several incongruous parts which we must be able to take\nin at a glance if the effect produced is to be the opposite of that\nwhich we call beauty.\n\nAccordingly ugliness in itself can be no subject for poetry. Yet Homer\nhas described its extreme in Thersites, and described it by its\ncoexistent parts. Why did he allow himself in the case of ugliness what\nhe wisely refrained from as regards beauty? Will not the effect of\nugliness be as much hindered by the successive enumeration of its\nelements, as the effect of beauty is neutralized by a similar treatment?\n\nCertainly it will, and therein lies Homer\u2019s justification. The poet can\nmake ugliness his theme only because it acquires through his description\na less repulsive aspect, and ceases in a measure to produce the effect\nof ugliness. What he cannot employ by itself, he uses as an ingredient\nto excite and strengthen certain mixed impressions, with which he must\nentertain us in the absence of those purely agreeable.\n\nThese mixed sensations are those of the ridiculous and the horrible.\n\nHomer makes Thersites ugly in order to make him ridiculous. Mere\nugliness, however, would not have this effect. Ugliness is imperfection,\nand the ridiculous requires a contrast between perfections and\nimperfections.[149] This is the explanation of my friend, to which I\nwould add that this contrast must not be too sharp and decided, but that\nthe opposites must be such as admit of being blended into each other.\nAll the ugliness of Thersites has not made the wise and virtuous \u00c6sop\nridiculous. A silly, monkish conceit sought to transfer to the writer\nthe \u03b3\u03ad\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd of his instructive fables by representing his person as\ndeformed. But a misshapen body and a beautiful soul are like oil and\nvinegar, which, however much they may be stirred together, will always\nremain distinct to the taste. They give rise to no third. Each one\nproduces its own effect,\u2014the body distaste, the soul delight. The two\nemotions blend into one only when the misshapen body is at the same time\nfrail and sickly, a hinderance and source of injury to the mind. The\nresult, however, is not laughter, but compassion; and the object, which\nbefore we had simply respected, now excites our interest. The frail,\nmisshapen Pope must have been more interesting to his friends than the\nstrong, handsome Wycherley.\n\nBut although Thersites is not ridiculous on account of his ugliness\nalone, he would not be ridiculous without it. Many elements work\ntogether to produce this result; the ugliness of his person\ncorresponding with that of his character, and both contrasting with the\nidea he entertains of his own importance, together with the\nharmlessness, except to himself, of his malicious tongue. The last point\nis the \u03bf\u1f50 \u03c6\u03b8\u03b1\u03c1\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u03cc\u03bd (the undeadly), which Aristotle[150] takes to be an\nindispensable element of the ridiculous. My friend also makes it a\nnecessary condition that the contrast should be unimportant, and not\ninterest us greatly. For, suppose that Thersites had had to pay dearly\nfor his spiteful detraction of Agamemnon, that it had cost him his life\ninstead of a couple of bloody wales, then we should cease to laugh at\nhim. To test the justice of this, let us read his death in Quintus\nCalaber.[151] Achilles regrets having slain Penthesilea. Her noble\nblood, so bravely shed, claims the hero\u2019s respect and compassion,\nfeelings which soon grow into love. The slanderous Thersites turns this\nlove into a crime. He inveighs against the sensuality which betrays even\nthe bravest of men into follies:\n\n                             \u1f25\u03c4\u2019 \u1f04\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 \u03c6\u1ff6\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c4\u03af\u03b8\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\n                     \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03b9\u03bd\u03c5\u03c4\u03cc\u03bd \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1 \u1f10\u03cc\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1.\n\nAchilles\u2019 wrath is kindled. Without a word he deals him such a blow\nbetween cheek and ear that teeth, blood, and life gush from the wound.\nThis is too barbarous. The angry, murderous Achilles becomes more an\nobject of hate to me than the tricky, snarling Thersites. The shout of\ndelight raised by the Greeks at the deed offends me. My sympathies are\nwith Diomedes, whose sword is drawn on the instant to take vengeance on\nthe murderer of his kinsman. For Thersites as a man is of my kin also.\n\nBut suppose that the attempts of Thersites had resulted in open mutiny;\nthat the rebellious people had actually taken to the ships, and\ntreacherously abandoned their commanders, who thereupon had fallen into\nthe hands of a vindictive enemy; and that the judgment of the gods had\ndecreed total destruction to fleet and nation: how should we then view\nthe ugliness of Thersites? Although harmless ugliness may be ridiculous,\nhurtful ugliness is always horrible.\n\nI cannot better illustrate this than by a couple of admirable passages\nfrom Shakespeare. Edmund, bastard son of the Earl of Gloucester in King\nLear, is no less a villain than Richard, Duke of Gloucester, who, by the\nmost hideous crimes, paved his way to the throne, which he ascended\nunder the title of Richard the Third. Why does he excite in us far less\ndisgust and horror? When the bastard says,[152]\u2014\n\n            Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law\n            My services are bound; wherefore should I\n            Stand in the plague of custom, and permit\n            The curiosity of nations to deprive me,\n            For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines\n            Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?\n            When my dimensions are as well compact,\n            My mind as generous, and my shape as true\n            As honest Madam\u2019s issue? why brand they thus\n            With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?\n            Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take\n            More composition and fierce quality,\n            Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,\n            Go to creating a whole tribe of fops\n            Got \u2019tween asleep and wake?\n\nI hear a devil speaking, but in the form of an angel of light.\n\nWhen, on the contrary, the Earl of Gloucester says,[153]\u2014\n\n          But I,\u2014that am not shaped for sportive tricks,\n          Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;\n          I, that am rudely stamped, and want love\u2019s majesty;\n          To strut before a wanton, ambling nymph;\n          I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,\n          Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,\n          Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time\n          Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,\n          And that so lamely and unfashionably,\n          That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;\n          Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,\n          Have no delight to pass away the time;\n          Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,\n          And descant on mine own deformity;\n          And, therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,\n          To entertain these fair, well-spoken days,\n          I am determined to prove a villain.\n\nI hear a devil and see a devil, in a shape which only the devil should\nwear.\n\n\n\n\n                                 XXIV.\n\n\nSuch is the use which the poet makes of ugliness of form. How can the\npainter legitimately employ it?\n\nPainting as imitative skill can express ugliness; painting as a fine art\nwill not express it. In the former capacity its sphere extends over all\nvisible objects; in the latter it confines itself to those which produce\nagreeable impressions.\n\nBut do not disagreeable impressions please in the imitation? Not all. An\nacute critic has already remarked this in respect of disgust.[154]\n\u201cRepresentations of fear,\u201d he says, \u201cof sadness, horror, compassion,\n&c., arouse painful emotions only in so far as we believe the evil to be\nactual. The consideration that it is but an illusion of art may resolve\nthese disagreeable sensations into those of pleasure. But, according to\nthe laws of imagination, the disagreeable sensation of disgust arises\nfrom the mere representation in the mind, whether the object be thought\nactually to exist or not. No matter how apparent the art of the\nimitation, our wounded sensibilities are not relieved. Our discomfort\narose not from the belief that the evil was actual, but from the mere\nrepresentation which is actually present. The feeling of disgust,\ntherefore, comes always from nature, never from imitation.\u201d\n\nThe same criticism is applicable to physical ugliness. This also wounds\nour sight, offends our taste for order and harmony, and excites aversion\nwithout regard to the actual existence of the object in which we\nperceive it. We wish to see neither Thersites himself nor his image. If\nhis image be the less displeasing, the reason is not that ugliness of\nshape ceases to be ugly in the imitation, but that we possess the power\nof diverting our minds from this ugliness by admiration of the artist\u2019s\nskill. But this satisfaction is constantly disturbed by the thought of\nthe unworthy use to which art has been put, and our esteem for the\nartist is thereby greatly diminished.\n\nAristotle adduces another reason[155] for the pleasure we take in even\nthe most faithful copy of what in nature is disagreeable. He attributes\nthis pleasure to man\u2019s universal desire for knowledge. We are pleased\nwhen we can learn from a copy \u03c4\u03af \u1f15\u03ba\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd, what each and every thing is,\nor when we can conclude from it \u1f45\u03c4\u03b9 \u03bf\u1f57\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03ba\u03b5\u1fd6\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, that it is the very\nthing we already know. But this is no argument in favor of the imitation\nof ugliness. The pleasure which arises from the gratification of our\ndesire for knowledge is momentary and only incidental to the object with\nregard to which it has been satisfied, whereas the discomfort which\naccompanies the sight of ugliness is permanent, and essential to the\nobject causing it. How, then, can one counterbalance the other? Still\nless can the trifling entertainment of tracing a likeness overcome the\nunpleasant impression produced by ugliness. The more closely I compare\nthe ugly copy with the ugly original, the more I expose myself to this\ninfluence, so that the pleasure of the comparison soon disappears,\nleaving nothing behind but the painful impression of this twofold\nugliness.\n\nFrom the examples given by Aristotle he appears not to include ugliness\nof form among the disagreeable things which may give pleasure in the\nimitation. His examples are wild beasts and dead bodies. Wild beasts\nexcite terror even when they are not ugly; and this terror, not their\nugliness, may be made to produce sensations of pleasure through\nimitation. So also of dead bodies. Keenness of sympathy, the dreadful\nthought of our own annihilation, make a dead body in nature an object of\naversion. In the imitation the sense of illusion robs sympathy of its\nsharpness, and, by the addition of various palliating circumstances,\nthat disturbing element may be either entirely banished or so\ninseparably interwoven with these softening features, that terror is\nalmost lost in desire.\n\nSince, then, ugliness of form, from its exciting sensations of pain of a\nkind incapable of being converted by imitation into pleasurable\nemotions, cannot in itself be a fitting subject for painting as a fine\nart, the question arises whether it may not be employed in painting as\nin poetry as an ingredient for strengthening other sensations.\n\nMay painting make use of deformity in the attainment of the ridiculous\nand horrible?\n\nI will not venture to answer this question absolutely in the negative.\nUnquestionably, harmless ugliness can be ridiculous in painting also,\nespecially when united with an affectation of grace and dignity. Equally\nbeyond question is it that hurtful ugliness excites terror in a picture\nas well as in nature, and that the ridiculous and the terrible, in\nthemselves mixed sensations, acquire through imitation an added degree\nof fascination.\n\nBut I must call attention to the fact that painting and poetry do not\nstand upon the same footing in this respect. In poetry, as I have\nobserved, ugliness of form loses its disagreeable effect almost entirely\nby the successive enumeration of its coexistent parts. As far as effect\nis concerned it almost ceases to be ugliness, and can thus more closely\ncombine with other appearances to produce new and different impressions.\nBut in painting ugliness is before our eyes in all its strength, and\naffects us scarcely less powerfully than in nature itself. Harmless\nugliness cannot, therefore, long remain ridiculous. The disagreeable\nimpression gains the mastery, and what was at first amusing becomes at\nlast repulsive. Nor is the case different with hurtful ugliness. The\nelement of terror gradually disappears, leaving the deformity unchanging\nand unrelieved.\n\nCount Caylus was therefore right in omitting the episode of Thersites\nfrom his series of Homeric pictures. But are we justified in wishing it\nout of Homer? I perceive with regret that this is done by one critic\nwhose taste is otherwise unerring.[156] I postpone further discussion of\nthe subject to a future occasion.\n\n\n\n\n                                  XXV.\n\n\nThe second distinction mentioned by the critic just quoted, between\ndisgust and other disagreeable emotions, appears in the distaste which\ndeformity excites in us.\n\n\u201cOther disagreeable passions,\u201d he says,[157] \u201cmay sometimes, in nature\nas well as in art, produce gratification, because they never arouse pure\npain. Their bitterness is always mixed with satisfaction. Our fear is\nseldom devoid of hope; terror rouses all our powers to escape the\ndanger; anger is mixed with a desire for vengeance; sadness, with the\npleasant recollection of former happiness; and compassion is inseparable\nfrom the tender sentiments of love and good-will. The mind is at liberty\nto dwell now on the agreeable, and now on the disagreeable side, and\nthus to obtain a mingling of pleasure and pain, more delightful than the\npurest pleasure. Very little study of ourselves will furnish us with\nabundant instances. Why else is his anger dearer to an angry man and his\nsadness to a melancholy one, than all the cheerful images by which we\nstrive to soothe him? Quite different is the case with disgust and its\nkindred sensations. Here the mind is conscious of no perceptible\nadmixture of pleasure. A feeling of uneasiness gains the mastery, and\nunder no imaginable conditions in nature or art would the mind fail to\nrecoil with aversion from representations of this nature.\u201d\n\nVery true; but, since the critic acknowledges the existence of other\nsensations nearly akin to that of disgust, and producing, like that,\nnothing but pain, what answers more nearly to this description than\nemotions excited by the sight of physical deformity? These are not only\nkindred to that of disgust, but they resemble it in being destitute of\nall admixture of pleasure in art as well as in nature. Under no\nimaginable conditions, therefore, would the mind fail to recoil with\naversion from such representations.\n\nThis aversion, if I have analyzed my feelings with sufficient care, is\naltogether of the nature of disgust. The sensation which accompanies the\nsight of physical deformity is disgust, though a low degree of it. This,\nindeed, is at variance with another remark of our critic, according to\nwhich only our more occult senses\u2014those of taste, smell, and touch\u2014are\ncapable of receiving impressions of disgust. \u201cThe first two,\u201d he says,\n\u201cfrom an excessive sweetness, and the latter from an extreme softness of\nbodies which offer too slight resistance to the fibres coming in contact\nwith them. Such objects, then, become intolerable to the sight, but\nsolely through the association of ideas, because we remember how\ndisagreeable they were to our sense of taste, smell, or touch. For,\nstrictly speaking, there are no objects of disgust to the eyes.\u201d I\nthink, however, that some might be mentioned. A mole on the face, a\nhare-lip, a flattened nose with prominent nostrils, are deformities\nwhich offend neither taste, smell, nor touch. Yet the sight of them\nexcites in us something much more nearly resembling disgust than we feel\nat sight of other malformations, such as a club-foot or a hump on the\nback. The more susceptible the temperament, the more distinctly are we\nconscious, when looking at such objects, of those motions in the body\nwhich precede nausea. That these motions soon subside, and rarely if\never result in actual sickness, is to be explained by the fact that the\neye receives in and with the objects causing them such a number of\npleasing images that the disagreeable impressions are too much weakened\nand obscured to exert any marked influence on the body. The more occult\nsenses of taste, smell, and touch, on the contrary, cannot receive other\nimpressions when in contact with the repulsive object. The element of\ndisgust operates in full force, and necessarily produces much more\nviolent effects upon the body.\n\nThe same rules hold of things loathsome as of things ugly, in respect of\nimitation. Indeed, since the disagreeable effect of the former is the\nmore violent, they are still less suitable subjects of painting or\npoetry. Only because the effect is softened by verbal expression, did I\nventure to assert that the poet might employ certain loathsome traits as\nan ingredient in such mixed sensations as can with good effect be\nstrengthened by the use of ugliness.\n\nThe ridiculous may be heightened by an element of disgust;\nrepresentations of dignity and propriety likewise become ludicrous when\nbrought into contrast with the disgusting. Examples of this abound in\nAristophanes. I am reminded of the weasel that interrupted the worthy\nSocrates in his astronomical observations.[158]\n\n            \u039c\u0391\u0398. \u03c0\u03c1\u03ce\u03b7\u03bd \u03b4\u03ad \u03b3\u03b5 \u03b3\u03bd\u03ce\u03bc\u03b7\u03bd \u03bc\u03b5\u03b3\u03ac\u03bb\u03b7\u03bd \u1f00\u03c6\u1fc3\u03c1\u03ad\u03b8\u03b7\n            \u1f51\u03c0\u2019 \u1f00\u03c3\u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\u03b2\u03ce\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5. \u03a3\u03a4\u03a1. \u03c4\u03af\u03bd\u03b1 \u03c4\u03c1\u03cc\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd; \u03ba\u03ac\u03c4\u03b5\u03b9\u03c0\u03ad \u03bc\u03bf\u03b9.\n            \u039c\u0391\u0398. \u03b6\u03b7\u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03c3\u03b5\u03bb\u03ae\u03bd\u03b7\u03c2 \u03c4\u1f70\u03c2 \u1f41\u03b4\u03bf\u1f7a\u03c2\n            \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f70\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9\u03c6\u03bf\u03c1\u03ac\u03c2, \u03b5\u1f36\u03c4\u2019 \u1f04\u03bd\u03c9 \u03ba\u03b5\u03c7\u03b7\u03bd\u03cc\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2\n            \u1f00\u03c0\u1f78 \u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u1f40\u03c1\u03bf\u03c6\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03bd\u03cd\u03ba\u03c4\u03c9\u03c1 \u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03ce\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03ad\u03c7\u03b5\u03c3\u03b5\u03bd.\n            \u03a3\u03a4\u03a1. \u1f25\u03c3\u03b8\u03b7\u03bd \u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03ce\u03c4\u1fc3 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03c7\u03ad\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9 \u03a3\u03c9\u03ba\u03c1\u03ac\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2.\n\nIf what fell into the open mouth had not been disgusting, there would be\nnothing ludicrous in the story.\n\nAn amusing instance of this occurs in the Hottentot story of Tquassouw\nand Knonmquaiha, attributed to Lord Chesterfield, which appeared in the\n\u201cConnoisseur,\u201d an English weekly, full of wit and humor. The filthiness\nof the Hottentots is well known, as also the fact of their regarding as\nbeautiful and holy what excites our disgust and aversion. The pressed\ngristle of a nose, flaccid breasts descending to the navel, the whole\nbody anointed with a varnish of goat\u2019s fat and soot, melted in by the\nsun, hair dripping with grease, arms and legs entwined with fresh\nentrails,\u2014imagine all this the object of an ardent, respectful, tender\nlove; listen to expressions of this love in the noble language of\nsincerity and admiration, and keep from laughing if you can.[159]\n\nThe disgusting seems to admit of being still more closely united with\nthe terrible. What we call the horrible is nothing more than a mixture\nof the elements of terror and disgust. Longinus[160] takes offence at\nthe \u201c\u03a4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u1f10\u03ba \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u1fe5\u03b9\u03bd\u1ff6\u03bd \u03bc\u03cd\u03be\u03b1\u03b9 \u1fe5\u03ad\u03bf\u03bd (mucus flowing from the nostrils) in\nHesiod\u2019s picture of Sorrow;[161] but not, I think, so much on account of\nthe loathsomeness of the trait, as from its being simply loathsome with\nno element of terror. For he does not seem inclined to find fault with\nthe \u03bc\u03b1\u03ba\u03c1\u03bf\u1f76 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f44\u03bd\u03c5\u03c7\u03b5\u03c2 \u03c7\u03b5\u03af\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f51\u03c0\u1fc6\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd, the long nails projecting beyond\nthe fingers. Long nails are not less disgusting than a running nose, but\nthey are at the same time terrible. It is they that tear the cheeks till\nthe blood runs to the ground:\n\n                                ... \u1f10\u03ba \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9\u1ff6\u03bd\n                      \u03b1\u1f36\u03bc\u2019 \u1f00\u03c0\u03b5\u03bb\u03b5\u03af\u03b2\u03b5\u03c4\u2019 \u1f14\u03c1\u03b1\u03b6\u03b5....\n\nThe other feature is simply disgusting, and I should advise Sorrow to\ncease her crying.\n\nRead Sophocles\u2019 description of the desert cave of his wretched\nPhiloctetes. There are no provisions to be seen, no comforts beyond a\ntrampled litter of dried leaves, an unshapely wooden bowl, and a\ntinder-box. These constitute the whole wealth of the sick, forsaken man.\nHow does the poet complete the sad and frightful picture? By introducing\nthe element of disgust. \u201cHa!\u201d Neoptolemus draws back of a sudden, \u201chere\nare rags drying full of blood and matter.\u201d[162]\n\n              NE. \u1f41\u03c1\u03ce \u03ba\u03b5\u03bd\u1f74\u03bd \u03bf\u1f34\u03ba\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f00\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03ce\u03c0\u03c9\u03bd \u03b4\u03af\u03c7\u03b1.\n\n              \u039f\u0394. \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u2019 \u1f14\u03bd\u03b4\u03bf\u03bd \u03bf\u1f30\u03ba\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03cc\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c3\u03c4\u03af \u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c6\u03ae;\n\n              \u039d\u0395. \u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03af\u03c0\u03c4\u03ae \u03b3\u03b5 \u03c6\u03c5\u03bb\u03bb\u1f70\u03c2 \u1f61\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd\u03b1\u03c5\u03bb\u03af\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03af \u03c4\u1ff3.\n\n              O\u0394. \u03c4\u1f70 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u03bb\u03bb\u2019 \u1f14\u03c1\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1, \u03ba\u03bf\u1f54\u03b4\u03ad\u03bd \u1f10\u03c3\u03b8\u2019 \u1f51\u03c0\u03cc\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03b3\u03bf\u03bd;\n\n              \u039d\u0395. \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03cc\u03be\u03c5\u03bb\u03cc\u03bd \u03b3\u2019 \u1f14\u03ba\u03c0\u03c9\u03bc\u03b1 \u03c6\u03b1\u03c5\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5\u03c1\u03b3\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u1f78\u03c2\n                  \u03c4\u03b5\u03c7\u03bd\u03ae\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u2019 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03c5\u03c1\u03b5\u1fd6\u2019 \u1f41\u03bc\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03c4\u03ac\u03b4\u03b5.\n\n              O\u0394. \u03ba\u03b5\u03af\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5 \u03c4\u1f78 \u03b8\u03b7\u03c3\u03b1\u03cd\u03c1\u03b9\u03c3\u03bc\u03b1 \u03c3\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1\u03af\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03cc\u03b4\u03b5.\n\n              \u039d\u0395. \u1f30\u03bf\u1f7a, \u1f30\u03bf\u03cd\u00b7 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u03b1\u1fe6\u03c4\u03ac \u03b3\u2019 \u1f04\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1 \u03b8\u03ac\u03bb\u03c0\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9\n                  \u1fe5\u03ac\u03ba\u03b7, \u03b2\u03b1\u03c1\u03b5\u03af\u03b1\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03bd\u03bf\u03c3\u03b7\u03bb\u03b5\u03af\u03b1\u03c2 \u03c0\u03bb\u03ad\u03b1.\n\nSo in Homer, Hector dragged on the ground, his face foul with dust, his\nhair matted with blood,\n\n            Squalentem barbam et concretos sanguine crines,\n\n(as Virgil expresses it[163]) is a disgusting object, but all the more\nterrible and touching.\n\nWho can recall the punishment of Marsyas, in Ovid, without a feeling of\ndisgust?[164]\n\n          Clamanti cutis est summos direpta per artus:\n          Nec quidquam, nisi vulnus erat; cruor undique manat:\n          Detectique patent nervi: trepid\u00e6que sine ulla\n          Pelle micant ven\u00e6: salientia viscera possis,\n          Et perlucentes numerare in pectore fibras.\n\nBut the loathsome details are here appropriate. They make the terrible\nhorrible, which in fiction is far from displeasing to us; since, even in\nnature, where our compassion is enlisted, things horrible are not wholly\ndevoid of charm.\n\nI do not wish to multiply examples, but this one thing I must further\nobserve. There is one form of the horrible, the road to which lies\nalmost exclusively through the disgusting, and that is the horror of\nfamine. Even in ordinary life we can convey no idea of extreme hunger\nsave by enumerating all the innutritious, unwholesome, and particularly\ndisgusting things with which the stomach would fain appease its\ncravings. Since imitation can excite nothing of the feeling of actual\nhunger, it has recourse to another disagreeable sensation which, in\ncases of extreme hunger, is felt to be a lesser evil. We may thus infer\nhow intense that other suffering must be which makes the present\ndiscomfort in comparison of small account.\n\nOvid says of the Oread whom Ceres sent to meet Famine,[165]\u2014\n\n          Hanc (Famem) procul ut vidit....\n          ... refert mandata de\u00e6; paulumque morata\n          Quanquam aberat longe, quanquam modo venerat illuc,\n          Visa tamen sensisse famem....\n\nThis is an unnatural exaggeration. The sight of a hungry person, even of\nHunger herself, has no such power of contagion. Compassion and horror\nand loathing may be aroused, but not hunger. Ovid has not been sparing\nof this element of the horrible in the picture of Famine; while both he\nand Callimachus,[166] in their description of Erisichthon\u2019s starvation,\nhave laid chief emphasis upon the loathsome traits. After Erisichthon\nhas devoured every thing, not sparing even the sacrificial cow, which\nhis mother had been fattening for Vesta, Callimachus makes him fall on\nhorses and cats, and beg in the streets for crumbs and filthy refuse\nfrom other men\u2019s tables.\n\n              \u039a\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f70\u03bd \u03b2\u1ff6\u03bd \u1f14\u03c6\u03b1\u03b3\u03b5\u03bd, \u03c4\u1f70\u03bd \u1f19\u03c3\u03c4\u03af\u1fb3 \u1f14\u03c4\u03c1\u03b5\u03c6\u03b5 \u03bc\u03ac\u03c4\u03b7\u03c1,\n              \u039a\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u1f00\u03b5\u03b8\u03bb\u03bf\u03c6\u03cc\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03b5\u03bc\u03ae\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u1f35\u03c0\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd,\n              \u039a\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f70\u03bd \u03b1\u1f34\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd, \u03c4\u1f70\u03bd \u1f14\u03c4\u03c1\u03b5\u03bc\u03b5 \u03b8\u03b7\u03c1\u03af\u03b1 \u03bc\u03b9\u03ba\u03ba\u03ac\u2014\n              \u039a\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u03cc\u03c7\u2019 \u1f41 \u03c4\u1ff6 \u03b2\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03bb\u1fc6\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd\u1f76 \u03c4\u03c1\u03b9\u03cc\u03b4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u1fc6\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\n              \u03b1\u1f30\u03c4\u03af\u03b6\u03c9\u03bd \u1f00\u03ba\u03cc\u03bb\u03c9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f14\u03ba\u03b2\u03bf\u03bb\u03b1 \u03bb\u03cd\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u03b4\u03b1\u03b9\u03c4\u03cc\u03c2.\n\nOvid represents him finally as biting into his own flesh, that his body\nmight thus furnish nourishment for itself.\n\n             Vis tamen illa mali postquam consumserat omnem\n             Materiam ...\n             Ipse suos artus lacero divellere morsu\n             C\u0153pit\u00b7 et infelix minuendo corpus alebat.\n\nThe hideous harpies were made loathsome and obscene in order that the\nhunger occasioned by their carrying off of the food might be the more\nhorrible. Hear the complaints of Phineus in Apollonius:[167]\u2014\n\n            \u03c4\u03c5\u03c4\u03b8\u1f78\u03bd \u03b4\u2019 \u1f26\u03bd \u1f04\u03c1\u03b1 \u03b4\u03ae \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u2019 \u1f10\u03b4\u03b7\u03c4\u03cd\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f04\u03bc\u03bc\u03b9 \u03bb\u03af\u03c0\u03c9\u03c3\u03b9,\n            \u03c0\u03bd\u03b5\u1fd6 \u03c4\u03cc\u03b4\u03b5 \u03bc\u03c5\u03b4\u03b1\u03bb\u03ad\u03bf\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bf\u1f50 \u03c4\u03bb\u03b7\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f40\u03b4\u03bc\u1fc6\u03c2.\n            \u03bf\u1f54 \u03ba\u03ad \u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u1f72 \u03bc\u03af\u03bd\u03c5\u03bd\u03b8\u03b1 \u03b2\u03c1\u03bf\u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd \u1f04\u03bd\u03c3\u03c7\u03bf\u03b9\u03c4\u03bf \u03c0\u03b5\u03bb\u03ac\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1\u03c2,\n            \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u2019 \u03b5\u1f30 \u03bf\u1f31 \u1f00\u03b4\u03ac\u03bc\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bb\u03b7\u03bb\u03b1\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u03ba\u03ad\u03b1\u03c1 \u03b5\u1f34\u03b7.\n            \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb\u03ac \u03bc\u03b5 \u03c0\u03b9\u03ba\u03c1\u1f74 \u03b4\u1fc6\u03c4\u03ac \u03ba\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f04\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c0\u03af\u03c3\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9 \u1f00\u03bd\u03ac\u03b3\u03ba\u03b7\n            \u03bc\u03af\u03bc\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bc\u03af\u03bc\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u1fc7 \u1f10\u03bd \u03b3\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03ad\u03c1\u03b9 \u03b8\u03ad\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9.\n\nI would gladly excuse in this way, if I could, Virgil\u2019s disgusting\nintroduction of the harpies. They, however, instead of occasioning an\nactual present hunger, only prophesy an inward craving; and this\nprophecy, moreover, is resolved finally into a mere play upon words.\n\nDante not only prepares us for the starvation of Ugolino by a most\nloathsome, horrible description of him together with his former\npersecutor in hell, but the slow starvation itself is not free from\ndisgusting features, as where the sons offer themselves as food for the\nfather. I give in a note a passage from a play by Beaumont and Fletcher,\nwhich might have served me in the stead of all other examples, were it\nnot somewhat too highly drawn.[168]\n\nI come now to objects of disgust in painting. Even could we prove that\nthere are no objects directly disgusting to the eye, which painting as a\nfine art would naturally avoid, it would still be obliged to refrain\nfrom loathsome objects in general, because they become through the\nassociation of ideas disgusting also to the sense of sight. Pordenone,\nin a picture of the entombment, makes one of the by-standers hold his\nnose. Richardson[169] objects to this on the ground that Christ had not\nbeen long enough dead for corruption to set in. In the raising of\nLazarus, however, he would allow the painter to represent some of the\nlookers-on in that attitude, because the narrative expressly states that\nthe body was already offensive. But I consider the representation in\nboth cases as insufferable, for not only the actual smell, but the very\nidea of it is nauseous. We shun bad-smelling places even when we have a\ncold in the head. But painting does not employ loathsomeness for its own\nsake, but, like poetry, to give emphasis to the ludicrous and the\nterrible. At its peril! What I have already said of ugliness in this\nconnection applies with greater force to loathsomeness. This also loses\nmuch less of its effect in a visible representation than in a\ndescription addressed to the ear, and can therefore unite less closely\nwith the elements of the ludicrous and terrible in painting than in\npoetry. As soon as the surprise passes and the first curious glance is\nsatisfied, the elements separate and loathsomeness appears in all its\ncrudity.\n\n\n\n\n                                 XXVI.\n\n\nWinkelmann\u2019s \u201cHistory of Ancient Art\u201d has appeared, and I cannot venture\na step further until I have read it. Criticism based solely upon general\nprinciples may lead to conceits which sooner or later we find to our\nshame refuted in works on art.\n\nThe ancients well understood the connection between painting and poetry,\nand are sure not to have drawn the two arts more closely together than\nthe good of both would warrant. What their artists have done will teach\nme what artists in general should do; and where such a man precedes with\nthe torch of history, speculation may boldly follow.\n\nWe are apt to turn over the leaves of an important work before seriously\nsetting ourselves to read it. My chief curiosity was to know the\nauthor\u2019s opinion of the Laocoon; not of its merit as a work of art, for\nthat he had already given, but merely of its antiquity. Would he agree\nwith those who think that Virgil had the group before him, or with those\nwho suppose the sculptors to have followed the poet?\n\nI am pleased to find that he says nothing of imitation on either side.\nWhat need is there, indeed, of supposing imitation?\n\nVery possibly the resemblances which I have been considering between the\npoetic picture and the marble group were not intentional but accidental,\nand, so far from one having served as a model for the other, the two may\nnot even have had a common model. Had he, however, been misled by an\nappearance of imitation, he must have declared in favor of those who\nmake Virgil the imitator. For he supposes the Laocoon to date from the\nperiod when Greek art was in its perfection: to be, therefore, of the\ntime of Alexander the Great.\n\n\u201cKind fortune,\u201d he says,[170] \u201cwatching over the arts even in their\nextinction, has preserved for the admiration of the world a work of this\nperiod of art, which proves the truth of what history tells concerning\nthe glory of the many lost masterpieces. The Laocoon with his two sons,\nthe work of Agesander, Apollodorus,[171] and Athenodorus, of Rhodes,\ndates in all probability from this period, although we cannot determine\nthe exact time, nor give, as some have done, the Olympiad in which these\nartists flourished.\u201d\n\nIn a note he adds: \u201cPliny says not a word with regard to the time when\nAgesander and his assistants lived. But Maffei, in his explanation of\nthe ancient statues, professes to know that these artists flourished in\nthe eighty-eighth Olympiad; and others, like Richardson, have maintained\nthe same on his authority. He must, I think, have mistaken an\nAthenodorus, a pupil of Polycletus, for one of our artists. Polycletus\nflourished in the eighty-seventh Olympiad, and his supposed pupil was\ntherefore referred to the Olympiad following. Maffei can have no other\ngrounds for his opinion.\u201d\n\nCertainly he can have no other. But why does Winkelmann content himself\nwith the mere mention of this supposed argument of Maffei? Does it\nrefute itself? Not altogether. For although not otherwise supported, it\nyet carries with it a certain degree of probability unless we can prove\nthat Athenodorus, the pupil of Polycletus, and Athenodorus, the\nassistant of Agesander and Polydorus, could not possibly have been one\nand the same person. Happily this is proved by the fact that the two\nwere natives of different countries. We have the express testimony of\nPausanias[172] that the first Athenodorus was from Clitor in Arcadia,\nwhile the second, on the authority of Pliny, was born at Rhodes.\n\nWinkelmann can have had no object in refraining from a direct refutation\nof Maffei by the statement of this circumstance. Probably the arguments\nwhich his undoubted critical knowledge derived from the skill of the\nworkmanship seemed to him of such great weight, that he deemed any\nslight probability which Maffei\u2019s opinion might have on its side a\nmatter of no importance. He doubtless recognized in the Laocoon too many\nof those _arguti\u00e6_[173] (traits of animation) peculiar to Lysippus, to\nsuppose it to be of earlier date than that master who was the first to\nenrich art with this semblance of life.\n\nBut, granting the fact to be proved that the Laocoon cannot be older\nthan Lysippus, have we thereby proved that it must be contemporaneous\nwith him or nearly so? May it not be a work of much later date? Passing\nin review those periods previous to the rise of the Roman monarchy, when\nart in Greece alternately rose and sank, why, I ask, might not Laocoon\nhave been the happy fruit of that emulation which the extravagant luxury\nof the first emperors must have kindled among artists? Why might not\nAgesander and his assistants have been the contemporaries of\nStrongylion, Arcesilaus, Pasiteles, Posidonius, or Diogenes? Were not\nsome of the works of those masters counted among the greatest treasures\never produced by art? And if undoubted works from the hand of these men\nwere still in existence, but the time in which they lived was unknown\nand left to be determined by the style of their art, would not some\ninspiration from heaven be needed to prevent the critic from referring\nthem to that period which to Winkelmann seemed the only one worthy of\nproducing the Laocoon?\n\nPliny, it is true, does not expressly mention the time when the\nsculptors of the Laocoon lived. But were I to conclude from a study of\nthe whole passage whether he would have them reckoned among the old or\nthe new artists, I confess the probability seems to me in favor of the\nlatter inference. Let the reader judge.\n\nAfter speaking at some length of the oldest and greatest masters of\nsculpture,\u2014Phidias, Praxiteles, and Scopas,\u2014and then giving, without\nchronological order, the names of the rest, especially of those who were\nrepresented in Rome by any of their works, Pliny proceeds as\nfollows:[174]\u2014\n\n\n  Nec multo plurium fama est, quorundam claritati in operibus eximiis\n  obstante numero artificum, quoniam nec unus occupat gloriam, nec\n  plures pariter nuncupari possunt, sicut in Laocoonte, qui est in Titi\n  Imperatoris domo, opus omnibus et pictur\u00e6 et statuari\u00e6 artis\n  pr\u00e6ponendum. Ex uno lapide eum et liberos draconumque mirabiles nexus\n  de consilii sententia fecere summi artifices, Agesander et Polydorus\n  et Athenodorus Rhodii. Similiter Palatinas domus C\u00e6sarum replevere\n  probatissimis signis Craterus cum Pythodoro, Polydectes cum Hermolao,\n  Pythodorus alius cum Artemone, et singularis Aphrodisius Trallianus.\n  Agripp\u00e6 Pantheum decoravit Diogenes Atheniensis; et Caryatides in\n  columnis templi ejus probantur inter pauca operum: sicut in fastigio\n  posita signa, sed propter altitudinem loci minus celebrata.\n\n\nOf all the artists mentioned in this passage, Diogenes of Athens is the\none whose date is fixed with the greatest precision. He adorned the\nPantheon of Agrippa, and therefore lived under Augustus. But a close\nexamination of Pliny\u2019s words will, I think, determine with equal\ncertainty the date of Craterus and Pythodorus, Polydectes and Hermolaus,\nthe second Pythodorus and Artemon, as also of Aphrodisius of Tralles. He\nsays of them: \u201cPalatinas domus C\u00e6sarum replevere probatissimis signis.\u201d\nCan this mean only that the palaces were filled with admirable works by\nthese artists, which the emperors had collected from various places and\nbrought to their dwellings in Rome? Surely not. The sculptors must have\nexecuted their works expressly for the imperial palaces, and must,\ntherefore, have lived at the time of these emperors. That they were\nartists of comparatively late date, who worked only in Italy, is plain\nfrom our finding no mention of them elsewhere. Had they worked in Greece\nat an earlier day, Pausanias would have seen some work of theirs and\nrecorded it. He mentions, indeed, a Pythodorus,[175] but Hardouin is\nwrong in supposing him to be the same referred to by Pliny. For\nPausanias calls the statue of Juno at Coron\u00e6a, in B\u0153otia, the work of\nthe former, \u1f04\u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03bc\u03b1 \u1f00\u03c1\u03c7\u03b1\u1fd6\u03bf\u03bd (an ancient idol), a term which he applies\nonly to the works of those artists who lived in the first rude days of\nart, long before Phidias and Praxiteles. With such works the emperors\nwould certainly not have adorned their palaces. Of still less value is\nanother suggestion of Hardouin, that Artemon may be the painter of the\nsame name elsewhere mentioned by Pliny. Identity of name is a slight\nargument, and by no means authorizes us to do violence to the natural\ninterpretation of an uncorrupted passage.\n\nIf it be proved beyond a doubt that Craterus and Pythodorus, Polydectes\nand Hermolaus, with the rest, lived at the time of the emperors whose\npalaces they adorned with their admirable works, then I think we can\nassign no other date to those artists, the sculptors of the Laocoon,\nwhose names Pliny connects with these by the word _similiter_. For if\nAgesander, Polydorus, and Athenodorus were really such old masters as\nWinkelmann supposes, it would be the height of impropriety for an\nauthor, who makes great account of precision of expression, to leap from\nthem to the most modern artists, merely with the words \u201cin like manner.\u201d\n\nBut it may be urged that this _similiter_ has no reference to a common\ndate, but to some other circumstance common to all these masters, who\nyet in age were widely different. Pliny, it may be said, is speaking of\nartists who had worked in partnership, and on this account had not\nobtained the fame they merited. The names of all had been left in\nneglect, because no one artist could appropriate the honor of the common\nwork, and to mention the names of all the participators would require\ntoo much time (quoniam nec unus occupat gloriam, nec plures pariter\nnuncupari possunt). This had been the fate of the sculptors of the\nLaocoon, as well as of the many other masters whom the emperors had\nemployed in the decoration of their palaces.\n\nBut, granting all this, the probabilities are still in favor of the\nsupposition that Pliny meant to refer only to the later artists whose\nlabors had been in common. If he had meant to include older ones, why\nconfine himself to the sculptors of the Laocoon?\n\nWhy not mention others, as Onatas and Calliteles, Timocles and\nTimarchides, or the sons of this Timarchides, who together had made a\nstatue of Jupiter at Rome?[176] Winkelmann himself says that a long list\nmight be made of older works which had more than one father.[177] And\nwould Pliny have thought but of the single example of Agesander,\nPolydorus, and Athenodorus, if he had not meant to confine himself\nstrictly to the more modern masters?\n\nIf ever a conjecture gained in probability from the number and magnitude\nof the difficulties solved by it, this one, that the sculptors of the\nLaocoon flourished under the first emperors, has that advantage in a\nhigh degree. For had they lived and worked in Greece at the time which\nWinkelmann assigns to them, had the Laocoon itself existed earlier in\nGreece, then the utter silence of the Greeks with regard to such a work,\n\u201csurpassing all the results of painting or statuary\u201d (opere omnibus et\npictur\u00e6 et statuari\u00e6 artis pr\u00e6ponendo), is most surprising. It is hard\nto believe that such great masters should have created nothing else, or\nthat the rest of their works should have been, equally with the Laocoon,\nunknown to Pausanias. In Rome, on the contrary, the greatest masterpiece\nmight have remained long concealed. If the Laocoon had been finished as\nearly as the time of Augustus, there would be nothing surprising in\nPliny\u2019s being the first, and, indeed, the last, to mention it. For\nremember what he tells[178] of a Venus by Scopas, which stood in the\ntemple of Mars at Rome:\n\n\n  ... \u201cquemcunque alium locum nobilitatura. Rom\u00e6 quidem magnitudo operum\n  eam obliterat, ac magni officiorum negotiorumque acervi omnes a\n  contemplatione talium abducunt: quoniam otiosorum et in magno loci\n  silentio apta admiratio talis est.\u201d\n\n\nThose who would fain see in the group an imitation of Virgil\u2019s Laocoon\nwill readily catch at what I have been saying, nor will they be\ndispleased at another conjecture which just occurs to me. Why should not\nAsinius Pollio, they may think, have been the patron who had Virgil\u2019s\nLaocoon put into marble by Greek artists? Pollio was a particular friend\nof the poet, survived him, and appears to have written an original work\non the \u00c6neid. For whence but from such a work could the various comments\nhave been drawn which Servius quotes from that author?[179] Pollio was,\nmoreover, a lover of art and a connoisseur, possessed a valuable\ncollection of the best of the old masterpieces, ordered new works from\nthe artists of his day, and showed in his choice a taste quite likely to\nbe pleased by so daring a piece as the Laocoon,[180] \u201cut fuit acris\nvehementi\u00e6, sic quoque spectari monumenta sua voluit.\u201d\n\nSince, however, the cabinet of Pollio in Pliny\u2019s day, when the Laocoon\nwas standing in the palace of Titus, seems to have existed entire in a\nseparate building, this supposition again loses something of its\nprobability. Why might not Titus himself have done what we are trying to\nascribe to Pollio?\n\n\n\n\n                                 XXVII.\n\n\nA little item first brought to my notice by Winkelmann himself confirms\nme in my opinion that the sculptors of the Laocoon lived at the time of\nthe emperors, or at least could not date from so early a period as he\nassigns them. It is this:[181] \u201cIn Nettuno, the ancient Antium, Cardinal\nAlexander Albani discovered in 1717 in a deep vault, which lay buried\nunder the sea, a vase of the grayish black marble now called _bigio_,\nwherein the Laocoon was inlaid. Upon this vase is the following\ninscription:\u2014\n\n                         \u0391\u0398\u0391\u039d\u039f\u0394\u03a9\u03a1\u039f\u03a3 \u0391\u0393\u0397\u03a3\u0391\u039d\u0394\u03a1\u039f\u03a5\n                         \u03a1\u039f\u0394\u0399\u039f\u03a3 \u0395\u03a0\u039f\u0399\u0397\u03a3\u0395.\n\n\u201cAthanodorus of Rhodes, son of Agesander, made it.\u201d We learn from this\ninscription that father and son worked on the Laocoon; and probably\nApollodorus (Polydorus) was also a son of Agesander, for this\nAthanodorus can be no other than the one mentioned by Pliny. The\ninscription also proves that more than three works of art have been\nfound\u2014the number stated by Pliny\u2014on which the artists have set the word\n\u201cmade,\u201d in definite past time, \u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5, _fecit_. Other artists, he says,\nfrom modesty, made use of indefinite time, \u201cwas making,\u201d \u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b5\u03b9,\n_faciebat_.\n\nFew will contradict Winkelmann in his conclusion that the Athanodorus of\nthis inscription can be no other than the Athenodorus whom Pliny\nmentions as among the sculptors of the Laocoon. Athanodorus and\nAthenodorus are entirely synonymous; for the Rhodians used the Doric\ndialect. But the other conclusions which he draws from the inscription\nrequire further comment.\n\nThe first, that Athenodorus was a son of Agesander, may pass. It is\nhighly probable, though by no means certain. Some of the old artists, we\nknow, called themselves after their teachers instead of taking their\nfathers\u2019 names. What Pliny says of the brothers Apollonius and Tauriscus\ncannot well be explained in any other way.[182]\n\nBut shall we say that this inscription contradicts the statement of\nPliny that there were only three works of art to which their masters had\nset their names in definite past time (\u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5 instead of \u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b5\u03b9)? This\ninscription! What need of this to teach us what we might have learned\nlong ago from a multitude of others? On the statue of Germanicus was\nthere not the inscription \u039a\u03bb\u03b5\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7\u03c2\u2014\u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5, Cleomenes made? on the\nso-called Apotheosis of Homer, \u1f08\u03c1\u03c7\u03ad\u03bb\u03b1\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5, Archelaus made? on the\nwell-known vase at Gaeta, \u03a3\u03b1\u03bb\u03c0\u03af\u03c9\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5, Salpion made? nor are other\ninstances wanting.[183]\n\nWinkelmann may answer: \u201cNo one knows that better than I. So much the\nworse for Pliny. His statement has been so much the oftener\ncontradicted, and is so much the more surely refuted.\u201d\n\nBy no means. How if Winkelmann has made Pliny say more than he meant to\nsay? How if these examples contradict, not Pliny\u2019s statement, but only\nsomething which Winkelmann supposes him to have stated? And this is\nactually the case. I must quote the whole passage. Pliny, in the\ndedication of his work to Titus, speaks with the modesty of a man who\nknows better than any one else how far what he has accomplished falls\nshort of perfection. He finds a noteworthy example of such modesty among\nthe Greeks, on the ambitious and boastful titles of whose books\n(inscriptiones, propter quas vadimonium deseri possit) he dwells at some\nlength, and then says:[184]\n\n\n  Et ne in totum videar Gr\u00e6cos insectari, ex illis nos velim intelligi\n  pingendi fingendique conditoribus, quos in libellis his invenies,\n  absoluta opera, et illa quoque qu\u00e6 mirando non satiamur, pendenti\n  titulo inscripsisse: ut APELLES FACIEBAT, aut POLYCLETUS: tanquam\n  inchoata semper arte et imperfecta: ut contra judiciorum varietates\n  superesset artifici regressus ad veniam, velut emendaturo quidquid\n  desideraretur, si non esset interceptus. Quare plenum verecundi\u00e6 illud\n  est, quod omnia opera tanquam novissima inscripsere, et tanquam\n  singulis fato adempti. Tria non amplius, ut opinor, absolute traduntur\n  inscripta, ILLE FECIT, qu\u00e6 suis locis reddam: quo apparuit, summam\n  artis securitatem auctori placuisse, et ob id magna invidia fuere\n  omnia ea.\n\n\nI desire to call particular attention to the words of Pliny, \u201cpingendi\nfingendique conditoribus\u201d (the creators of the imitative arts). Pliny\ndoes not say that it was the habit of all artists of every date to affix\ntheir names to their works in indefinite past time. He says explicitly\nthat only the first of the old masters\u2014those creators of the imitative\narts, Apelles, Polycletus, and their contemporaries\u2014possessed this wise\nmodesty, and, by his mention of these alone, he gives plainly to be\nunderstood, though he does not actually say it in words, that their\nsuccessors, particularly those of a late date, expressed themselves with\ngreater assurance.\n\nWith this interpretation, which is the only true one, we may fully\naccept the inscription from the hand of one of the three sculptors of\nthe Laocoon without impugning the truth of what Pliny says, that but\nthree works existed whereon their creators had cut the inscription in\nthe finished past time; only three, that is, among all the older works,\nof the time of Apelles, Polycletus, Nicias, and Lysippus. But then we\ncannot accept the conclusion that Athenodorus and his assistants were\ncontemporaries of Apelles and Lysippus, as Winkelmann would make them.\nWe should reason thus. If it be true that among the works of the old\nmasters, Apelles, Polycletus, and others of that class, there were but\nthree whose inscriptions stood in definite past time, and if it be\nfurther true that Pliny has mentioned these three by name,[185] then\nAthenodorus, who had made neither of these three works, and who\nnevertheless employs the definite past time in his inscriptions, cannot\nbelong among those old masters; he cannot be a contemporary of Apelles\nand Lysippus, but must have a later date assigned him.\n\nIn short, we may, I think, take it as a safe criterion that all artists\nwho employed the \u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5, the definite past tense, flourished long after\nthe time of Alexander the Great, either under the empire or shortly\nbefore. Of Cleomenes this is unquestionably true; highly probable of\nArchelaus; and of Salpion the contrary, at least, cannot be proved. So\nalso of the rest, not excepting Athenodorus.\n\nLet Winkelmann himself decide. But I protest beforehand against the\nconverse of the proposition. If all who employed the \u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5 belong\namong the later artists, not all who have used the \u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b5\u03b9 are to be\nreckoned among the earliest. Some of the more recent artists also may\nhave really possessed this becoming modesty, and by others it may have\nbeen assumed.\n\n\n\n\n                                XXVIII.\n\n\nNext to his judgment of the Laocoon, I was curious to know what\nWinkelmann would say of the so-called Borghese Gladiator. I think I have\nmade a discovery with regard to this statue, and I rejoice in it with\nall a discoverer\u2019s delight.\n\nI feared lest Winkelmann should have anticipated me, but there is\nnothing of the kind in his work. If ought could make me doubt the\ncorrectness of my conjecture, it would be the fact that my alarm was\nuncalled for.\n\n\u201cSome critics,\u201d says Winkelmann,[186] \u201ctake this statue for that of a\ndiscobolus, that is, of a person throwing a disc or plate of metal. This\nopinion was expressed by the famous Herr von Stosch in a paper addressed\nto me. But he cannot have sufficiently studied the position which such a\nfigure would assume. A person in the act of throwing must incline his\nbody backward, with the weight upon the right thigh, while the left leg\nis idle. Here the contrary is the case. The whole figure is thrown\nforward, and rests on the left thigh while the right leg is stretched\nbackward to its full extent. The right arm is new, and a piece of a\nlance has been placed in the hand. On the left can be seen the strap\nthat held the shield. The fact that the head and eyes are turned upward\nand that the figure seems to be protecting himself with the shield\nagainst some danger from above would rather lead us to consider this\nstatue as representing a soldier who had especially distinguished\nhimself in some position of peril. The Greeks probably never paid their\ngladiators the honor of erecting them a statue; and this work, moreover,\nseems to have been made previous to the introduction of gladiators into\nGreece.\u201d\n\nThe criticism is perfectly just. The statue is no more a gladiator than\nit is a discobolus, but really represents a soldier who distinguished\nhimself in this position on occasion of some great danger. After this\nhappy guess, how could Winkelmann help going a step further? Why did he\nnot think of that warrior who in this very attitude averted the\ndestruction of a whole army, and to whom his grateful country erected a\nstatue in the same posture?\n\nThe statue, in short, is Chabrias.\n\nThis is proved by the following passage from Nepos\u2019 life of that\ncommander:\u2014[187]\n\n\n  \u201cHic quoque in summis habitus est ducibus; resque multas memoria\n  dignas gessit. Sed ex his elucet maxime inventum ejus in pr\u0153lio, quod\n  apud Thebas fecit, quum B\u0153otiis subsidio venisset. Namque in eo\n  victori\u00e6 fidente summo duce Agesilao, fugatis jam ab eo conductitiis\n  catervis, reliquam phalangem loco vetuit cedere, obnixoque genu scuto,\n  projectaque hasta impetum excipere hostium docuit. Id novum Agesilaus\n  contuens, progredi non est ausus suosque jam incurrentes tuba\n  revocavit. Hoc usque eo tota Gr\u00e6cia fama celebratum est, ut illo statu\n  Chabrias sibi statuam fieri voluerit, qu\u00e6 publice ei ab Atheniensibus\n  in foro constituta est. Ex quo factum est, ut postea athlet\u00e6,\n  ceterique artifices his statibus in statuis ponendis uterentur in\n  quibus victoriam essent adepti.\u201d\n\n\nThe reader will hesitate a moment, I know, before yielding his assent;\nbut, I hope, only for a moment. The attitude of Chabrias appears to be\nnot exactly that of the Borghese statue. The thrusting forward of the\nlance, \u201cprojecta hasta,\u201d is common to both; but commentators explain the\n\u201cobnixo genu scuto\u201d to be \u201cobnixo genu in scutum,\u201d \u201cobfirmato genu ad\nscutum.\u201d Chabrias is supposed to have showed his men how to brace the\nknee against the shield and await the enemy behind this bulwark, whereas\nthe statue holds the shield aloft. But what if the commentators are\nwrong, and instead of \u201cobnixo genu scuto\u201d belonging together, \u201cobnixo\ngenu\u201d were meant to be read by itself and \u201cscuto\u201d alone, or in\nconnection with the \u201cprojectaque hasta,\u201d which follows? The insertion of\na single comma makes the correspondence perfect. The statue is a\nsoldier, \u201cqui obnixo genu,[188] scuto projectaque hasta impetum hostis\nexcipit,\u201d who, with firmly set knee, and shield and lance advanced,\nawaits the approach of the enemy. It shows what Chabrias did, and is the\nstatue of Chabrias. That a comma belongs here is proved by the \u201cque\u201d\naffixed to the \u201cprojecta,\u201d which would be superfluous if \u201cobnixo genu\nscuto\u201d belonged together, and has, therefore, been actually omitted in\nsome editions.\n\nThe great antiquity which this interpretation assigns to the statue is\nconfirmed by the shape of the letters in the inscription. These led\nWinkelmann himself to the conclusion that this was the oldest of the\nstatues at present existing in Rome on which the master had written his\nname. I leave it to his critical eye to detect, if possible, in the\nstyle of the workmanship any thing which conflicts with my opinion.\nShould he bestow his approval, I may flatter myself on having furnished\na better example than is to be found in Spence\u2019s whole folio of the\nhappy manner in which the classic authors can be explained by the old\nmasterpieces, and in turn throw light upon them.\n\n\n\n\n                                 XXIX.\n\n\nWinkelmann has brought to his work, together with immense reading and an\nextensive and subtle knowledge of art, that noble confidence of the old\nmasters which led them to devote all their attention to the main object,\ntreating all secondary matters with what seems like studied neglect, or\nabandoning them altogether to any chance hand.\n\nA man may take no little credit to himself for having committed only\nsuch errors as anybody might have avoided. They force themselves upon\nour notice at the first hasty reading; and my only excuse for commenting\non them is that I would remind a certain class of persons, who seem to\nthink no one has eyes but themselves, that they are trifles not worthy\nof comment.\n\nIn his writings on the imitation of the Greek works of art, Winkelmann\nhad before allowed himself to be misled by Junius, who is, indeed, a\nvery deceptive author. His whole work is a cento, and since his rule is\nto quote the ancients in their very words, he not infrequently applies\nto painting passages which in their original connection had no bearing\nwhatever on the subject. When, for instance, Winkelmann would tell us\nthat the highest effect in art, as in poetry, cannot be attained by the\nmere imitation of nature, and that poet as well as painter should choose\nan impossibility which carries probability with it rather than what is\nsimply possible, he adds: \u201cThis is perfectly consistent with Longinus\u2019\nrequirement of possibility and truth from the painter in opposition to\nthe incredibility which he requires from the poet.\u201d Yet the addition was\nunfortunate, for it shows a seeming contradiction between the two great\nart critics which really does not exist. Longinus never said what is\nhere attributed to him. Something similar he does say with regard to\neloquence and poetry, but by no means of poetry and painting. \u1f69\u03c2 \u03b4\u2019\n\u1f15\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03cc\u03bd \u03c4\u03b9 \u1f21 \u1fe5\u03b7\u03c4\u03bf\u03c1\u03b9\u03ba\u1f74 \u03c6\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c3\u03af\u03b1 \u03b2\u03bf\u03cd\u03bb\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f15\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u1f21 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u1f70 \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1\u1fd6\u03c2, \u03bf\u1f50\u03ba\n\u1f02\u03bd \u03bb\u03ac\u03b8\u03bf\u03b9 \u03c3\u03b5, \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u2019 \u1f45\u03c4\u03b9 \u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03ae\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u03ad\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c3\u03c4\u1f76\u03bd \u1f14\u03ba\u03c0\u03bb\u03b7\u03be\u03b9\u03c2, \u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f10\u03bd\n\u03bb\u03cc\u03b3\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd\u03ac\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1, he writes to his friend Terentian;[189] and again, \u039f\u1f50\n\u03bc\u1f74\u03bd \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb\u1f70 \u03c4\u1f70 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u1f70 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2 \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1\u1fd6\u03c2 \u03bc\u03c5\u03b8\u03b9\u03ba\u03c9\u03c4\u03ad\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd \u1f14\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u1f51\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03ad\u03ba\u03c0\u03c4\u03c9\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd,\n\u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03b7 \u03c4\u1f78 \u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u1f51\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\u03af\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u00b7 \u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03b4\u1f72 \u1fe5\u03b7\u03c4\u03bf\u03c1\u03b9\u03ba\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03c6\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c3\u03af\u03b1\u03c2, \u03ba\u03ac\u03bb\u03bb\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\n\u1f00\u03b5\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f78 \u1f14\u03bc\u03c0\u03c1\u03b1\u03ba\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f10\u03bd\u03ac\u03bb\u03b7\u03b8\u03ad\u03c2.[190]\n\nBut Junius interpolates here painting instead of oratory, and it was in\nhis writings, not in those of Longinus, that Winkelmann read: \u201cPr\u00e6sertim\ncum poetic\u00e6 phantasi\u00e6 finis sit \u1f14\u03ba\u03c0\u03bb\u03b7\u03be\u03b9\u03c2, pictori\u00e6 vero, \u1f10\u03bd\u03ac\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76\n\u03c4\u1f70 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u1f70 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2 \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1\u1fd6\u03c2, ut loquitur idem Longinus,\u201d &c.[191] The\nwords of Longinus, to be sure, but not his meaning.\n\nThe same must have been the case with the following remark:[192] \u201cAll\nmotions and attitudes of Greek figures which were too wild and fiery to\nbe in accordance with the character of wisdom, were accounted as faults\nby the old masters and classed by them under the general name of\n_parenthyrsus_.\u201d The old masters? There can be no authority for that\nexcept Junius. _Parenthyrsus_ was a word used in rhetoric, and, as a\npassage in Longinus would seem to show, even there peculiar to\nTheodorus.[193] \u03a4\u03bf\u03cd\u03c4\u1ff3 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03ba\u03b5\u1fd6\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03c1\u03af\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u03c4\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03af\u03b1\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f36\u03b4\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2\n\u03c0\u03b1\u03b8\u03b7\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2, \u1f45\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1 \u1f41 \u0398\u03b5\u03cc\u03b4\u03c9\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03ad\u03bd\u03b8\u03c5\u03c1\u03c3\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03ba\u03ac\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u00b7 \u1f14\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c0\u03ac\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f04\u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\n\u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03ba\u03b5\u03bd\u03cc\u03bd, \u1f14\u03bd\u03b8\u03b1 \u03bc\u1f74 \u03b4\u03b5\u1fd6 \u03c0\u03ac\u03b8\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2\u00b7 \u1f22 \u1f04\u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f14\u03bd\u03b8\u03b1 \u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u03c1\u03af\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b4\u03b5\u1fd6.\n\nI doubt, indeed, whether this word can be translated into the language\nof painting. For in oratory and poetry pathos can be carried to extreme\nwithout becoming _parenthyrsus_, which is only the extreme of pathos in\nthe wrong place. But in painting the extreme of pathos would always be\n_parenthyrsus_, whatever its excuse in the circumstances of the persons\nconcerned.\n\nSo, also, various errors in the \u201cHistory of Art\u201d have arisen solely from\nWinkelmann\u2019s haste in accepting Junius instead of consulting the\noriginal authors. When, for instance, he is citing examples to show that\nexcellence in all departments of art and labor was so highly prized by\nthe Greeks, that the best workman, even on an insignificant thing, might\nimmortalize his name, he brings forward this among others:[194] \u201cWe know\nthe name of a maker of very exact balances or scales; he was called\nParthenius.\u201d Winkelmann must have read the words of Juvenal, \u201clances\nParthenio factas,\u201d which he here appeals to, only in Junius\u2019s catalogue.\nHad he looked up the original passage in Juvenal, he would not have been\nmisled by the double meaning of the word \u201clanx,\u201d but would at once have\nseen from the connection that the poet was not speaking of balances or\nscales, but of plates and dishes. Juvenal is praising Catullus for\nthrowing overboard his treasures during a violent storm at sea, in order\nto save the ship and himself. In his description of these treasures, he\nsays:\u2014\n\n              Ille nec argentum dubitabat mittere, lances\n              Parthenio factas, urn\u00e6 cratera capacem\n              Et dignum sitiente Pholo, vel conjuge Fusci.\n              Adde et bascaudas et mille escaria, multum\n              C\u00e6lati, biberet quo callidus emtor Olynthi.\n\nWhat can the \u201clances\u201d be which are here standing among drinking-cups and\nbowls, but plates and dishes? And what does Juvenal mean, except that\nCatullus threw overboard his whole silver table-service, including\nplates made by Parthenius. \u201cParthenius,\u201d says the old scholiast,\n\u201cc\u0153latoris nomen\u201d (the name of the engraver). But when Grang\u00e4us, in his\nannotations, appends to this name, \u201csculptor, de quo Plinius\u201d (sculptor\nspoken of by Pliny), he must have been writing at random, for Pliny\nspeaks of no artist of that name.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d continues Winkelmann, \u201ceven the name of the saddler, as we should\ncall him, has been preserved, who made the leather shield of Ajax.\u201d This\nhe cannot have derived from the source to which he refers his\nreaders,\u2014the life of Homer, by Herodotus. Here, indeed, the lines from\nthe Iliad are quoted wherein the poet applies to this worker in leather\nthe name Tychius. But it is at the same time expressly stated that this\nwas the name of a worker in leather of Homer\u2019s acquaintance, whose name\nhe thus introduced in token of his friendship and gratitude.[195]\n\n\u1f08\u03c0\u03ad\u03b4\u03c9\u03ba\u03b5 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c7\u03ac\u03c1\u03b9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03a4\u03c5\u03c7\u03af\u1ff3 \u03c4\u1ff7 \u03c3\u03ba\u03cd\u03c4\u03b5\u03b9. \u1f43\u03c2 \u1f10\u03b4\u03ad\u03be\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd \u03c4\u1ff7 \u039d\u03ad\u1ff3 \u03c4\u03b5\u03af\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9,\n\u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03b5\u03bb\u03b8\u03cc\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2 \u03c4\u1f78 \u03c3\u03ba\u03cd\u03c4\u03b5\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f10\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2 \u1f14\u03c0\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03b6\u03b5\u03cd\u03be\u03b1\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd \u03c4\u1fc7 \u1f38\u03bb\u03b9\u03ac\u03b4\u03b9\n\u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c3\u03b4\u03b5:\n\n           \u0391\u1f34\u03b1\u03c2 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f10\u03b3\u03b3\u03cd\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd \u1f26\u03bb\u03b8\u03b5, \u03c6\u03ad\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd \u03c3\u03ac\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f20\u03b0\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c0\u03cd\u03c1\u03b3\u03bf\u03bd,\n           \u03c7\u03ac\u03bb\u03ba\u03b5\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f11\u03c0\u03c4\u03b1\u03b2\u03cc\u03b5\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd\u00b7 \u1f45 \u03bf\u1f31 \u03a4\u03cd\u03c7\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2 \u03ba\u03ac\u03bc\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b5\u03cd\u03c7\u03c9\u03bd\n           \u03c3\u03ba\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf\u03c4\u03cc\u03bc\u03c9\u03bd \u1f44\u03c7\u2019 \u1f04\u03c1\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2, \u1f5d\u03bb\u1fc3 \u1f14\u03bd\u03b9 \u03bf\u1f30\u03ba\u03af\u03b1 \u03bd\u03b1\u03af\u03c9\u03bd\u00b7[196]\n\nHere we have exactly the opposite of what Winkelmann asserts. So utterly\nforgotten, even in Homer\u2019s time, was the name of the saddler who made\nthe shield of Ajax, that the poet was at liberty to substitute that of a\nperfect stranger.\n\nVarious other little errors I have found which are mere slips of memory,\nor concern things introduced merely as incidental illustrations.\n\nFor instance, it was Hercules, not Bacchus, who, as Parrhasius boasts,\nappeared to him in the same shape he had given him on the canvas.[197]\n\nTauriscus was not from Rhodes, but from Tralles, in Lydia.[198]\n\nThe Antigone was not the first tragedy of Sophocles.[199]\n\nBut I refrain from multiplying such trifles.\n\nCensoriousness it could not be taken for; but to those who know my great\nrespect for Winkelmann it might seem trifling.\n\n\n\n\n                         NOTES TO THE LAOCOON.\n\n\n                             Note 1, p. 8.\n\nAntiochus (Anthol. lib. ii. cap. 4). Hardouin, in his commentary on\nPliny (lib. xxxv. sect. 36), attributes this epigram to a certain Piso.\nBut among all the Greek epigrammatists there is none of this name.\n\n\n                             Note 2, p. 9.\n\nFor this reason Aristotle commanded that his pictures should not be\nshown to young persons, in order that their imagination might be kept as\nfree as possible from all disagreeable images. (Polit. lib. viii. cap.\n5, p. 526, edit. Conring.) Boden, indeed, would read Pausanias in this\npassage instead of Pauson, because that artist is known to have painted\nlewd figures (de Umbra poetica comment. 1, p. xiii). As if we needed a\nphilosophic law-giver to teach us the necessity of keeping from youth\nsuch incentives to wantonness! A comparison of this with the well-known\npassage in the \u201cArt of Poesy\u201d would have led him to withhold his\nconjecture. There are commentators, as K\u00fchn on \u00c6lian (Var. Hist. lib.\niv. cap. 3), who suppose the difference mentioned by Aristotle as\nexisting between Polygnotus, Dionysius, and Pauson to consist in this:\nthat Polygnotus painted gods and heroes; Dionysius, men; and Pauson,\nanimals. They all painted human figures; and the fact that Pauson once\npainted a horse, does not prove him to have been a painter of animals as\nBoden supposes him to have been. Their rank was determined by the degree\nof beauty they gave their human figures; and the reason that Dionysius\ncould paint nothing but men, and was therefore called pre-eminently the\nanthropographist, was that he copied too slavishly, and could not rise\ninto the domain of the ideal beneath which it would have been blasphemy\nto represent gods and heroes.\n\n\n                             Note 3, p. 11.\n\nThe serpent has been erroneously regarded as the peculiar symbol of a\ngod of medicine. But Justin Martyr expressly says (Apolog. ii. p. 55,\nedit. Sylburgh), \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03ac \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u1f76 \u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd \u03bd\u03bf\u03bc\u03b9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u2019 \u1f51\u03bc\u1fd6\u03bd \u03b8\u03b5\u1ff6\u03bd, \u1f44\u03c6\u03b9\u03c2\n\u03c3\u03cd\u03bc\u03b2\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bc\u03c5\u03c3\u03c4\u03ae\u03c1\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03b3\u03c1\u03ac\u03c6\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9; and a number of monuments might\nbe mentioned where the serpent accompanies deities having no connection\nwith health.\n\n\n                             Note 4, p. 12.\n\nLook through all the works of art mentioned by Pliny, Pausanias, and the\nrest, examine all the remaining statues, bas-reliefs, and pictures of\nthe ancients, and nowhere will you find a fury. I except figures that\nare rather symbolical than belonging to art, such as those generally\nrepresented on coins. Yet Spence, since he insisted on having furies,\nwould have done better to borrow them from coins than introduce them by\nan ingenious conceit into a work where they certainly do not exist.\n(Seguini Numis. p. 178. Spanheim, de Pr\u00e6st. Numism. Dissert. xiii. p.\n639. Les C\u00e9sars de Julien, par Spanheim, p. 48.) In his Polymetis he\nsays (dial. xvi.): \u201cThough furies are very uncommon in the works of the\nancient artists, yet there is one subject in which they are generally\nintroduced by them. I mean the death of Meleager, in the relievos of\nwhich they are often represented as encouraging or urging Alth\u00e6a to burn\nthe fatal brand on which the life of her only son depended. Even a\nwoman\u2019s resentment, you see, could not go so far without a little help\nfrom the devil. In a copy of one of these relievos, published in the\n\u2018Admiranda,\u2019 there are two women standing by the altar with Alth\u00e6a, who\nare probably meant for furies in the original, (for who but furies would\nassist at such a sacrifice?) though the copy scarce represents them\nhorrid enough for that character. But what is most to be observed in\nthat piece is the round disc beneath the centre of it, with the evident\nhead of a fury upon it. This might be what Alth\u00e6a addressed her prayers\nto whenever she wished ill to her neighbors, or whenever she was going\nto do any very evil action. Ovid introduces her as invoking the furies\non this occasion in particular, and makes her give more than one reason\nfor her doing so.\u201d (Metamorph. viii. 479.)\n\nIn this way we might make every thing out of any thing. \u201cWho but\nfuries,\u201d asks Spence, \u201cwould have assisted at such a sacrifice?\u201d I\nanswer, the maid-servants of Alth\u00e6a, who had to kindle and feed the\nfire. Ovid says (Metamorph. viii.):\u2014\n\n      Protulit hunc (stipitem) genetrix, t\u00e6dasque in fragmina poni\n      Imperat, et positis inimicos admovet ignes.\n\n\u201cThe mother brought the brand and commands torches to be placed upon the\npieces, and applies hostile flame to the pile.\u201d\n\nBoth figures have actually in their hands these \u201ct\u00e6das,\u201d long pieces of\npine, such as the ancients used for torches, and one, as her attitude\nshows, has just broken such a piece. As little do I recognize a fury\nupon the disc towards the middle of the work. It is a face expressive of\nviolent pain,\u2014doubtless the head of Meleager himself (Metamorph. viii.\n515).\n\n             Inscius atque absens flamma Meleagros in illa\n             Uritur; et c\u00e6cis torreri viscera sentit\n             Ignibus; et magnos superat virtute dolores.\n\n\u201cMeleager, absent and unconscious, is consumed in that fire, and feels\nhis bowels parched with the unseen flames; yet with courage he subdues\nthe dreadful pains.\u201d\n\nThe artist used this as an introduction to the next incident of the same\nstory,\u2014the death of Meleager. What Spence makes furies, Montfaucon took\nto be fates, with the exception of the head upon the disc, which he also\ncalls a fury. Bellori leaves it undecided whether they are fates or\nfuries. An \u201cor\u201d which sufficiently proves that they are neither the one\nnor the other. Montfaucon\u2019s further interpretation should have been\nclearer. The female figure resting on her elbows by the bed, he should\nhave called Cassandra, not Atalanta. Atalanta is the one sitting in a\ngrieving attitude with her back towards the bed. The artist has very\nwisely turned her away from the family, as being only the beloved, not\nthe wife, of Meleager, and because her distress at a calamity of which\nshe had been the innocent cause must have exasperated his family.\n\n\n                             Note 5, p. 14.\n\nHe thus describes the degrees of sadness actually expressed by\nTimanthes: \u201cCalchantem tristem, m\u00e6stum Ulyssem, clamantem Ajacem,\nlamentantem Menelaum.\u201d Ajax screaming would have been extremely ugly,\nand since neither Cicero nor Quintilian, when speaking of this picture,\nso describe him, I shall venture with the less hesitation to consider\nthis an addition with which Valerius has enriched the canvas from his\nown invention.\n\n\n                             Note 6, p. 15.\n\nWe read in Pliny (lib. 34, sect. 19): \u201cEundem [Myro] vicit et Pythagoras\nLeontinus, qui fecit statiodromon Astylon, qui Olympi\u00e6 ostenditur: et\nLibyn puerum tenentem tabulam, eodem loco, et mala ferentem nudum.\nSyracusis autem claudicantem: cujus hulceris dolorem sentire etiam\nspectantes videntur.\u201d \u201cPythagoras Leontinus surpassed him (Myro). He\nmade the statue of the runner, Astylon, which is exhibited at Olympia,\nand in the same place a Libyan boy holding a tablet, and a rude statue\nbearing apples; but at Syracuse a limping figure, the pain of whose sore\nthe beholders themselves seem to feel.\u201d Let us examine these last words\nmore closely. Is there not evident reference here to some person well\nknown as having a painful ulcer? \u201cCujus hulceris,\u201d &c. And shall that\n\u201ccujus\u201d be made to refer simply to the \u201cclaudicantem,\u201d and the\n\u201cclaudicantem,\u201d perhaps, to the still more remote \u201cpuerum?\u201d No one had\nmore reason to be known by such a malady than Philoctetes. I read,\ntherefore, for \u201cclaudicantem,\u201d \u201cPhiloctetem,\u201d or, at least, both\ntogether, \u201cPhiloctetem claudicantem,\u201d supposing that, as the words were\nso similar in sound, one had crowded out the other. Sophocles represents\nhim as \u03c3\u03c4\u03af\u03b2\u03bf\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u2019 \u1f00\u03bd\u03ac\u03b3\u03ba\u03b7\u03bd \u1f15\u03c1\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, compelled to drag his limping gait,\nand his not being able to tread as firmly on his wounded foot would have\noccasioned a limp.\n\n\n                             Note 7, p. 24.\n\nWhen the chorus perceives Philoctetes under this accumulation of\nmiseries, his helpless solitude seems the circumstance that chiefly\ntouches them. We hear in every word the social Greek. With regard to one\npassage, however, I have my doubts. It is this:\u2014\n\n                 \u1f3d\u03bd\u2019 \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f78\u03c2 \u1f26\u03bd \u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03bf\u03c5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bf\u1f50\u03ba \u1f14\u03c7\u03c9\u03bd \u03b2\u03ac\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd,\n                 \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u03ad \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u2019 \u1f10\u03b3\u03c7\u03ce\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd,\n                 \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b3\u03b5\u03af\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u2019 \u1fa7 \u03c3\u03c4\u03cc\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u1f00\u03bd\u03c4\u03af\u03c4\u03c5\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd\n                 \u03b2\u03b1\u03c1\u03c5\u03b2\u03c1\u1ff6\u03c4\u2019 \u1f00\u03c0\u03bf\u03ba\u03bb\u03b1\u03cd\u2014\n                 \u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b5\u03bd \u03b1\u1f31\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b7\u03c1\u03cc\u03bd.\n\nLit.: I myself, my only neighbor, having no power to walk, nor any\ncompanion, a neighbor in ill, to whom I might wail forth my echoing,\ngnawing groans, bloodstained.\n\nThe common translation of Winshem renders the lines thus:\u2014\n\n    Ventis expositus et pedibus captus\n    Nullum cohabitatorem\n    Nec vicinum ullum saltem malum habens, apud quem gemitum mutuum.\n    Gravemque ac cruentum\n    Ederet.\n\nThe translation of Thomas Johnson differs from this only in the choice\nof words:\u2014\n\n       Ubi ipse ventis erat expositus, firmum gradum non habens,\n       Nec quenquam indigenarum,\n       Nec malum vicinum, apud quem ploraret\n       Vehementur edacem\n       Sanguineum morbum, mutuo gemitu.\n\nOne might think he had borrowed these words from the translation of\nThomas Naogeorgus, who expresses himself thus (his work is very rare,\nand Fabricius himself knew it only through Operin\u2019s Catalogue):\u2014\n\n                ... ubi expositus fuit\n                Ventis ipse, gradum firmum haud habens,\n                Nec quenquam indigenam, nec vel malum\n                Vicinum, ploraret apud quem\n                Vehementer edacem atque cruentum\n                Morbum mutuo.\n\nIf these translations are correct, the chorus pronounces the strongest\npossible eulogy on human society. The wretch has no human being near\nhim; he knows of no friendly neighbor; even a bad one would have been\nhappiness. Thomson, then, might have had this passage in mind when he\nputs these words into the mouth of his Melisander, who was likewise\nabandoned by ruffians on a desert island:\u2014\n\n             Cast on the wildest of the Cyclad isles\n             Where never human foot had marked the shore,\n             These ruffians left me; yet believe me, Arcas,\n             Such is the rooted love we bear mankind,\n             All ruffians as they were, I never heard\n             A sound so dismal as their parting oars.\n\nTo him, also, the society of ruffians was better than none. A great and\nadmirable idea! If we could but be sure that Sophocles, too, had meant\nto express it! But I must reluctantly confess to finding nothing of the\nsort in him, unless, indeed, I were to use, instead of my own eyes,\nthose of the old scholiast, who thus transposes the words:\u2014\u039f\u1f50 \u03bc\u03cc\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u1f45\u03c0\u03bf\u03c5\n\u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u1f78\u03bd \u03bf\u1f50\u03ba \u03b5\u1f36\u03c7\u03ad \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u03b1 \u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd \u1f10\u03b3\u03c7\u03c9\u03c1\u03af\u03c9\u03bd \u03b3\u03b5\u03af\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1, \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb\u1f70 \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03cc\u03bd, \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u2019 \u03bf\u1f57\n\u1f00\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03b2\u03b1\u1fd6\u03bf\u03bd \u03bb\u03cc\u03b3\u03bf\u03bd \u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03bd\u03ac\u03b6\u03c9\u03bd \u1f00\u03ba\u03bf\u03cd\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b5. Brumoy, as well as our modern German\ntranslator, has held to this reading, like the translators quoted above.\nBrumoy says, \u201cSans soci\u00e9t\u00e9, m\u00eame importune;\u201d and the German, \u201cjeder\nGesellschaft, auch der beschwerlichsten, beraubt.\u201d My reasons for\ndiffering from all of these are the following. First, it is evident that\nif \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b3\u03b5\u03af\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 was meant to be separated from \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u2019 \u1f10\u03b3\u03c7\u03ce\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd and\nconstitute a distinct clause, the particle \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u03ad would necessarily have\nbeen repeated before it. Since this is not the case, it is equally\nevident that \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b3\u03b5\u03af\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 belongs to \u03c4\u03af\u03bd\u03b1, and there should be no comma\nafter \u1f10\u03b3\u03c7\u03ce\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd. This comma crept in from the translation. Accordingly, I\nfind that some Greek editions (as that published at Wittenberg of 1585\nin 8vo, which was wholly unknown to Fabricius) are without it, but put a\ncomma only after \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b3\u03b5\u03af\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1, as is proper. Secondly, is that a bad\nneighbor from whom we may expect, as the scholiast has it, \u03c3\u03c4\u03cc\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd\n\u1f00\u03bd\u03c4\u03af\u03c4\u03c5\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f00\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03b2\u03b1\u1fd6\u03bf\u03bd? To mingle his sighs with ours is the office of a\nfriend, not an enemy. In short, the word \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b3\u03b5\u03af\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 has not been\nrightly understood. It has been thought to be derived from the adjective\n\u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03cc\u03c2, when it is really derived from the substantive \u03c4\u1f78 \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03cc\u03bd. It has\nbeen translated an evil neighbor, instead of a neighbor in ill. Just as\n\u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03cc\u03bc\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 means not an evil, in the sense of a false, untrue prophet,\nbut a prophet of evil, and \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03cc\u03c4\u03b5\u03c7\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 means not a bad, unskilful\npainter, but a painter of bad things. In this passage the poet means by\na neighbor in ill, one who is overtaken by a similar misfortune with\nourselves, or from friendship shares our sufferings; so that the whole\nexpression, \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u2019 \u1f14\u03c7\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u2019 \u1f10\u03b3\u03c7\u03ce\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b3\u03b5\u03af\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1, is to be translated\nsimply by \u201cneque quenquam indigenarum mali socium habens.\u201d The new\nEnglish translator of Sophocles, Thomas Franklin, must have been of my\nopinion. Neither does he find an evil neighbor in \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b3\u03b5\u03af\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd, but\ntranslates it simply \u201cfellow-mourner.\u201d\n\n               Exposed to the inclement skies,\n               Deserted and forlorn he lies,\n               No friend nor fellow-mourner there,\n               To soothe his sorrow and divide his care.\n\n\n                             Note 8, p. 34.\n\nSaturnal. lib. v. cap. 2. \u201cNon parva sunt alia qu\u00e6 Virgilius traxit a\nGr\u00e6cis, dicturumne me putatis qu\u00e6 vulgo nota sunt? quod Theocritum sibi\nfecerit pastoralis operis autorem, ruralis Hesiodum? et quod in ipsis\nGeorgicis, tempestatis serenitatisque signa de Arati Ph\u00e6nomenis\ntraxerit? vel quod eversionem Troj\u00e6, cum Sinone suo, et equo ligneo\nc\u00e6terisque omnibus, qu\u00e6 librum secundum faciunt, a Pisandro pene ad\nverbum transcripserit? qui inter Gr\u00e6cos poetas eminet opere, quod a\nnuptiis Jovis et Junonis incipiens universas historias, qu\u00e6 mediis\nomnibus s\u00e6culis usque ad \u00e6tatem ipsius Pisandri contigerunt, in unam\nseriem coactas redegerit, et unum ex diversis hiatibus temporum corpus\neffecerit? in quo opere inter historias c\u00e6teras interitus quoque Troj\u00e6\nin hunc modum relatus est. Qu\u00e6 fideliter Maro interpretando, fabricatus\nest sibi Iliac\u00e6 urbis ruinam. Sed et h\u00e6c et talia ut pueris decantata\npr\u00e6tereo.\u201d\n\nNot a few other things were brought by Virgil from the Greeks, and\ninserted in his poem as original. Do you think I would speak of what is\nknown to all the world? how he took his pastoral poem from Theocritus,\nhis rural from Hesiod? and how, in his Georgics, he took from the\nPhenomena of Aratus the signs of winter and summer? or that he\ntranslated almost word for word from Pisander the destruction of Troy,\nwith his Sinon and wooden horse and the rest? For he is famous among\nGreek poets for a work in which, beginning his universal history with\nthe nuptials of Jupiter and Juno, he collected into one series whatever\nhad happened in all ages, to the time of himself, Pisander. In which\nwork the destruction of Troy, among other things, is related in the same\nway. By faithfully interpreting these things, Maro made his ruin of\nIlium. But these, and others like them, I pass over as familiar to every\nschoolboy.\n\n\n                             Note 9, p. 35.\n\nI do not forget that a picture mentioned by Eumolpus in Petronius may be\ncited in contradiction of this. It represented the destruction of Troy,\nand particularly the history of Laocoon exactly as narrated by Virgil.\nAnd since, in the same gallery at Naples were other old pictures by\nZeuxis, Protogenes, and Apelles, it was inferred that this was also an\nold Greek picture. But permit me to say that a novelist is no historian.\nThis gallery and picture, and Eumolpus himself, apparently existed only\nin the imagination of Petronius. That the whole was fiction appears from\nthe evident traces of an almost schoolboyish imitation of Virgil. Thus\nVirgil (\u00c6neid lib. ii. 199\u2013224):\u2014\n\n           Hic aliud majus miseris multoque tremendum\n           Objicitur magis, atque improvida pectora turbat.\n           Laocoon, ductus Neptuno sorte sacerdos,\n           Solemnis taurum ingentem mactabat ad aras.\n           Ecce autem gemini a Tenedo tranquilla per alta\n           (Horresco referens) immensis orbibus angues\n           Incumbunt pelago, pariterque ad litora tendunt:\n           Pectora quorum inter fluctus arrecta, jub\u00e6que\n           Sanguine\u00e6 exsuperant undas: pars cetera pontum\n           Pone legit, sinuatque immensa volumine terga.\n           Fit sonitus, spumante salo: jamque arva tenebant,\n           Ardentesque oculos suffecti sanguine et igni\n           Sibila lambebant linguis vibrantibus ora.\n           Diffugimus visu exsangues. Illi agmine certo\n           Laocoonta petunt, et primum parva duorum\n           Corpora natorum serpens amplexus uterque\n           Implicat, et miseros morsu depascitur artus.\n           Post ipsum, auxilio subeuntem ac tela ferentem,\n           Corripiunt, spirisque ligant ingentibus; et jam\n           Bis medium amplexi, bis collo squamea circum\n           Terga dati, superant capite et cervicibus altis.\n           Ille simul manibus tendit divellere nodos,\n           Perfusus sanie vittas atroque veneno:\n           Clamores simul horrendos ad sidera tollit.\n           Quales mugitus, fugit cum saucius aram\n           Taurus et incertam excussit cervice securim.\n\nAnd thus Eumolpus, in whose lines, as is usually the case with\nimprovisators, memory has had as large a share as imagination:\u2014\n\n             Ecce alia monstra. Celsa qua Tenedos mare\n             Dorso repellit, tumida consurgunt freta,\n             Undaque resultat scissa tranquillo minor.\n             Qualis silenti nocte remorum sonus\n             Longe refertur, cum premunt classes mare,\n             Pulsumque marmor abiete imposita gemit.\n             Respicimus, angues orbibus geminis ferunt\n             Ad saxa fluctus: tumida quorum pectora\n             Rates ut alt\u00e6, lateribus spumas agunt:\n             Dat cauda sonitum; liber\u00e6 ponto jub\u00e6\n             Coruscant luminibus, fulmineum jubar\n             Incendit \u00e6quor, sibilisque und\u00e6 tremunt;\n             Stupuere mentes. Infulis stabant sacri\n             Phrygioque cultu gemina nati pignora\n             Laocoonte, quos repente tergoribus ligant\n             Angues corusci: parvulas illi manus\n             Ad ora referunt: neuter auxilio sibi\n             Uterque fratri transtulit pias vices,\n             Morsque ipsa miseros mutuo perdit metu.\n             Accumulat ecce liber\u00fbm funus parens\n             Infirmus auxiliator; invadunt virum\n             Jam morte pasti, membraque ad terram trahunt.\n             Jacet sacerdos inter aras victima.\n\nThe main points are the same in both, and in many places the same words\nare used. But those are trifles, and too evident to require mention.\nThere are other signs of imitation, more subtle, but not less sure. If\nthe imitator be a man with confidence in his own powers, he seldom\nimitates without trying to improve upon the original; and, if he fancy\nhimself to have succeeded, he is enough of a fox to brush over with his\ntail the footprints which might betray his course. But he betrays\nhimself by this very vanity of wishing to introduce embellishments, and\nhis desire to appear original. For his embellishments are nothing but\nexaggerations and excessive refinements. Virgil says, \u201cSanguine\u00e6 jub\u00e6\u201d;\nPetronius, \u201cliber\u00e6 jub\u00e6 luminibus coruscant\u201d; Virgil, \u201cardentes oculos\nsuffecti sanguine et igni\u201d; Petronius, \u201cfulmineum jubar incendit \u00e6quor.\u201d\nVirgil, \u201cfit sonitus spumante salo\u201d; Petronius, \u201csibilis und\u00e6 tremunt.\u201d\nSo the imitator goes on exaggerating greatness into monstrosity, wonders\ninto impossibilities. The boys are secondary in Virgil. He passes them\nover with a few insignificant words, indicative simply of their\nhelplessness and distress. Petronius makes a great point of them,\nconverting the two children into a couple of heroes.\n\n                                Neuter auxilio sibi\n                Uterque fratri transtulit pias vices\n                Morsque ipsa miseros mutuo perdit metu.\n\nWho expects from human beings, and children especially, such\nself-sacrifice? The Greek understood nature better (Quintus Calaber,\nlib. xii.), when he made even mothers forget their children at the\nappearance of the terrible serpents, so intent was every one on securing\nhis own safety.\n\n                                     ... \u1f14\u03bd\u03b8\u03b1 \u03b3\u03c5\u03bd\u03b1\u1fd6\u03ba\u03b5\u03c2\n               \u039f\u1f34\u03bc\u03c9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03bf\u03cd \u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f11\u1ff6\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u03b5\u03bb\u03ae\u03c3\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf \u03c4\u03ad\u03ba\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd\n               A\u1f50\u03c4\u1f74 \u1f00\u03bb\u03b5\u03c5\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7 \u03c3\u03c4\u03c5\u03b3\u03b5\u03c1\u1f78\u03bd \u03bc\u03cc\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd....\n\nThe usual method of trying to conceal an imitation is to alter the\nshading, bringing forward what was in shadow, and obscuring what was in\nrelief. Virgil lays great stress upon the size of the serpents, because\nthe probability of the whole subsequent scene depends upon it. The noise\noccasioned by their coming is a secondary idea, intended to make more\nvivid the impression of their size. Petronius raises this secondary idea\ninto chief prominence, describing the noise with all possible wealth of\ndiction, and so far forgetting to describe the size of the monsters that\nwe are almost left to infer it from the noise they make. He hardly would\nhave fallen into this error, had he been drawing solely from his\nimagination, with no model before him which he wished to imitate without\nthe appearance of imitation. We can always recognize a poetic picture as\nan unsuccessful imitation when we find minor details exaggerated and\nimportant ones neglected, however many incidental beauties the poem may\npossess, and however difficult, or even impossible, it may be to\ndiscover the original.\n\n\n                            Note 10, p. 36.\n\nSuppl. aux Antiq. Expl. T. i. p. 243. Il y a quelque petite diff\u00e9rence\nentre ce que dit Virgile, et ce que le marbre repr\u00e9sente. Il semble,\nselon ce que dit le po\u00ebte, que les serpens quitt\u00e8rent les deux enfans\npour venir entortiller le p\u00e8re, au lieu que dans ce marbre ils lient en\nm\u00eame temps les enfans et leur p\u00e8re.\n\n\n                            Note 11, p. 37.\n\nDonatus ad v. 227, lib. ii. \u00c6neid. Mirandum non est, clypeo et simulacri\nvestigiis tegi potuisse, quos supra et longos et validos dixit, et\nmultiplici ambitu circumdedisse Laocoontis corpus ac liberorum, et\nfuisse superfluam partem. The \u201cnon\u201d in the clause \u201cmirandum non est,\u201d\nshould, it seems to me, be omitted, unless we suppose the concluding\npart of the sentence to be missing. For, since the serpents were of such\nextraordinary length, it would certainly be surprising that they could\nbe concealed beneath the goddess\u2019s shield, unless this also were of\ngreat length, and belonged to a colossal figure. The assurance that this\nwas actually the case must have been meant to follow, or the \u201cnon\u201d has\nno meaning.\n\n\n                            Note 12, p. 39.\n\nIn the handsome edition of Dryden\u2019s Virgil (London, 1697). Yet here the\nserpents are wound but once about the body, and hardly at all about the\nneck. So indifferent an artist scarcely deserves an excuse, but the only\none that could be made for him would be that prints are merely\nillustrations, and by no means to be regarded as independent works of\nart.\n\n\n                            Note 13, p. 40.\n\nThis is the judgment of De Piles in his remarks upon Du Fresnoy:\n\u201cRemarquez, s\u2019il vous pla\u00eet, que les draperies tendres et l\u00e9g\u00e8res,\nn\u2019\u00e9tant donn\u00e9es qu\u2019au sexe f\u00e9minin, les anciens sculpteurs ont \u00e9vit\u00e9\nautant qu\u2019ils out pu, d\u2019habiller les figures d\u2019hommes; parce qu\u2019ils ont\npens\u00e9, comme nous l\u2019avons d\u00e9j\u00e0 dit qu\u2019en sculpture on ne pouvait imiter\nles \u00e9toffes, et que les gros plis faisaient un mauvais effet. Il y a\npresque autant d\u2019exemples de cette v\u00e9rit\u00e9, qu\u2019il y a parmi les antiques,\nde figures d\u2019hommes nuds. Je rapporterai seulement celui du Laocoon,\nlequel, selon la vraisemblance, devrait \u00eatre v\u00eatu. En effet, quelle\napparence y a-t-il qu\u2019un fils de roi, qu\u2019un pr\u00eatre d\u2019Apollon, se trouv\u00e2t\ntout nud dans la c\u00e9r\u00e9monie actuelle d\u2019un sacrifice? car les serpens\npass\u00e8rent de l\u2019\u00eele de Tenedos au rivage de Troye, et surprirent Laocoon\net ses fils dans le temps m\u00eame qu\u2019il sacrifiait \u00e0 Neptune sur le bord de\nla mer, comme le marque Virgile dans le second livre de son En\u00e9ide.\nCependant les artistes qui sont les auteurs de ce bel ouvrage, ont bien\nvu qu\u2019ils ne pouvaient pas leur donner de v\u00eatements convenables \u00e0 leur\nqualit\u00e9, sans faire comme un amas de pierres, dont la masse\nressemblerait \u00e0 un rocher, au lieu des trois admirables figures, qui ont\n\u00e9t\u00e9, et qui sont toujours, l\u2019admiration des si\u00e8cles. C\u2019est pour cela que\nde deux inconveniens, ils out jug\u00e9 celui des draperies beaucoup plus\nf\u00e2cheux, que celui d\u2019aller contre la v\u00e9rit\u00e9 m\u00eame.\u201d\n\n\n                            Note 14, p. 42.\n\nMaffei, Richardson, and, more recently, Herr Von Hagedorn.\n(Betrachtungen \u00fcber die Malerei, p. 37. Richardson, Trait\u00e9 de la\nPeinture, vol. iii.) De Fontaines does not merit being reckoned in the\nsame class with these scholars. In the notes to his translation of\nVirgil, he maintains, indeed, that the poet had the group in mind, but\nhe is so ignorant as to ascribe it to Phidias.\n\n\n                            Note 15, p. 44.\n\nI can adduce no better argument in support of my view than this poem of\nSadolet. It is worthy of one of the old poets, and, since it may well\ntake the place of an engraving, I venture to introduce it here entire.\n\n\n              DE LAOCOONTIS STATUA JACOBI SADOLETI CARMEN.\n\n         Ecce alto terr\u00e6 e cumulo, ingentisque ruin\u00e6\n         Visceribus, iterum reducem longinqua reduxit\n         Laocoonta dies; aulis regalibus olim\n         Qui stetit, atque tuos ornabat, Tite, Penates.\n         Divin\u00e6 simulacrum artis, nec docta vetustas\n         Nobilius spectabat opus, nunc celsa revisit\n         Exemptum tenebris rediviv\u00e6 m\u0153nia Rom\u00e6.\n         Quid primum summumque loquar? miserumne parentem\n         Et prolem geminam? an sinuatos flexibus angues\n         Terribili aspectu? caudasque irasque draconum\n         Vulneraque et veros, saxo moriente, dolores?\n         Horret ad h\u00e6c animus, mutaque ab imagine pulsat\n         Pectora, non parvo pietas commixta tremori.\n         Prolixum bini spiris glomerantur in orbem\n         Ardentes colubri, et sinuosis orbibus errant,\n         Ternaque multiplici constringunt corpora nexu.\n         Vix oculi sufferre valent, crudele tuendo\n         Exitium, casusque feros: micat alter, et ipsum\n         Laocoonta petit, totumque infraque supraque\n         Implicat et rabido tandem ferit ilia morsu.\n         Connexum refugit corpus, torquentia sese\n         Membra, latusque retro sinuatum a vulnere cernas.\n         Ille dolore acri, et laniatu impulsus acerbo,\n         Dat gemitum ingentem, crudosque evellere dentes\n         Connixus, l\u00e6vam impatiens ad terga Chelydri\n         Objicit: intendunt nervi, collectaque ab omni\n         Corpore vis frustra summis conatibus instat.\n         Ferre nequit rabiem, et de vulnere murmur anhelum est.\n         At serpens lapsu crebro redeunte subintrat\n         Lubricus, intortoque ligat genua infima nodo.\n         Absistunt sur\u00e6, spirisque prementibus arctum\n         Crus tumet, obsepto turgent vitalia pulsu,\n         Liventesque atro distendunt sanguine venas.\n         Nec minus in natos eadem vis effera s\u00e6vit\n         Implexuque angit rapido, miserandaque membra\n         Dilacerat: jamque alterius depasta cruentum\n         Pectus, suprema genitorem voce cientis,\n         Circumjectu orbis, validoque volumine fulcit.\n         Alter adhuc nullo violatus corpora morsu,\n         Dum parat adducta caudam divellere planta,\n         Horret ad aspectum miseri patris, h\u00e6ret in illo,\n         Et jam jam ingentes fletus, lachrymasque cadentes\n         Anceps in dubio retinet timor. Ergo perenni\n         Qui tantum statuistis opus jam laude nitentes,\n         Artifices magni (quanquam et melioribus actis\n         Qu\u00e6ritur \u00e6ternum nomen, multoque licebat\n         Clarius ingenium ventur\u00e6 tradere fam\u00e6)\n         Attamen ad laudem qu\u00e6cunque oblata facultas\n         Egregium hanc rapere, et summa ad fastigia niti.\n         Vos rigidum lapidem vivis animare figuris\n         Eximii, et vivos spiranti in marmore sensus\n         Inserere, aspicimus motumque iramque doloremque,\n         Et pene audimus gemitus; vos extulit olim\n         Clara Rhodos, vestr\u00e6 jacuerunt artis honores\n         Tempore ab immenso, quos rursum in luce secunda\n         Roma videt, celebratque frequens: operisque vetusti\n         Gratia parta recens. Quanto pr\u00e6stantius ergo est\n         Ingenio, aut quovis extendere fata labore,\n         Quam fastus et opes et inanem extendere luxum.\n\n\n                       LAOCOON, BY JAMES SADOLET.\n\n\n  So, from the depths of earth and the bowels of mighty ruins, the\n  long-deferred day has brought back the returning Laocoon, who stood of\n  old in thy royal halls and graced thy penates, Titus. The image of\n  divine art, a work as noble as any produced by the learning of\n  antiquity, now freed from darkness, beholds again the lofty walls of\n  renovated Rome. With what part shall I begin as the greatest? the\n  unhappy father and his two sons? the sinuous coils of the terrible\n  serpents? the tails and the fierceness of the dragons? the wounds and\n  real pains of the dying stone? These chill the mind with horror, and\n  pity, mingled with no slight fear, drives our hearts back from the\n  dumb image. Two gleaming snakes cover a vast space with their gathered\n  coils, and move in sinuous rings, and hold three bodies bound in a\n  many-twisted knot. Eyes scarce can bear to behold the cruel death and\n  fierce sufferings. One gleaming seeks Laocoon himself, winding him all\n  about, above, below, and attacks his groins at last with poisonous\n  bite. The imprisoned body recoils, and you see the limbs writhe and\n  the side shrink back from the wound. Forced by the sharp pain and\n  bitter anguish, he groans; and, trying to tear out the cruel teeth,\n  throws his left hand upon the serpent\u2019s back. The nerves strain, and\n  the whole body in vain collects its strength for the supreme effort.\n  He cannot endure the fierce torture, and pants from the wound. But the\n  slippery snake glides down with frequent folds, and binds his leg\n  below the knee with twisted knot. The calves fall in, the tight-bound\n  leg swells between the pressing coils, and the vitals grow tumid from\n  the stopping of the pulses, and black blood distends the livid veins.\n  The same cruel violence attacks the children no less fiercely,\n  tortures them with many encircling folds, and lacerates their\n  suffering limbs. Now satiated upon the bloody breast of one, who, with\n  his last breath, calls upon his father, the serpent supports the\n  lifeless body with the mighty circles thrown around it. The other,\n  whose body has as yet been hurt by no sting, while preparing to pluck\n  out the tail from his foot, is filled with horror at sight of his\n  wretched father, and clings to him. A double fear restrains his great\n  sobs and falling tears. Therefore ye enjoy perpetual fame, ye great\n  artificers who made the mighty work, although an immortal name may be\n  sought by better deeds, and nobler talents may be handed down to\n  future fame. Yet any power employed to snatch this praise and reach\n  the heights of fame is excellent. Ye have excelled in animating the\n  rigid stone with living forms, and inserting living senses within the\n  breathing marble. We see the movement, the wrath and pain, and almost\n  hear the groans. Illustrious Rhodes begot you of old. Long the glories\n  of your art lay hid, but Rome beholds them again in a second dawn, and\n  celebrates them with many voices, in fresh acknowledgment of the old\n  labor. How much nobler, then, to extend our fates by art or toil than\n  to swell pride and wealth and empty luxury.\n\n\n(Leodegarii a Quercu Farrago Poematum, T. ii.) Gruter has introduced\nthis poem with another one of Sadolet into his well-known collection,\nbut with many errors. (Delic. Poet. Italorum. Parte alt.)\n\n\n                            Note 16, p. 45.\n\nDe la Peinture, tome iii. p. 516. C\u2019est l\u2019horreur que les Tro\u00efens ont\ncon\u00e7ue contre Laocoon, qui \u00e9tait n\u00e9cessaire \u00e0 Virgile pour la conduite\nde son po\u00ebme; et cela le m\u00e8ne \u00e0 cette description path\u00e9tique de la\ndestruction de la patrie de son h\u00e9ros. Aussi Virgile n\u2019avait garde de\ndiviser l\u2019attention sur la derni\u00e8re nuit, pour une grand ville enti\u00e8re,\npar la peinture d\u2019un petit malheur d\u2019un particulier.\n\n\n                            Note 17, p. 51.\n\nI say it is possible, but I would wager ten against one that it is not\nso. Juvenal is speaking of the early days of the republic, when splendor\nand luxury were yet unknown, and the soldier put whatever gold and\nsilver he got as booty upon his arms and the caparisons of his horse.\n(Sat. xi.)\n\n              Tunc rudis et Grajas mirari nescius artes\n              Urbibus eversis pr\u00e6darum in parte reperta\n              Magnorum artificum frangebat pocula miles.\n              Ut phaleris gauderet equus, c\u00e6lataque cassis\n              Romule\u00e6 simulacra fer\u00e6 mansuescere juss\u00e6\n              Imperii fato, geminos sub rupe Quirinos,\n              Ac nudam effigiem clypeo fulgentis et hasta,\n              Pendentisque Dei perituro ostenderet hosti.\n\nThe soldier broke up the precious cups, the masterpieces of great\nartists, to make a she-wolf, a little Romulus and Remus to deck his\nhelmet with. All is plain down to the last two lines, where the poet\nproceeds to describe such a figure on the helmets of the old soldiers.\nThe figure is meant for the god Mars, but what can the term _pendentis_\nmean as applied to him? Rigaltius found in an old gloss the\ninterpretation \u201cquasi ad ictum se inclinantis.\u201d Lubinus supposes the\nfigure to have been on the shield, and, as the shield hung from the arm,\nthe figure might be spoken of as hanging. But this is contrary to the\nconstruction, the subject of \u201costenderet\u201d being not \u201cmiles\u201d but\n\u201ccassis.\u201d According to Britannicus, whatever stands high in the air may\nbe said to hang, and the expression may be used of this figure perched\nabove or upon the helmet. Some would read \u201cperdentis\u201d as a contrast to\nthe following \u201cperituro,\u201d though none but themselves would think the\ncontrast desirable. What does Addison say to this doubtful passage? He\nthinks all the commentators are wrong and maintains this to be the true\nmeaning. \u201cThe Roman soldiers, who were not a little proud of their\nfounder and the military genius of their republic, used to bear on their\nhelmets the first history of Romulus, who was begot by the god of war\nand suckled by a wolf. The figure of the god was made as if descending\nupon the priestess Ilia, or, as others call her, Rhea Silvia. As he was\nrepresented descending, his figure appeared suspended in the air over\nthe vestal virgin, in which sense the word \u2018pendentis\u2019 is extremely\nproper and poetical. Besides the antique basso-rilievo (in Bellori) that\nmade me first think of this interpretation, I have since met with the\nsame figures on the reverses of a couple of ancient coins, which were\nstamped in the reign of Antoninus Pius.\u201d (Addison\u2019s Travels, Rome,\nTonson\u2019s edition, 1745, p. 183.)\n\nSince Spence considers this such a happy discovery on the part of\nAddison, that he quotes it as a model of its kind and as the strongest\nproof of the value of the works of the old artists in throwing light on\nthe classic Roman poets, I cannot refrain from a closer examination of\nit. (Polymetis, dial. vii.) I must observe, in the first place, that the\nbas-relief and the coin would hardly have recalled to Addison the\npassage from Juvenal, had he not remembered reading in the old\nscholiast, who substituted \u201cvenientis\u201d for \u201cfulgentis\u201d in the last line\nbut one, this interpretation: \u201cMartis ad Iliam venientis ut\nconcumberet.\u201d Now, instead of this reading of the old scholiast, let us\naccept Addison\u2019s, and see if we have then the slightest reason for\nsupposing the poet to have had Rhea in mind. Would it not rather be a\ncomplete inversion on his part, where he is speaking of the wolf and the\nboys, to be thinking of the adventure to which the children owe their\nlife? Rhea has not yet become a mother, and the boys are already lying\nunder the rock. Would an hour of dalliance be a fitting emblem for the\nhelmet of a Roman soldier? The soldier was proud of the divine origin of\nthe founder of his country, and that was sufficiently typified by the\nwolf and the children. What need of introducing Mars at a moment when he\nwas any thing but the dread-inspiring god? His visit to Rhea may have\nbeen represented on any number of old marbles and coins: did that make\nit a fitting ornament for armor? What are the marbles and coins on which\nAddison saw Mars in this hovering attitude? The old bas-relief to which\nhe appeals is said to be in Bellori, but we shall look for it in vain in\nthe Admiranda, his collection of finest old bas-reliefs. Spence cannot\nhave found it there or elsewhere, for he makes no mention of it. Nothing\nremains, therefore, but the coins, which we will study from Addison\nhimself. I see a recumbent figure of Rhea, and Mars standing on a\nsomewhat higher plane, because there was not room for him on the same\nlevel. That is all: there is no sign of his being suspended. Such an\neffect is produced very strongly, it is true, in Spence\u2019s copy. The\nupper part of the figure is thrown so far forward as to make standing\nimpossible; so that if the body be not falling, it must be hovering.\nSpence says this coin is in his possession. It is hard to question a\nman\u2019s veracity, even in a trifle, but our eyes are often greatly\ninfluenced by a preconceived opinion. He may, besides, have thought it\nallowable for the good of the reader to have the artist so emphasize the\nexpression which he thought he saw, that as little doubt might remain on\nour mind as on his. One thing is plain: that Spence and Addison refer to\nthe same coin, which is either very much misrepresented by one or\nembellished by the other. But I have another objection to make to this\nsupposed hovering attitude of Mars. A body thus suspended, without any\nvisible cause for the law of gravitation not acting upon it, is an\nabsurdity of which no example can be found in the old works of art. It\nis not allowable even in modern painting. If a body is to be suspended\nin the air, it must either have wings or appear to rest upon something,\nif only a cloud. When Homer makes Thetis rise on foot from the sea-shore\nto Olympus, \u03a4\u1f74\u03bd \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u1f04\u03c1\u2019 \u039f\u1f54\u03bb\u03c5\u03bc\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c0\u03cc\u03b4\u03b5\u03c2 \u03c6\u03ad\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd (Iliad, xviii. 148),\nCount Caylus is too well aware of the limitations of art to counsel the\npainter to represent her as walking unsupported through the air. She\nmust pursue her way upon a cloud (Tableaux tir\u00e9s de l\u2019Iliade, p. 91), as\nin another place he puts her into a chariot (p. 131), although exactly\nthe opposite is stated by the poet. How can it be otherwise? Although\nthe poet represents the goddess with a human body, he yet removes from\nher every trace of coarse and heavy materiality, and animates her with a\npower which raises her beyond the influence of our laws of motion. How\ncould painting so distinguish the bodily shape of a deity from the\nbodily shape of a human being, that our eyes should not be offended by\nobserving it acted upon by different laws of motion, weight, and\nequilibrium? How but by conventional signs, such as a pair of wings or a\ncloud? But more of this elsewhere; here it is enough to require the\ndefenders of the Addison theory to show on the old monuments a second\nfigure floating thus unsupported in the air. Can this Mars be the only\none of its kind? why? Were there some particular conditions handed down\nby tradition which would necessitate such exceptional treatment in this\none case? There is no trace of such in Ovid (Fast. lib. i.), but rather\nproof that no such conditions ever could have existed. For in other\nancient works of art which represent the same story, Mars is evidently\nnot hovering, but walking. Examine the bas-relief in Montfaucon (Suppl.\nT. i. p. 183), which is to be found, if I am not mistaken, in the\nMellini palace at Rome. Rhea lies asleep under a tree, and Mars\napproaches her softly, with that expressive backward motion of the right\nhand by which we warn those behind to stay where they are, or to advance\ngently. His attitude is precisely the same as on the coin, except that\nin one case he holds his lance in the right, in the other in the left\nhand. We often find famous statues and bas-reliefs copied on coins, and\nthe same may well be the case here, only that the cutter of the die did\nnot perceive the force of the backward motion of the hand, and thought\nit better employed in holding the lance. Taking all these arguments into\nconsideration, what degree of probability remains to Addison\u2019s theory?\nHardly more than a bare possibility. But where can better explanation be\nhad if this fails? Possibly among the interpretations rejected by\nAddison. But if not, what then? The passage in the poet is corrupted,\nand so it must remain. It certainly will so remain, if twenty new\nconjectures are invented. We might say that \u201cpendentis\u201d here was to be\ntaken figuratively in the sense of uncertain, undecided. Mars \u201cpendens\u201d\nwould then be the same as Mars \u201cincertus\u201d or Mars \u201ccommunis.\u201d \u201cDii\ncommunes,\u201d says Servius (ad. v. 118, lib. xii. \u00c6neid), are Mars,\nBellona, and Victory, so called from their favoring both parties in war.\nAnd the line,\u2014\n\n         Pendentisque Dei (effigiem) perituro ostenderet hosti,\n\nwould mean that the old Roman soldier was accustomed to wear the image\nof the impartial god in the presence of his enemy, who, in spite of the\nimpartiality, was soon to perish. A very subtle idea, making the\nvictories of the old Romans depend more upon their own bravery than on\nthe friendly aid of their founder. Nevertheless, \u201cnon liquet.\u201d\n\n\n                            Note 18, p. 51.\n\n\u201cTill I got acquainted with these Aur\u00e6 (or sylphs),\u201d says Spence\n(Polymetis, dial. xiii.), \u201cI found myself always at a loss in reading\nthe known story of Cephalus and Procris in Ovid. I could never imagine\nhow Cephalus crying out, \u2018Aura venias\u2019 (though in ever so languishing a\nmanner), could give anybody a suspicion of his being false to Procris.\nAs I had been always used to think that Aura signified only the air in\ngeneral, or a gentle breeze in particular, I thought Procris\u2019s jealousy\nless founded than the most extravagant jealousies generally are. But\nwhen I had once found that Aura might signify a very handsome young\nwoman as well as the air, the case was entirely altered, and the story\nseemed to go on in a very reasonable manner.\u201d I will not take back in\nthe note the approval bestowed in the text on this discovery, on which\nSpence so plumes himself. But I cannot refrain from remarking that, even\nwithout it, the passage was very natural and intelligible. We only\nneeded to know that Aura occurs frequently among the ancients as a\nwoman\u2019s name. According to Nonnus, for instance (Dionys. lib. xlviii.),\nthe nymph of Diana was thus named, who, for claiming to possess a more\nmanly beauty than the goddess herself, was, as a punishment for her\npresumption, exposed in her sleep to the embraces of Bacchus.\n\n\n                            Note 19, p. 52.\n\nJuvenalis Satyr. viii. v. 52\u201355.\n\n                                                  ... At tu\n            Nil nisi Cecropides; truncoque simillimus Herm\u00e6!\n            Nullo quippe alio vincis discrimine, quam quod\n            Illi marmoreum caput est, tua vivit imago.\n\n\u201cBut thou art nothing if not a descendant of Cecrops; in body most like\na Hermes; forsooth the only thing in which you surpass that, is that\nyour head is a living image, while the Hermes is marble.\u201d If Spence had\nembraced the old Greek writers in his work, a fable of \u00c6sop might\nperhaps\u2014and yet perhaps not\u2014have occurred to him, which throws still\nclearer light upon this passage in Juvenal. \u201cMercury,\u201d \u00c6sop tells us,\n\u201cwishing to know in what repute he stood among men, concealed his\ndivinity, and entered a sculptor\u2019s studio. Here he beheld a statue of\nJupiter, and asked its value. \u2018A drachm,\u2019 was the answer. Mercury\nsmiled. \u2018And this Juno?\u2019 he asked again. \u2018About the same.\u2019 The god\nmeanwhile had caught sight of his own image, and thought to himself,\u2014\u2018I,\nas the messenger of the gods, from whom come all gains, must be much\nmore highly prized by men.\u2019 \u2018And this god,\u2019 he asked, pointing to his\nown image, \u2018how dear might that be?\u2019 \u2018That?\u2019 replied the artist, \u2018buy\nthe other two, and I will throw that in.\u2019\u201d Mercury went away sadly\ncrestfallen. But the artist did not recognize him, and could therefore\nhave had no intention of wounding his self-love. The reason for his\nsetting so small a value on the statue must have lain in its\nworkmanship. The less degree of reverence due to the god whom it\nrepresented could have had nothing to do with the matter, for the artist\nvalues his works according to the skill, industry, and labor bestowed\nupon them, not according to the rank and dignity of the persons\nrepresented. If a statue of Mercury cost less than one of Jupiter or\nJuno, it was because less skill, industry, and labor had been expended\nupon it. And such was the case here. The statues of Jupiter and Juno\nwere full-length figures, while that of Mercury was a miserable square\npost, with only the head and shoulders of the god upon it. What wonder,\nthen, that it might be thrown in without extra charge? Mercury\noverlooked this circumstance, from having in mind only his own fancied\nsuperiority, and his humiliation was therefore as natural as it was\nmerited. We look in vain among the commentators, translators, and\nimitators of \u00c6sop\u2019s fables for any trace of this explanation. I could\nmention the names of many, were it worth the trouble, who have\nunderstood the story literally; that is, have not understood it at all.\nOn the supposition that the workmanship of all the statues was of the\nsame degree of excellence, there is an absurdity in the fable which\nthese scholars have either failed to perceive or have very much\nexaggerated. Another point which, perhaps, might be taken exception to\nin the fable, is the price the sculptor sets upon his Jupiter. No potter\ncan make a puppet for a drachm. The drachm here must stand in general\nfor something very insignificant. (Fab. \u00c6sop, 90.)\n\n\n                            Note 20, p. 53.\n\nCretius de R. N. lib. v. 736\u2013747.\n\n          It Ver, et Venus, et Veneris pr\u00e6nuntius ante\n          Pinnatus graditur Zephyrus; vestigia propter\n          Flora quibus mater pr\u00e6spargens ante viai\n          Cuncta coloribus egregiis et odoribus opplet,\n          Inde loci sequitur Calor aridus, et comes una\n          Pulverulenta Ceres; et Etesia flabra Aquilonum.\n          Inde Autumnus adit; graditur simul Evius Evan;\n          Inde ali\u00e6 tempestates ventique sequuntur,\n          Altitonans Vulturnus et Auster fulmine pollens.\n          Tandem Bruma nives adfert, pigrumque rigorem\n          Reddit, Hyems sequitur, crepitans ac dentibus Algus.\n\nSpring advances and Venus and winged Zephyrus, the herald of Venus,\nprecedes, whose path mother Flora fills with wondrous flowers and odors.\nThen follow in order dry Heat and his companion dusty Ceres, and the\nEtesian blasts of the Northwind. Then Autumn approaches, and Evian\nBacchus. Then other tempests and winds, deep-thundering Volturnus and\nAuster (south and south-east winds), mighty with lightnings. At length,\nthe solstice brings snow, and slothful numbness returns; Winter follows,\nand cold with chattering teeth.\n\nSpence regards this passage as one of the most beautiful in the whole\npoem, and it is certainly one on which the fame of Lucretius as a poet\nchiefly rests. But, surely, to say that the whole description was\nprobably taken from a procession of statues representing the seasons as\ngods, is to detract very much from his merit, if not to destroy it\naltogether. And what reason have we for the supposition? This, says the\nEnglishman: \u201cSuch processions of their deities in general were as common\namong the Romans of old, as those in honor of the saints are in the same\ncountry to this day. All the expressions used by Lucretius here come in\nvery aptly, if applied to a procession.\u201d\n\nExcellent reasons! Against the last, particularly, we might make many\nobjections. The very epithets applied to the various personified\nabstractions,\u2014\u201cCalor aridus,\u201d \u201cCeres pulverulenta,\u201d \u201cVolturnus\naltitonans,\u201d \u201cfulmine pollens Auster,\u201d \u201cAlgus dentibus crepitans,\u201d\u2014show\nthat they received their characteristics from the poet and not from the\nartist. He would certainly have treated them very differently. Spence\nseems to have derived his idea of a procession from Abraham Preigern,\nwho, in his remarks on this passage, says, \u201cOrdo est quasi Pomp\u00e6\ncujusdam. Ver et Venus, Zephyrus et Flora,\u201d &c. But Spence should have\nbeen content to stop there. To say that the poet makes his seasons move\nas in a procession, is all very well; but to say that he learned their\nsequences from a procession, is nonsense.\n\n\n                            Note 21, p. 62.\n\nValerius Flaccus, lib. ii. Argonaut, v. 265\u2013273.\n\n             Serta patri, juvenisque comam vestisque Ly\u00e6i\n             Induit, et medium curru locat; \u00e6raque circum\n             Tympanaque et plenas tacita formidine cistas.\n             Ipsa sinus hederisque ligat famularibus artus;\n             Pampineamque quatit ventosis ictibus hastam,\n             Respiciens; teneat virides velatus habenas\n             Ut pater, et nivea tumeant ut cornua mitra,\n             Et sacer ut Bacchum referat scyphus.\n\n\u201cThe maid clothes her father with the garlands, the locks and the\ngarments of Bacchus, and places him in the centre of the chariot; around\nhim the brazen drums and the boxes filled with nameless terror; herself,\nlooking back, binds his hair and limbs with ivy and strikes windy blows\nwith the vine-wreathed spear; veiled like the father she holds the green\nreins; the horns project under the white turban, and the sacred goblet\ntells of Bacchus.\u201d\n\nThe word \u201ctumeant,\u201d in the last line but one, would seem to imply that\nthe horns were not so small as Spence fancies.\n\n\n                            Note 22, p. 62.\n\nThe so-called Bacchus in the garden of the Medicis at Rome (Montfaucon\nSuppl. aux Ant. T. 1, p. 254) has little horns growing from the brow.\nBut for this very reason some critics suppose it to be a faun. And\nindeed such natural horns are an insult to the human countenance, and\ncan only be becoming in beings supposed to occupy a middle station\nbetween men and beasts. The attitude also and the longing looks the\nfigure casts upward at the grapes, belong more properly to a follower of\nthe god than to the god himself. I am reminded here of what Clemens\nAlexandrinus says of Alexander the Great. (Protrept. p. 48, edit. Pott.)\n\u1f18\u03b2\u03bf\u03cd\u03bb\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf \u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f08\u03bb\u03ad\u03be\u03b1\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f0c\u03bc\u03bc\u03c9\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c5\u1f31\u1f78\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f36\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b4\u03bf\u03ba\u03b5\u1fd6\u03bd, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03ba\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\u03c3\u03c6\u03cc\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2\n\u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03c0\u03bb\u03ac\u03c4\u03c4\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2 \u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd \u1f00\u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u1ff6\u03bd, \u03c4\u1f78 \u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u1f78\u03bd \u1f00\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03ce\u03c0\u03bf\u03c5 \u1f51\u03b2\u03c1\u03af\u03c3\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c3\u03c0\u03b5\u03cd\u03b4\u03c9\u03bd\n\u03ba\u03ad\u03c1\u03b1\u03c4\u03b9. It was Alexander\u2019s express desire to be represented in his\nstatue with horns. He was well content with the insult thus done to\nhuman beauty, if only a divine origin might be imputed to him.\n\n\n                            Note 23, p. 64.\n\nWhen I maintained in a former chapter that the old artists had never\nmade a fury, it had not escaped me that the furies had more than one\ntemple, which certainly would not have been left devoid of their\nstatues. Pausanias found some of wood in their temple at Cerynea, not\nlarge nor in any way remarkable. It would seem that the art, which had\nno opportunity of displaying itself on them, sought to make amends on\nthe images of the priestesses which stood in the hall of the temple, as\nthey were of stone and of very beautiful workmanship. (Pausanias Achaic.\ncap. xxv. p. 587, edit. Kuhn.) Neither had I forgotten that heads of\nthem were supposed to have been found on an _abraxas_, made known by\nChiffletius, and on a lamp by Licetus. (Dissertat. sur les Furies par\nBannier; M\u00e9moires de l\u2019Acad\u00e9mie des Inscript. T. v. 48.) Neither was I\nunacquainted with the Etruscan vase of Gorius (Tabl. 151. Musei Etrusci)\nwhereon are Orestes and Pylades attacked by furies. But I was speaking\nof works of art, under which head I consider none of these to come. If\nthe latter deserve more than the others to be included under the name,\nit would in one aspect rather confirm my theory than contradict it. For,\nlittle as the Etruscan artists aimed at beauty in most cases, they yet\nseem to have characterized the furies more by their dress and attributes\nthan by any terrible aspect of countenance. These figures thrust their\ntorches at Orestes and Pylades, with such a tranquil expression of face\nthat they almost seem to be terrifying them in sport. The horror they\ninspire in Orestes and Pylades appears from the fear of the two men, not\nat all from the shape of the furies themselves.\n\nThey are, therefore, at once furies and no furies. They perform the\noffice of furies, but without that appearance of violence and rage which\nwe are accustomed to associate with the name. They have not that brow\nwhich, as Catullus says, \u201cexpirantis pr\u00e6portat pectoris iras.\u201d\nWinkelmann thought lately that he had discovered, upon a cornelian in\nthe cabinet of Stoss, a fury, running, with streaming hair and garments,\nand a dagger in her hand. (Library of the Fine Arts, vol. v.) Von\nHagedorn at once counselled all the artists to turn this discovery to\naccount, and represent furies thus in their pictures. (Betrachtungen\n\u00fcber die Malerei, p. 222.) But Winkelmann himself presently threw doubt\non his discovery, because he did not find that the ancients ever armed\nthe furies with daggers instead of torches. (Descript. des Pierres\nGrav\u00e9es, p. 84.) He must then consider the figures on the coins of the\ncities of Lyrba and Massaura, which Spanheim calls furies (Les C\u00e9sars de\nJulien, p. 44), to be not such but a Hecate _triformis_. Else here would\nbe exactly such a fury, with a dagger in each hand, and strangely enough\nalso with flowing hair, while in the other figures the hair is covered\nwith a veil. But granting Winkelmann\u2019s first supposition to have been\ncorrect, the same would apply to this engraved stone as to the Etruscan\nvase, unless owing to the fineness of the work the features were\nindistinguishable. Besides, all engraved stones, from their use as\nseals, belong rather to symbolism; and the figures on them are more\noften a conceit of the owner than the voluntary work of the artist.\n\n\n                            Note 24, p. 64.\n\nFast. lib. vi. 295\u201398.\n\n               Esse diu stultus Vest\u00e6 simulacra putavi:\n                 Mox didici curvo nulla subesse tholo.\n               Ignis inextinctus templo celatur in illo;\n                 Effigiem nullam Vesta, nec ignis, habet.\n\n\u201cI long foolishly thought there were images of Vesta; then I found that\nnone existed beneath the arching dome. An ever-burning fire is hidden in\nthat temple. Image there is none either of Vesta or of fire.\u201d\n\nOvid is speaking only of the worship of Vesta at Rome, and of the temple\nerected to her there by Numa, of whom he just before says:\n\n              Regis opus placidi, quo non metuentius ullum\n                Numinis ingenium terra Sabina tulit.\n\n\u201cThe work of that peaceful king who feared the gods more than any other\noffspring of the Sabine land.\u201d\n\n\n                            Note 25, p. 65.\n\nFast. lib. iii. v. 45, 46.\n\n               Sylvia fit mater: Vest\u00e6 simulacra feruntur\n                 Virgineas oculis opposuisse manus.\n\nSpence should thus have compared the different parts of Ovid together.\nThe poet is speaking of different times; here of the state of things\nbefore Numa, there of the state of things after him. Statues of her were\nworshipped in Italy as they were in Troy, whence \u00c6neas brought her rites\nwith him.\n\n                    Manibus vittas, Vestamque potentem,\n              \u00c6ternumque adytis effert penetralibus ignem,\n\nsays Virgil of the ghost of Hector, after he had warned \u00c6neas to fly.\n\u201cHe bears in his hands from the innermost shrine garlands, and mighty\nVesta and the eternal fire.\u201d Here the eternal fire is expressly\ndistinguished from Vesta herself and from her statue. Spence cannot have\nconsulted the Roman poets with much care, since he allowed such a\npassage as this to escape him.\n\n\n                            Note 26, p. 65.\n\nPlinius, lib. xxxvi. sect. 4. \u201cScopas fecit.\u2014Vestam sedentem laudatam in\nServilianis hortis.\u201d Lipsius must have had this passage in mind when he\nwrote (de Vesta cap. 3): \u201cPlinius Vestem sedentem effingi solitam\nostendit, a stabilitate.\u201d But what Pliny says of a single work by Scopas\nhe ought not to have taken for a generally accepted characteristic. In\nfact, he observes that on coins Vesta was as often represented standing\nas sitting. This, however, was no correction of Pliny, but only of his\nown mistaken conception.\n\n\n                            Note 27, p. 66.\n\nGeorg. Codinus de Originib. Constant. \u03a4\u1f74\u03bd \u03b3\u1fc6\u03bd \u03bb\u03ad\u03b3\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f19\u03c3\u03c4\u03af\u03b1\u03bd, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76\n\u03c0\u03bb\u03ac\u03c4\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u03b3\u03c5\u03bd\u03b1\u1fd6\u03ba\u03b1, \u03c4\u03cd\u03bc\u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u03b2\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03ac\u03b6\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd, \u1f10\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u1f74 \u03c4\u03bf\u1f7a\u03c2 \u1f00\u03bd\u03ad\u03bc\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u1f21 \u03b3\u1fc6\n\u1f51\u03c6\u2019 \u1f11\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u03c3\u03c5\u03b3\u03ba\u03bb\u03b5\u03af\u03b5\u03b9. Suidas, following him, or both following some\nolder authority, says the same thing under the word \u1f19\u03c3\u03c4\u03af\u03b1. \u201cUnder the\nname of Vesta the Earth is represented by a woman bearing a drum, in\nwhich she is supposed to hold the winds confined.\u201d The reason is\nsomewhat puerile. It would have sounded better to say that she carried a\ndrum, because the ancients thought her figure bore some resemblance to\none, \u03c3\u03c7\u1fc6\u03bc\u03b1 \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03c4\u03c5\u03bc\u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03bf\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u1f72\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f36\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9. (Plutarchus de placitis Philos.\ncap. 10, id. de facie in orbe Lun\u00e6.) Perhaps, after all, Codinus was\nmistaken in the figure or the name or both. Possibly he did not know\nwhat better name to give to what he saw Vesta holding, than a drum. Or\nhe might have heard it called tympanum, and the only thing the word\nsuggested to him was the instrument known to us as a kettle-drum. But\n\u201ctympana\u201d were also a kind of wheel.\n\n           Hinc radios trivere rotis, hinc tympana plaustris\n           Agricol\u00e6.\u2014(Virgilius Georgic. lib. ii. 444.)\n\nVery similar to such a wheel appears to me the object borne by\nFabretti\u2019s Vesta (ad Tabulam Iliadis, p. 334) which that scholar takes\nto be a hand-mill.\n\n\n                            Note 28, p. 70.\n\nLib. i. Od. 35.\n\n                   Te semper anteit s\u00e6va Necessitas:\n                   Clavos trabales et cuneos manu\n                   Gestans ahenea; nec severus\n                     Uncus abest liquidumque plumbum.\n\nIn this picture of Necessity drawn by Horace, perhaps the richest in\nattributes of any to be found in the old poets, the nails, the clamps,\nand the liquid lead, whether regarded as means of confinement or\nimplements of punishment, still belong to the class of poetical, rather\nthan allegorical, attributes. But, even so, they are too crowded; and\nthe passage is one of the least effective in Horace. Sanadon says:\n\u201cJ\u2019ose dire que ce tableau, pris dans le d\u00e9tail, serait plus beau sur la\ntoile que dans une ode h\u00e9ro\u00efque. Je ne puis souffrir cet attirail\npatibulaire de clous, de coins, de crocs, et de plomb fondu. J\u2019ai cru en\ndevoir d\u00e9charger la traduction, en substituant les id\u00e9es g\u00e9n\u00e9rales aux\nid\u00e9es singuli\u00e8res. C\u2019est dommage que le po\u00ebte ait eu besoin de ce\ncorrectif.\u201d Sanadon\u2019s sentiment was fine and true, but he does not give\nthe right ground for it. The objection is not that these attributes are\nthe paraphernalia of the gallows, for he had but to interpret them in\ntheir other sense to make them the firmest supports of architecture.\nTheir fault is in being addressed to the eye and not to the ear. For all\nimpressions meant for the eye, but presented to us through the ear, are\nreceived with effort, and produce no great degree of vividness. These\nlines of Horace remind me of a couple of oversights on the part of\nSpence, which give us no very good idea of the exactitude with which he\nhas studied the passages he cites from the old poets. He is speaking of\nthe image under which the Romans represented faith or honesty. (Dial.\nx.) \u201cThe Romans,\u201d he says, \u201ccalled her \u2018Fides;\u2019 and, when they called\nher \u2018Sola Fides,\u2019 seem to mean the same as we do by the words \u2018downright\nhonesty.\u2019 She is represented with an erect, open air, and with nothing\nbut a thin robe on, so fine that one might see through it. Horace\ntherefore calls her \u2018thin-dressed\u2019 in one of his odes, and \u2018transparent\u2019\nin another.\u201d In these few lines are not less than three gross errors.\nFirst, it is false that \u201csola\u201d was a distinct epithet applied to the\ngoddess Fides. In the two passages from Livy, which he adduces as proof\n(lib. i. sect. 21, lib. ii. sect. 3), the word has only its usual\nsignification,\u2014the exclusion of all else. In one place, indeed, the\n\u201csoli\u201d has been questioned by the critics, who think it must have crept\ninto the text through an error in writing, occasioned by the word next\nto it, which is \u201csolenne.\u201d In the other passage cited, the author is not\nspeaking of fidelity at all, but of innocence, Innocentia. Secondly,\nHorace, in one of his odes (the thirty-fifth of the first book,\nmentioned above), is said to have applied to Fides the epithet\nthin-dressed:\n\n                   Te spes, et albo rara fides colit\n                   Velata panno.\n\n\u201cRarus,\u201d it is true, can also mean thin; but here it means only rare,\nseldom appearing, and is applied to Fidelity herself, not to her\nclothing. Spence would have been right, had the poet said, \u201cFides raro\nvelata panno.\u201d Thirdly, Horace is said to have elsewhere called faith or\nhonesty transparent, in the sense in which friends protest to one\nanother, \u201cI wish you could read my heart.\u201d This meaning is said to be\nfound in the line of the eighteenth ode of the First Book:\n\n              Arcanique Fides prodiga, pellucidior vitro.\n\nHow can a critic allow himself to be thus misled by a word? Is a faith,\n\u201carcani prodiga,\u201d lavish of secrets, faithfulness? is it not rather\nfaithlessness? And it is of faithlessness, in fact, that Horace says,\n\u201cShe is transparent as glass, because she betrays to every eye the\nsecrets entrusted to her.\u201d\n\n\n                            Note 29, p. 71.\n\nApollo delivers the washed and embalmed body of Sarpedon to Death and\nSleep, that they may bring him to his native country. (Iliad, xvi. 681,\n682.)\n\n            \u03c0\u03ad\u03bc\u03c0\u03b5 \u03b4\u03ad \u03bc\u03b9\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bc\u03c0\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f05\u03bc\u03b1 \u03ba\u03c1\u03b1\u03b9\u03c0\u03bd\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c3\u03b9 \u03c6\u03ad\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9,\n            \u1f5d\u03c0\u03bd\u1ff3 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u0398\u03b1\u03bd\u03ac\u03c4\u1ff3 \u03b4\u03b9\u03b4\u03c5\u03bc\u03ac\u03bf\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd.\n\nCaylus recommends this idea to the painter, but adds: \u201cIt is a pity that\nHomer has given us no account of the attributes under which Sleep was\nrepresented in his day. We recognize the god only by his act, and we\ncrown him with poppies. These ideas are modern. The first is of service,\nbut cannot be employed in the present case, where even the flowers would\nbe out of keeping in connection with the figure of Death.\u201d (Tableaux\ntir\u00e9s de l\u2019Iliade, de l\u2019Odyss\u00e9e d\u2019Hom\u00e8re, et de l\u2019En\u00e9ide de Virgile,\navec des observations g\u00e9n\u00e9rales sur le costume, \u00e0 Paris, 1757\u201358.) That\nis requiring of Homer ornamentations of that petty kind most at variance\nwith the nobility of his style. The most ingenious attributes he could\nhave bestowed on Sleep would not have characterized him so perfectly,\nnor have brought so vivid a picture of him before us, as the single\ntouch which makes him the twin brother of Death. Let the artist seek to\nexpress this, and he may dispense with all attributes. The old artists\ndid, in fact, make Sleep and Death resemble each other, like\ntwin-brothers. On a chest of cedar, in the Temple of Juno at Elis, they\nboth lay as boys in the arms of Night. One was white, the other black;\none slept, the other only seemed to sleep; the feet of both were\ncrossed. For so I should prefer to translate the words of Pausanias\n(Eliac. cap. xviii. p. 422, edit. Kuhn), \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u03bf\u03c4\u03ad\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b9\u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03c1\u03b1\u03bc\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf\u1f7a\u03c2\n\u03c0\u03cc\u03b4\u03b1\u03c2, rather than by \u201ccrooked feet,\u201d as Gedoyn does, \u201cles pieds\ncontrefaits.\u201d What would be the meaning of crooked feet? To lie with\ncrossed feet is customary with sleepers. Sleep is thus represented by\nMaffei. (Raccol. Pl. 151.) Modern artists have entirely abandoned this\nresemblance between Sleep and Death, which we find among the ancients,\nand always represent Death as a skeleton, or at best a skeleton covered\nwith skin. Caylus should have been careful to tell the artists whether\nthey had better follow the custom of the ancients or the moderns in this\nrespect. He seems to declare in favor of the modern view, since he\nregards Death as a figure that would not harmonize well with a\nflower-crowned companion. Has he further considered how inappropriate\nthis modern idea would be in a Homeric picture? How could its loathsome\ncharacter have failed to shock him? I cannot bring myself to believe\nthat the little metal figure in the ducal gallery at Florence,\nrepresenting a skeleton sitting on the ground, with one arm on an urn of\nashes (Spence\u2019s Polymetis, tab. xli.), is a veritable antique. It cannot\npossibly represent Death, because the ancients represented him very\ndifferently. Even their poets never thought of him under this repulsive\nshape.\n\n\n                            Note 30, p. 76.\n\nRichardson cites this work as an illustration of the rule that the\nattention of the spectator should be diverted by nothing, however\nadmirable, from the chief figure. \u201cProtogenes,\u201d he says, \u201chad introduced\ninto his famous picture of Ialysus a partridge, painted with so much\nskill that it seemed alive, and was admired by all Greece. But, because\nit attracted all eyes to itself, to the detriment of the whole piece, he\neffaced it.\u201d (Trait\u00e9 de la Peinture, T. i. p. 46.) Richardson is\nmistaken; this partridge was not in the Ialysus, but in another picture\nof Protogenes called the Idle Satyr, or Satyr in Repose, \u03a3\u03ac\u03c4\u03c5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2\n\u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03c0\u03b1\u03c5\u03cc\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2. I should hardly have mentioned this error, which arose\nfrom a misunderstanding of a passage in Pliny, had not the same mistake\nbeen made by Meursius. (Rhodi. lib. i. cap. 14.) \u201cIn eadem tabula,\nscilicet in qua Ialysus, Satyrus erat, quem dicebant _Anapauomenon_,\ntibeas tenens.\u201d\n\nSomething of the same kind occurs in Winkelmann. (Von der Nachahm. der\nGr. W. in der Mal. und Bildh. p. 56.) Strabo is the only authority for\nthis partridge story, and he expressly discriminates between the Ialysus\nand the Satyr leaning against a pillar on which sat the partridge. (Lib.\nxiv.) Meursius, Richardson, and Winkelmann misunderstood the passage in\nPliny (lib. xxxv. sect. 36), from not perceiving that he was speaking of\ntwo different pictures: the one which saved the city, because Demetrius\nwould not assault the place where it stood; and another, which\nProtogenes painted during the siege. The one was Ialysus, the other the\nSatyr.\n\n\n                            Note 31, p. 79.\n\nThis invisible battle of the gods has been imitated by Quintus Calaber\nin his Twelfth Book, with the evident design of improving on his model.\nThe grammarian seems to have held it unbecoming in a god to be thrown to\nthe ground by a stone. He therefore makes the gods hurl at one another\nhuge masses of rock, torn up from Mount Ida, which, however, are\nshattered against the limbs of the immortals and fly like sand about\nthem.\n\n                                ... \u03bf\u1f31 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03bf\u03bb\u03ce\u03bd\u03b1\u03c2\n              \u03c7\u03b5\u03c1\u03c3\u1f76\u03bd \u1f00\u03c0\u03bf\u1fe4\u1fe5\u03ae\u03be\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2 \u1f00\u03c0\u2019 \u03bf\u1f54\u03c1\u03b5\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f38\u03b4\u03b1\u03af\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf\n              \u03b2\u03ac\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u2019 \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb\u03ae\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2\u00b7 \u03b1\u1f33 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c8\u03b1\u03bc\u03ac\u03b8\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f41\u03bc\u03bf\u1fd6\u03b1\u03b9\n              \u1fe5\u03b5\u1fd6\u03b1 \u03b4\u03b9\u03b5\u03c3\u03ba\u03af\u03b4\u03bd\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf \u03b8\u03b5\u1ff6\u03bd \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u03c3\u03c7\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1 \u03b3\u03c5\u1fd6\u03b1\n              \u1fe5\u03b7\u03b3\u03bd\u03cd\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03b1 \u03b4\u03b9\u1f70 \u03c4\u03c5\u03c4\u03b8\u03ac....\n\nA conceit which destroys the effect by marring our idea of the size of\nthe gods, and throwing contempt on their weapons. If gods throw stones\nat one another, the stones must be able to hurt them, or they are like\nsilly boys pelting each other with earth. So old Homer remains still the\nwiser, and all the fault-finding of cold criticism, and the attempts of\nmen of inferior genius to vie with him, serve but to set forth his\nwisdom in clearer light. I do not deny that Quintus\u2019s imitation has\nexcellent and original points; but they are less in harmony with the\nmodest greatness of Homer than calculated to do honor to the stormy fire\nof a more modern poet. That the cry of the gods, which rang to the\nheights of heaven and the depths of hell, should not be heard by\nmortals, seems to me a most expressive touch. The cry was too mighty to\nbe grasped by the imperfect organs of human hearing.\n\n\n                            Note 32, p. 80.\n\nNo one who has read Homer once through, ever so hastily, will differ\nfrom this statement as far as regards strength and speed; but he will\nnot perhaps at once recall examples where the poet attaches superhuman\nsize to his gods. I would therefore refer him, in addition to the\ndescription of Mars just quoted, whose body covered seven hides, to the\nhelmet of Minerva, \u03ba\u03c5\u03bd\u03ad\u03b7\u03bd \u1f11\u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03af\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03c1\u03c5\u03bb\u03ad\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u2019 \u1f00\u03c1\u03b1\u03c1\u03c5\u1fd6\u03b1\u03bd (Iliad, v.\n744), under which could be concealed as many warriors as a hundred\ncities could bring into the field; to the stride of Neptune (Iliad,\nxiii. 20); and especially to the lines from the description of the\nshield, where Mars and Minerva lead the troops of the beleaguered city.\n(Iliad, xviii. 516\u2013519.)\n\n                   \u1f26\u03c1\u03c7\u03b5 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u03c1\u03ac \u03c3\u03c6\u03b9\u03bd \u1f0c\u03c1\u03b7\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03a0\u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u1f70\u03c2 \u1f08\u03b8\u03ae\u03bd\u03b7,\n             \u1f04\u03bc\u03c6\u03c9 \u03c7\u03c1\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03af\u03c9, \u03c7\u03c1\u03cd\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03b5\u1f35\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u1f15\u03c3\u03b8\u03b7\u03bd,\n             \u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u1f7c \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bc\u03b5\u03b3\u03ac\u03bb\u03c9 \u03c3\u1f7a\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5\u03cd\u03c7\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd, \u1f65\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03b8\u03b5\u03ce \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1,\n             \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u1f76\u03c2 \u1f00\u03c1\u03b9\u03b6\u03ae\u03bb\u03c9\u00b7 \u03bb\u03b1\u03bf\u1f76 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f51\u03c0\u2019 \u1f51\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03af\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd\u03b5\u03c2 \u1f26\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd.\n\n                                  ... While the youths\n          Marched on, with Mars and Pallas at their head,\n          Both wrought in gold, with golden garments on,\n          Stately and large in form, and over all\n          Conspicuous in bright armor, as became\n          The gods; the rest were of an humbler size.\u2014BRYANT.\n\nJudging from the explanations they feel called upon to give of the great\nhelmet of Minerva, Homer\u2019s commentators, old as well as new, seem not\nalways sufficiently to have borne in mind this wonderful size of the\ngods. (See the notes on the above-quoted passage in the edition of\nClarke and Ernesti.) But we lose much in majesty by thinking of the\nHomeric deities as of ordinary size, as we are accustomed to see them on\ncanvas in the company of mortals. Although painting is unable to\nrepresent these superhuman dimensions, sculpture to a certain extent\nmay, and I am convinced that the old masters borrowed from Homer their\nconception of the gods in general as well as the colossal size which\nthey not infrequently gave them. (Herodot. lib. ii. p. 130, edit.\nWessel.) Further remarks upon the use of the colossal, its excellent\neffect in sculpture and its want of effect in painting, I reserve for\nanother place.\n\n\n                            NOTE 33, p. 82.\n\nHomer, I acknowledge, sometimes veils his deities in a cloud, but only\nwhen they are not to be seen by other deities. In the fourteenth book of\nthe Iliad, for instance, where Juno and Sleep, \u1f20\u03ad\u03c1\u03b1 \u1f10\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03c9, betake\nthemselves to Mount Ida, the crafty goddess\u2019s chief care was not to be\ndiscovered by Venus, whose girdle she had borrowed under pretence of a\nvery different journey. In the same book the love-drunken Jupiter is\nobliged to surround himself and his spouse with a golden cloud to\novercome her chaste reluctance.\n\n                \u03c0\u1ff6\u03c2 \u03ba\u2019 \u1f14\u03bf\u03b9, \u03b5\u1f34 \u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 \u03bd\u1ff6\u03ca \u03b8\u03b5\u1ff6\u03bd \u03b1\u1f30\u03b5\u03b9\u03b3\u03b5\u03bd\u03b5\u03c4\u03ac\u03c9\u03bd\n                \u03b5\u1f55\u03b4\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u2019 \u1f00\u03b8\u03c1\u03ae\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b5....\n\nShe did not fear to be seen by men, but by the gods. And although Homer\nmakes Jupiter say a few lines further on,\u2014\n\n              \u1f2d\u03c1\u03b7, \u03bc\u03ae\u03c4\u03b5 \u03b8\u03b5\u1ff6\u03bd \u03c4\u03cc\u03b3\u03b5 \u03b4\u03b5\u03af\u03b4\u03b9\u03b8\u03b9 \u03bc\u03ae\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u2019 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u1ff6\u03bd\n              \u1f44\u03c8\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9\u00b7 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03cc\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9 \u1f10\u03b3\u1f7c \u03bd\u03ad\u03c6\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u03b9\u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03cd\u03c8\u03c9,\n              \u03c7\u03c1\u03cd\u03c3\u03b5\u03bf\u03bd.\n\n\u201cFear thou not that any god or man will look upon us,\u201d that does not\nprove that the cloud was needed to conceal them from the eyes of\nmortals, but that in this cloud they would be as invisible to the gods\nas they always were to men. So, when Minerva puts on the helmet of Pluto\n(Iliad, v. 485), which has the same effect of concealment that a cloud\nwould have, it is not that she may be concealed from the Trojans, who\neither see her not at all or under the form of Sthenelus, but simply\nthat she may not be recognized by Mars.\n\n\n                            NOTE 34, p. 87.\n\nTableaux tir\u00e9s de l\u2019Iliade, Avert. p. 5. \u201cOn est toujours convenu, que\nplus un po\u00ebme fournissait d\u2019images et d\u2019actions, plus il avait de\nsup\u00e9riorit\u00e9 en po\u00e9sie. Cette r\u00e9flexion m\u2019avait conduit \u00e0 penser que le\ncalcul des diff\u00e9rens tableaux, qu\u2019 offrent les po\u00ebmes, pouvait servir \u00e0\ncomparer le m\u00e9rite respectif des po\u00ebmes et des po\u00ebtes. Le nombre et le\ngenre des tableaux que pr\u00e9sentent ces grands ouvrages, auraient \u00e9t\u00e9 une\nesp\u00e8ce de pierre de touche, ou, plut\u00f4t, une balance certaine du m\u00e9rite\nde ces po\u00ebmes et du g\u00e9nie de leurs auteurs.\u201d\n\n\n                            NOTE 35, p. 88.\n\nWhat we call poetic pictures, the ancients, as we learn from Longinus,\ncalled \u201cphantasi\u00e6;\u201d and what we call illusion in such pictures, they\nnamed \u201cenargia.\u201d It was therefore said by some one, as Plutarch tells us\n(Erot. T. ii. edit. Henr. Steph. p. 1351), that poetic \u201cphantasi\u00e6\u201d were,\non account of their \u201cenargia,\u201d waking dreams: \u0391\u1f31 \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03b7\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c6\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c3\u03af\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b4\u03b9\u1f70\n\u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd\u03ac\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd \u1f10\u03b3\u03c1\u03b7\u03b3\u03bf\u03c1\u03cc\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd\u03cd\u03c0\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1 \u03b5\u1f30\u03c3\u03af\u03bd. I could wish that our modern\nbooks upon poetry had used this nomenclature, and avoided the word\npicture altogether. We should thus have been spared a multitude of\ndoubtful rules, whose chief foundation is the coincidence of an\narbitrary term. No one would then have thought of confining poetic\nconceptions within the limits of a material picture. But the moment\nthese conceptions were called a poetic picture, the foundation for the\nerror was laid.\n\n\n                            NOTE 36, p. 89.\n\nIliad, iv. 105.\n\n            \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03af\u03ba\u2019 \u1f10\u03c3\u03cd\u03bb\u03b1 \u03c4\u03cc\u03be\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03b0\u03be\u03bf\u03bf\u03bd\n            \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f78 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03b5\u1f56 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03ad\u03b8\u03b7\u03ba\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b1\u03bd\u03c5\u03c3\u03c3\u03ac\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u1f76 \u03b3\u03b1\u03af\u1fc3\n            \u1f00\u03b3\u03ba\u03bb\u03af\u03bd\u03b1\u03c2\u00b7...\n            \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f41 \u03c3\u03cd\u03bb\u03b1 \u03c0\u1ff6\u03bc\u03b1 \u03c6\u03b1\u03c1\u03ad\u03c4\u03c1\u03b7\u03c2, \u1f10\u03ba \u03b4\u2019 \u1f15\u03bb\u03b5\u03c4\u2019 \u1f30\u1f78\u03bd\n            \u1f00\u03b2\u03bb\u1fc6\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03cc\u03b5\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1, \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03b1\u03b9\u03bd\u03ad\u03c9\u03bd \u1f15\u03c1\u03bc\u2019 \u1f40\u03b4\u03c5\u03bd\u03ac\u03c9\u03bd\u00b7\n            \u03b1\u1f36\u03c8\u03b1 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f10\u03c0\u1f76 \u03bd\u03b5\u03c5\u03c1\u1fc7 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b5\u03ba\u03cc\u03c3\u03bc\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b9\u03ba\u03c1\u1f78\u03bd \u1f40\u03ca\u03c3\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd,\n            \u1f15\u03bb\u03ba\u03b5 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f41\u03bc\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03b3\u03bb\u03c5\u03c6\u03af\u03b4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03bb\u03b1\u03b2\u1f7c\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bd\u03b5\u1fe6\u03c1\u03b1 \u03b2\u03cc\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1\u00b7\n            \u03bd\u03b5\u03c5\u03c1\u1f74\u03bd \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03bc\u03b1\u03b6\u1ff7 \u03c0\u03ad\u03bb\u03b1\u03c3\u03b5\u03bd, \u03c4\u03cc\u03be\u03bf\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c3\u03af\u03b4\u03b7\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd.\n            \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f10\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u1f74 \u03ba\u03c5\u03ba\u03bb\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u1f72\u03c2 \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1 \u03c4\u03cc\u03be\u03bf\u03bd \u1f14\u03c4\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u03b5\u03bd,\n            \u03bb\u03af\u03b3\u03be\u03b5 \u03b2\u03b9\u1f78\u03c2, \u03bd\u03b5\u03c5\u03c1\u1f74 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u2019 \u1f34\u03b1\u03c7\u03b5\u03bd \u1f06\u03bb\u03c4\u03bf \u03b4\u2019 \u1f40\u03ca\u03c3\u03c4\u1f78\u03c2\n            \u1f40\u03be\u03c5\u03b2\u03b5\u03bb\u1f74\u03c2, \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u2019 \u1f45\u03bc\u03b9\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u03b9\u03c0\u03c4\u03ad\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03b5\u03b1\u03af\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd.\n\n         To bend that bow the warrior lowered it\n         And pressed an end against the earth....\n         Then the Lycian drew aside\n         The cover from his quiver, taking out\n         A well-fledged arrow that had never flown,\u2014\n         A cause of future sorrows. On the string\n         He laid that fatal arrow....\n         Grasping the bowstring and the arrow\u2019s notch\n         He drew them back and forced the string to meet\n         His breast, the arrow-head to meet the bow,\n         Till the bow formed a circle. Then it twanged;\n         The cord gave out a shrilly sound; the shaft\n         Leaped forth in eager haste to reach the host.\u2014BRYANT.\n\n\n                            NOTE 37, p. 108.\n\nPrologue to the Satires, 340.\n\n              That not in Fancy\u2019s maze he wandered long,\n              But stooped to Truth and moralized his song.\n\nIbid. 148.\n\n                          ... Who could take offence\n            While pure description held the place of sense?\n\nWarburton\u2019s remark on this last line may have the force of an\nexplanation by the poet himself. \u201cHe uses _pure_ equivocally, to signify\neither chaste or empty; and has given in this line what he esteemed the\ntrue character of descriptive poetry, as it is called,\u2014a composition, in\nhis opinion, as absurd as a feast made up of sauces. The use of a\npicturesque imagination is to brighten and adorn good sense: so that to\nemploy it only in description, is like children\u2019s delighting in a prism\nfor the sake of its gaudy colors, which, when frugally managed and\nartfully disposed, might be made to represent and illustrate the noblest\nobjects in nature.\u201d\n\nBoth poet and commentator seem to have regarded the matter rather from a\nmoral than an artistic point of view. But so much the better that this\nstyle of poetry seems equally worthless from whichever point it be\nviewed.\n\n\n                            NOTE 38, p. 108.\n\nPo\u00e9tique Fran\u00e7aise, T. ii. p. 501. \u201cJ\u2019\u00e9crivais ces r\u00e9flexions avant que\nles essais des Allemands dans ce genre (l\u2019Eglogue) fussent connus parmi\nnous. Ils ont ex\u00e9cut\u00e9 ce que j\u2019avais con\u00e7u; et s\u2019ils parviennent \u00e0\ndonner plus au moral et moins au d\u00e9tail des peintures physiques, ils\nexcelleront dans ce genre, plus riche, plus vaste, plus f\u00e9cond, et\ninfiniment plus naturel et plus moral que celui de la galanterie\nchamp\u00eatre.\u201d\n\n\n                            NOTE 39, p. 115.\n\nI see that Servius attempts to excuse Virgil on other grounds, for the\ndifference between the two shields has not escaped his notice. \u201cSane\ninterest inter hunc et Homeri clypeum; illic enim singula dum fiunt\nnarrantur; hic vero perfecto opere nascuntur; nam et hic arma prius\naccipit \u00c6neas, quam spectaret; ibi postquam omnia narrata sunt, sic a\nThetide deferuntur ad Achillem.\u201d There is a marked difference between\nthis and the shield of Homer: for there events are narrated one by one\nas they are done, here they are known by the finished work; here the\narms are received by \u00c6neas before being seen, there, after all has been\ntold, they are carried by Thetis to Achilles. (Ad. v. 625, lib. viii.\n\u00c6neid.) Why? \u201cFor this reason,\u201d says Servius: \u201cbecause, on the shield of\n\u00c6neas, were represented not only the few events referred to by the poet,\nbut,\u2014\n\n                                ... genus omne futur\u00e6\n            Stirpis ab Ascanio, pugnataque in ordine bella,\n\n\u201cAll the description of his future race from Ascanius, and the battles,\nin the order in which they should occur.\u201d It would have been impossible\nfor the poet, in the same short space of time occupied by Vulcan in his\nwork, to mention by name the long line of descendants, and to tell of\nall their battles in the order of their occurrence. That seems to be the\nmeaning of Servius\u2019s somewhat obscure words: \u201cOpportune ergo Virgilius,\nquia non videtur simul et narrationis celeritas potuisse connecti, et\nopus tam velociter expedire, ut ad verbum posset occurrere.\u201d Since\nVirgil could bring forward but a small part of \u201cthe unnarratable text of\nthe shield,\u201d and not even that little while Vulcan was at work, he was\nobliged to reserve it till the whole was finished. For Virgil\u2019s sake, I\nhope that this argument of Servius is baseless. My excuse is much more\ncreditable to him. What need was there of putting the whole of Roman\nhistory on a shield? With few pictures Homer made his shield an epitome\nof all that was happening in the world. It would almost seem that\nVirgil, despairing of surpassing the Greek in the design and execution\nof his pictures, was determined to exceed him at least in their number,\nand that would have been the height of childishness.\n\n\n                            NOTE 40, p. 118.\n\n\u201cScuto ejus, in quo Amazonum pr\u0153lium c\u00e6lavit intumescente ambitu parm\u00e6;\nejusdem concava parte deorum et gigantum, dimicationem.\u201d\n\n\u201cHer shield, on the convex side of which he sculptured a battle of the\nAmazons, and on the concave side the contest of the gods and giants.\u201d\n(Plinius, lib. xxxvi. sect. 4.)\n\n\n                            NOTE 41, p. 122.\n\nThe first begins at line 483 and goes to line 489; the second extends\nfrom 490 to 509; the third, from 510 to 540; the fourth, from 541 to\n549; the fifth, from 550 to 560; the sixth, from 561 to 572; the\nseventh, from 573 to 586; the eighth, from 587 to 589; the ninth, from\n590 to 605; and the tenth, from 606 to 608. The third picture alone is\nnot so introduced; but that it is one by itself is evident from the\nwords introducing the second,\u2014\u1f10\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03b4\u03cd\u03c9 \u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5 \u03c0\u03cc\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2,\u2014as also from the\nnature of the subject.\n\n\n                            NOTE 42, p. 123.\n\nIliad, vol. v. obs. p. 61. In this passage Pope makes an entirely false\nuse of the expression \u201caerial perspective,\u201d which, in fact, has nothing\nto do with the diminishing of the size according to the increased\ndistance, but refers only to the change of color occasioned by the air\nor other medium through which the object is seen. A man capable of this\nblunder may justly be supposed ignorant of the whole subject.\n\n\n                            NOTE 43, p. 128.\n\nConstantinus Manasses Compend. Chron. p. 20 (edit. Venet). Madame Dacier\nwas well pleased with this portrait of Manasses, except for its\ntautology. \u201cDe Helen\u00e6 pulchritudine omnium optime Constantinus Manasses;\nnisi in eo tautologiam reprehendas.\u201d (Ad Dictyn Cretensem, lib. i. cap.\n3, p. 5.) She also quotes, according to Mezeriac (Comment. sur les\nEp\u00eetres d\u2019Ovide, T. i. p. 361), the descriptions given by Dares\nPhrygius, and Cedrenus, of the beauty of Helen. In the first there is\none trait which sounds rather strange. Dares says that Helen had a mole\nbetween her eyebrows: \u201cnotam inter duo supercilia habentem.\u201d But that\ncould not have been a beauty. I wish the Frenchwoman had given her\nopinion. I, for my part, regard the word \u201cnota\u201d as a corruption, and\nthink that Dares meant to speak of what the Greeks called \u03bc\u03b5\u03c3\u03cc\u03c6\u03c1\u03c5\u03bf\u03bd, and\nthe Latins, \u201cglabella.\u201d He means to say that Helen\u2019s eyebrows did not\nmeet, but that there was a little space between them. The taste of the\nancients was divided on this point. Some considered this space between\nthe eyebrows beauty, others not. (Junius de Pictura Vet. lib. iii. cap.\n9, p. 245.) Anacreon took a middle course. The eyebrows of his beloved\nmaiden were neither perceptibly separated, nor were they fully grown\ntogether: they tapered off delicately at a certain point. He says to the\nartist who is to paint her (Od. 28):\u2014\n\n                        \u03c4\u1f78 \u03bc\u03b5\u03c3\u03cc\u03c6\u03c1\u03c5\u03bf\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03bc\u03ae \u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\n                        \u03b4\u03b9\u03ac\u03ba\u03bf\u03c0\u03c4\u03b5, \u03bc\u03ae\u03c4\u03b5 \u03bc\u03af\u03c3\u03b3\u03b5,\n                        \u1f10\u03c7\u03ad\u03c4\u03c9 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f45\u03c0\u03c9\u03c2 \u1f10\u03ba\u03b5\u03af\u03bd\u03b7\n                        \u03c4\u1f78 \u03bb\u03b5\u03bb\u03b7\u03b8\u03cc\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2 \u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03bf\u03c6\u03c1\u03c5\u03bd\n                        \u03b2\u03bb\u03b5\u03c6\u03ac\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd \u1f34\u03c4\u03c5\u03bd \u03ba\u03b5\u03bb\u03b1\u03b9\u03bd\u03ae\u03bd.\n\nThis is Pauer\u2019s reading, but the meaning is the same in other versions,\nand has been rightly given by Henr. Stephano:\u2014\n\n                        Supercilii nigrantes\n                        Discrimina nec arcus,\n                        Confundito nec illos:\n                        Sed junge sic ut anceps\n                        Divortium relinquas,\n                        Quale esse cernis ipsi.\n\nBut if my interpretation of Dares\u2019 meaning be the true one, what should\nwe read instead of \u201cnotam?\u201d Perhaps \u201cmoram.\u201d For certainly \u201cmora\u201d may\nmean not only the interval of time before something happens, but also\nthe impediment, the space between one thing and another.\n\n                   Ego inquieta montium jaceam mora,\n\nis the wish of the raving Hercules in Seneca, which Gronovius very well\nexplains thus: \u201cOptat se medium jacere inter duas Symplegades, illarum\nvelut moram, impedimentum, obicem; qui eas moretur, vetet aut satis\narcte conjungi, aut rursus distrahi.\u201d The same poet uses \u201claceratorum\nmor\u00e6\u201d in the sense of \u201cjunctur\u00e6.\u201d (Schr\u0153derus ad. v. 762. Thyest.)\n\n\n                            NOTE 44, p. 131.\n\nDialogo della Pittura, intitolata l\u2019Aretino: Firenze 1735, p. 178. \u201cSe\nvogliono i Pittori senza fatica trovare un perfetto esempio di bella\nDonna, legiano quelle Stanze dell\u2019 Ariosto, nelle quali egli discrive\nmirabilmente le belezze della Fata Alcina; e vedranno parimente, quanto\ni buoni Poeti siano ancora essi Pittori.\u201d\n\n\n                            NOTE 45, p. 131.\n\nIbid. \u201cEcco, che, quanto alla proporzione, l\u2019ingeniosissimo Ariosto\nassegna la migliore, che sappiano formar le mani de\u2019 pi\u00f9 eccellenti\nPittori, usando questa voce industri, per dinotar la diligenza, che\nconviene al buono artefice.\u201d\n\n\n                            NOTE 46, p. 132.\n\nIbid. \u201cQui l\u2019Ariosto colorisce, e in questo suo colorire dimostra essere\nun Titiano.\u201d\n\n\n                            NOTE 47, p. 132.\n\nIbid. \u201cPoteva l\u2019Ariosto nella guisa, che ha detto chioma bionda, dir\nchioma d\u2019oro: ma gli parve forse, che havrebbe havuto troppo del\nPoetico. Da che si pu\u00f2 ritrar, che \u2019l Pittore dee imitar l\u2019oro, e non\nmetterlo (come fanno i Miniatori) nelle sue Pitture, in modo, che si\npossa dire, que\u2019 capelli non sono d\u2019oro, ma par che risplendano, come\nl\u2019oro.\u201d What Dolce goes on to quote from Athen\u00e6us is remarkable, but\nhappens to be a misquotation. I shall speak of it in another place.\n\n\n                            NOTE 48, p. 132.\n\nIbid. \u201cIl naso, che discende gi\u00f9, havendo peraventura la considerazione\na quelle forme de\u2019 nasi, che si veggono ne\u2019 ritratti delle belle Romane\nantiche.\u201d\n\n\n                            NOTE 49, p. 143.\n\nPliny says of Apelles (lib. xxxv. sect. 36): \u201cFecit et Dianam\nsacrificantium Virginum choro mixtam; quibus vicisse Homeri versus\nvidetur id ipsum describentis.\u201d \u201cHe also made a Diana surrounded by a\nband of virgins performing a sacrifice; a work in which he would seem to\nhave surpassed the verses of Homer describing the same thing.\u201d This\npraise may be perfectly just; for beautiful nymphs surrounding a\nbeautiful goddess, who towers above them by the whole height of her\nmajestic brow, form a theme more fitting the painter than the poet. But\nI am somewhat suspicious of the word \u201csacrificantium.\u201d What have the\nnymphs of Diana to do with offering sacrifices? Is that the occupation\nassigned them by Homer? By no means. They roam with the goddess over\nhills and through forest; they hunt, play, dance. (Odyss. vi. 102\u2013106).\n\n               \u03bf\u1f35\u03b7 \u03b4\u2019 \u1f0c\u03c1\u03c4\u03b5\u03bc\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f30\u03c3\u1f76 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u2019 \u03bf\u1f54\u03c1\u03b5\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f30\u03bf\u03c7\u03ad\u03b1\u03b9\u03c1\u03b1\n               \u1f22 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u1f70 \u03a4\u03b7\u03b0\u03b3\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9\u03bc\u03ae\u03ba\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f22 \u1f18\u03c1\u03cd\u03bc\u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03bf\u03bd\n               \u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03c0\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7 \u03ba\u03ac\u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f60\u03ba\u03b5\u03af\u1fc3\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bb\u03ac\u03c6\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u00b7\n               \u03c4\u1fc7 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03b8\u2019 \u1f05\u03bc\u03b1 \u039d\u03cd\u03bc\u03c6\u03b1\u03b9, \u03ba\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c1\u03b1\u03b9 \u0394\u03b9\u1f78\u03c2 \u03b1\u1f30\u03b3\u03b9\u03cc\u03c7\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf\n               \u1f00\u03b3\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03cc\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03af\u03b6\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u00b7...\n\n         As when o\u2019er Erymanth Diana roves\n         Or wide Taygetus\u2019s resounding groves;\n         A sylvan train the huntress queen surrounds,\n         Her rattling quiver from her shoulder sounds;\n         Fierce in the sport along the mountain brow,\n         They bay the boar or chase the bounding roe.\n         High o\u2019er the lawn with more majestic pace,\n         Above the nymphs she treads with stately grace.\u2014POPE.\n\nPliny, therefore, can hardly have written \u201csacrificantium,\u201d rather\n\u201cvenantium\u201d (hunting), or something like it; perhaps \u201csylvis vagantium\u201d\n(roaming the woods), which corresponds more nearly in number of letters\nto the altered word. \u201cSaltantium\u201d (bounding), approaches most nearly to\nthe \u03c0\u03b1\u03af\u03b6\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9 of Homer. Virgil, also, in his imitation of this passage,\nrepresents the nymphs as dancing. (\u00c6neid, i. 497, 498.)\n\n         Qualis in Eurot\u00e6 ripis, aut per juga Cynthi\n         Exercet Diana choros....\n\n         Such on Eurotas\u2019 banks or Cynthus\u2019 height\n         Diana seems; and so she charms the sight,\n         When in the dance the graceful goddess leads\n         The choir of nymphs and overtops their heads.\u2014DRYDEN.\n\nSpence gives a remarkable criticism on this passage. (Polymetis, dial.\nviii.) \u201cThis Diana,\u201d he says, \u201cboth in the picture and in the\ndescriptions, was the Diana Venatrix, though she was not represented,\neither by Virgil or Apelles or Homer, as hunting with her nymphs; but as\nemployed with them in that sort of dances which of old were regarded as\nvery solemn acts of devotion.\u201d In a note he adds, \u201cThe expression of\n\u03c0\u03b1\u03af\u03b6\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, used by Homer on this occasion, is scarce proper for hunting;\nas that of \u201cchoros exercere,\u201d in Virgil, should be understood of the\nreligious dances of old, because dancing, in the old Roman idea of it,\nwas indecent, even for men, in public, unless it were the sort of dances\nused in honor of Mars or Bacchus or some other of their gods.\u201d Spence\nsupposes that those solemn dances are here referred to, which, among the\nancients, were counted among the acts of religion. \u201cIt is in consequence\nof this,\u201d he says, \u201cthat Pliny, in speaking of Diana\u2019s nymphs on this\nvery occasion, uses the word \u201csacrificare\u201d of them, which quite\ndetermines these dances of theirs to have been of the religious kind.\u201d\nHe forgets that, in Virgil, Diana joins in the dance, \u201cexercet Diana\nchoros.\u201d If this were a religious dance, in whose honor did Diana dance\nit? in her own, or in honor of some other deity? Both suppositions are\nabsurd. If the old Romans did hold dancing in general to be unbecoming\nin a grave person, was that a reason why their poets should transfer the\nnational gravity to the manners of the gods, which were very differently\nrepresented by the old Greek poets? When Horace says of Venus (Od. iv.\nlib. i.),\u2014\n\n            Jam Cytherea choros ducit Venus, imminente luna;\n            Junct\u00e6que Nymphis Grati\u00e6 decentes\n            Alterno terram quatiunt pede....\n\n\u201cNow Cytherean Venus leads the bands, under the shining moon, and the\nfair graces, joined with the nymphs, beat the ground with alternate\nfeet,\u201d\u2014were these, likewise, sacred, religious dances? But it is wasting\nwords to argue against such a conceit.\n\n\n                            NOTE 50, p. 145.\n\nPlinius, lib. xxxiv. sect. 19. \u201cIpse tamen corporum tenus curiosus,\nanimi sensus non expressisse videtur, capillum quoque et pubem non\nemendatius fecisse, quam rudis antiquitas instituisset.\n\n\u201cHic primus nervos et venas expressit, capillumque diligentius.\u201d\n\n\n                            NOTE 51, p. 162.\n\nThe Connoisseur, vol. i. no. 21. The beauty of Knonmquaiha is thus\ndescribed. \u201cHe was struck with the glossy hue of her complexion, which\nshone like the jetty down on the black hogs of Hessaqua; he was ravished\nwith the prest gristle of her nose; and his eyes dwelt with admiration\non the flaccid beauties of her breasts, which descended to her navel.\u201d\nAnd how were these charms set off by art? \u201cShe made a varnish of the fat\nof goats mixed with soot, with which she anointed her whole body as she\nstood beneath the rays of the sun; her locks were clotted with melted\ngrease, and powdered with the yellow dust of Buchu; her face, which\nshone like the polished ebony, was beautifully varied with spots of red\nearth, and appeared like the sable curtain of the night bespangled with\nstars; she sprinkled her limbs with wood-ashes, and perfumed them with\nthe dung of Stinkbingsem. Her arms and legs were entwined with the\nshining entrails of an heifer; from her neck there hung a pouch composed\nof the stomach of a kid; the wings of an ostrich overshadowed the fleshy\npromontories behind; and before she wore an apron formed of the shaggy\nears of a lion.\u201d\n\nHere is further the marriage ceremony of the loving pair. \u201cThe Surri, or\nChief Priest, approached them, and, in a deep voice, chanted the nuptial\nrites to the melodious grumbling of the Gom-Gom; and, at the same time\n(according to the manner of Caffraria), bedewed them plentifully with\nthe urinary benediction. The bride and bridegroom rubbed in the precious\nstream with ecstasy, while the briny drops trickled from their bodies,\nlike the oozy surge from the rocks of Chirigriqua.\u201d\n\n\n                            NOTE 52, p. 166.\n\nThe Sea-Voyage, act iii. scene 1. A French pirate ship is thrown upon a\ndesert island. Avarice and envy cause quarrels among the men, and a\ncouple of wretches, who had long suffered extreme want on the island,\nseize a favorable opportunity to put to sea in the ship. Robbed thus of\ntheir whole stock of provisions, the miserable men see death, in its\nworst forms, staring them in the face, and express to each other their\nhunger and despair as follows:\u2014\n\n         _Lamure._ Oh, what a tempest have I in my stomach!\n         How my empty guts cry out! My wounds ache,\n         Would they would bleed again, that I might get\n         Something to quench my thirst!\n\n         _Franville._ O Lamure, the happiness my dogs had\n         When I kept house at home! They had a storehouse,\n         A storehouse of most blessed bones and crusts.\n         Happy crusts! Oh, how sharp hunger pinches me!\n\n         _Lamure._ How now, what news?\n\n         _Morillar._ Hast any meat yet?\n\n         _Franville._ Not a bit that I can see.\n         Here be goodly quarries, but they be cruel hard\n         To gnaw. I ha\u2019 got some mud, we\u2019ll eat it with spoons;\n         Very good thick mud; but it stinks damnably.\n         There\u2019s old rotten trunks of trees, too,\n         But not a leaf nor blossom in all the island.\n\n         _Lamure._ How it looks!\n\n         _Morillar._ It stinks too.\n\n         _Lamure._ It may be poison.\n\n         _Franville._ Let it be any thing,\n         So I can get it down. Why, man,\n         Poison\u2019s a princely dish!\n\n         _Morillar._ Hast thou no biscuit?\n         No crumbs left in thy pocket? Here is my doublet,\n         Give me but three small crumbs.\n\n         _Franville._ Not for three kingdoms,\n         If I were master of \u2019em. Oh, Lamure,\n         But one poor joint of mutton we ha\u2019 scorned, man!\n\n         _Lamure._ Thou speak\u2019st of paradise;\n         Or but the snuffs of those healths,\n         We have lewdly at midnight flung away.\n\n         _Morillar._ Ah, but to lick the glasses!\n\nBut this is nothing, compared with the next scene, when the ship\u2019s\nsurgeon enters.\n\n       _Franville._ Here comes the surgeon. What\n       Hast thou discovered? Smile, smile, and comfort us.\n\n       _Surgeon._ I am expiring,\n       Smile they that can. I can find nothing, gentlemen,\n       Here\u2019s nothing can be meat without a miracle.\n       Oh, that I had my boxes and my lints now,\n       My stupes, my tents, and those sweet helps of nature!\n       What dainty dishes could I make of them!\n\n       _Morillar._ Hast ne\u2019er an old suppository?\n\n       _Surgeon._ Oh, would I had, sir!\n\n       _Lamure._ Or but the paper where such a cordial\n       Potion, or pills hath been entombed!\n\n       _Franville._ Or the best bladder, where a cooling glister?\n\n       _Morillar._ Hast thou no searcloths left?\n       Nor any old poultices?\n\n       _Franville._ We care not to what it hath been ministered.\n\n       _Surgeon._ Sure I have none of these dainties, gentlemen.\n\n       _Franville._ Where\u2019s the great wen\n       Thou cut\u2019st from Hugh the sailor\u2019s shoulder?\n       That would serve now for a most princely banquet.\n\n       _Surgeon._ Ay, if we had it, gentlemen.\n       I flung it overboard, slave that I was.\n\n       _Lamure._ A most improvident villain!\n\n\n                            NOTE 53, p. 177.\n\n\u00c6neid, lib. ii. 7, and especially lib. xi. 183. We might safely,\ntherefore, add such a work to the list of lost writings by this author.\n\n\n                            NOTE 54, p. 179.\n\nConsult the list of inscriptions on ancient works of art in Mar. Gudius.\n(ad Ph\u00e6dri fab. v. lib. i.), and, in connection with that, the\ncorrection made by Gronovius. (Pr\u00e6f. ad Tom. ix. Thesauri Antiq. Gr\u00e6c.)\n\n\n                            NOTE 55, p. 182.\n\nHe at least expressly promises to do so: \u201cqu\u00e6 suis locis reddam\u201d (which\nI shall speak of in their proper place). But if this was not wholly\nforgotten, it was at least done very cursorily, and not at all in the\nway this promise had led us to expect. When he writes (lib. xxxv. sect.\n39), \u201cLysippus quoque \u00c6gin\u00e6 pictur\u00e6 su\u00e6 inscripsit, \u1f10\u03bd\u03ad\u03ba\u03b1\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03bd; quod\nprofecto non fecisset, nisi encaustica inventa,\u201d he evidently uses\n\u1f10\u03bd\u03ad\u03ba\u03b1\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03bd to prove something quite different. If he meant, as Hardouin\nsupposes, to indicate in this passage one of the works whose inscription\nwas written in definite past time, it would have been worth his while to\nput in a word to that effect. Hardouin finds reference to the other two\nworks in the following passage: \u201cIdem (Divus Augustus) in Curia quoque,\nquam in Comitio consecrabat, duas tabulas impressit parieti: Nemeam\nsedentem supra leonem, palmigeram ipsam, adstante cum baculo sene, cujus\nsupra caput tabula big\u00e6 dependet. Nicias scripsit se inussisse; tali\nenim usus est verbo. Alterius tabul\u00e6 admiratio est, puberem filium seni\npatri similem esse, salva \u00e6tatis differentia, supervolante aquila\ndraconem complexa. Philochares hoc suum opus esse testatus est.\u201d (Lib.\nxxxv. sect. 10.) Two different pictures are here described which\nAugustus had set up in the newly built senate-house. The second was by\nPhilochares, the first by Nicias. All that is said of the picture by\nPhilochares is plain and clear, but there are certain difficulties in\nregard to the other. It represented Nemea seated on a lion, a\npalm-branch in her hand, and near her an old man with a staff: \u201ccujus\nsupra caput tabula big\u00e6 dependet.\u201d What is the meaning of that? \u201cover\nhis head hung a tablet on which was painted a two-horse chariot.\u201d That\nis the only meaning the words will bear. Was there, then, a smaller\npicture hung over the large one? and were both by Nicias? Hardouin must\nso have understood it, else where were the two pictures by Nicias, since\nthe other is expressly ascribed to Philochares? \u201cInscripsit Nicias\nigitur gemin\u00e6 huic tabul\u00e6 suum nomen in hunc modum: \u1f49 \u039d\u0399\u039a\u0399\u0391\u03a3 \u0395\u039d\u0395\u039a\u0391\u03a5\u03a3\u0395\u039d:\natque adeo e tribus operibus, qu\u00e6 absolute fuisse inscripta, ILLE FECIT,\nindicavit Pr\u00e6fatio ad Titum, duo h\u00e6c sunt Niciae.\u201d I should like to ask\nHardouin one question. If Nicias had really used the indefinite, and not\nthe definite past tense, and Pliny had merely wished to say that the\nmaster, instead of \u03b3\u03c1\u03ac\u03c6\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, had used \u1f10\u03b3\u03ba\u03b1\u03af\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, would he not still have\nbeen obliged to say in Latin, \u201cNicias scripsit se inussisse?\u201d But I will\nnot insist upon this point. Pliny may really have meant to indicate here\none of the three works before referred to. But who will be induced to\nbelieve that there were two pictures, placed one above the other? Not I\nfor one. The words \u201ccujus supra caput tabula big\u00e6 dependet\u201d must be a\ncorruption. \u201cTabula big\u00e6,\u201d a picture of a two-horse chariot, does not\nsound much like Pliny, although Pliny does elsewhere use \u201cbiga\u201d in the\nsingular. What sort of a two-horse chariot? Such as were used in the\nraces at the Nem\u00e6an games, so that this little picture should, from its\nsubject, be related to the chief one? That cannot be; for not two but\nfour horse chariots were usual in the Nem\u00e6an games. (Schmidius in Prol.\nad Nemeonicas, p. 2.) At one time, I thought that Pliny might, instead\nof \u201cbig\u00e6,\u201d have written a Greek word, \u03c0\u03c4\u03c5\u03c7\u03af\u03bf\u03bd, which the copyists did\nnot understand. For we know, from a passage in Antigonus Carystius,\nquoted by Zenobius (conf. Gronovius, T. ix. Antiquit. Gr\u00e6c. Pr\u00e6f. p. 7),\nthat the old artists did not always put their name on the work itself,\nbut sometimes on a separate tablet, attached to the picture or statue,\nand this tablet was called \u03c0\u03c4\u03c5\u03c7\u03af\u03bf\u03bd. The word \u201ctabula, tabella,\u201d might\nhave been written in the margin in explanation of the Greek word, and at\nlast have crept into the text. \u03c0\u03c4\u03c5\u03c7\u03af\u03bf\u03bd was turned into \u201cbig\u00e6,\u201d and so we\nget \u201ctabula big\u00e6.\u201d This \u03c0\u03c4\u03c5\u03c7\u03af\u03bf\u03bd agrees perfectly with what follows; for\nthe next sentence contains what was written on it. The whole passage\nwould then read thus: \u201ccujus supra caput \u03c0\u03c4\u03c5\u03c7\u03af\u03bf\u03bd dependet, quo Nicias\nscripsit se inussisse.\u201d My correction is rather a bold one, I\nacknowledge. Need a critic feel obliged to suggest the proper reading\nfor every passage that he can prove to be corrupted? I will rest content\nwith having done the latter, and leave the former to some more skilful\nhand. But to return to the subject under discussion. If Pliny be here\nspeaking of but a single picture by Nicias, on which he had inscribed\nhis name in definite past time, and if the second picture thus inscribed\nbe the above-mentioned one of Lysippus, where is the third? That I\ncannot tell. If I might look for it elsewhere among the old writers, the\nquestion were easily answered. But it ought to be found in Pliny; and\nthere, I repeat, I am entirely unable to discover it.\n\n\n                            NOTE 56, p. 186.\n\nThus Statius says \u201cobnixa pectora\u201d (Thebaid. lib. vi. v. 863):\n\n                      ... rumpunt obnixa furentes\n                      Pectora.\n\nwhich the old commentator of Barths explains by \u201csumma vi contra\nnitentia.\u201d Thus Ovid says (Halievt. v. ii.), \u201cobnixa fronte,\u201d when\ndescribing the \u201cscarus\u201d trying to force its way through the fish-trap,\nnot with his head, but with his tail.\n\n               Non audet radiis obnixa occurrere fronte.\n\n\n                            NOTE 57, p. 192.\n\nGeschichte der Kunst, part ii. p. 328. \u201cHe produced the Antigone, his\nfirst tragedy, in the third year of the seventy-seventh Olympiad.\u201d The\ntime is tolerably exact, but it is quite a mistake to suppose that this\nfirst tragedy was the Antigone. Neither is it so called by Samuel Petit,\nwhom Winkelmann quotes in a note. He expressly puts the Antigone in the\nthird year of the eighty-fourth Olympiad. The following year, Sophocles\nwent with Pericles to Samos, and the year of this expedition can be\ndetermined with exactness. In my life of Sophocles, I show, from a\ncomparison with a passage of the elder Pliny, that the first tragedy of\nthis author was probably Triptolemus. (Lib. xviii. sect. 12.) Pliny is\nspeaking of the various excellence of the fruits of different countries,\nand concludes thus: \u201cH\u00e6 fuere sententi\u00e6, Alexandro magno regnante, cum\nclarissima fuit Gr\u00e6cia, atque in toto terrarum orbe potentissima; ita\ntamen ut ante mortem ejus annis fere CXLV. Sophocles poeta in fabula\nTriptolemo frumentum Italicum ante cuncta laudaverit, ad verbum\ntranslata sententia:\n\n            Et fortunatam Italiam frumento canere candido.\u201d\n\nHe is here not necessarily speaking of the first tragedy of Sophocles,\nto be sure. But the date of that, fixed by Plutarch, the scholiast, and\nthe Arundelian marbles, as the seventy-seventh Olympiad, corresponds so\nexactly with the date assigned by Pliny to the Triptolemus, that we can\nhardly help regarding that as the first of Sophocles\u2019 tragedies. The\ncalculation is easily made. Alexander died in the hundred and fourteenth\nOlympiad. One hundred and forty-five years cover thirty-six Olympiads\nand one year, which subtracted from the total, gives seventy-seven. The\nTriptolemus of Sophocles appeared in the seventy-seventh Olympiad; the\nlast year of this same Olympiad is the date of his first tragedy: we may\nnaturally conclude, therefore, that these tragedies are one. I show at\nthe same time that Petit might have spared himself the writing of the\nwhole half of the chapter in his \u201cMiscellanea\u201d which Winkelmann quotes\n(xviii. lib. iii.). In the passage of Pliny, which he thinks to amend,\nit is quite unnecessary to change the name of the Archon Aphepsion into\nDemotion, or \u1f00\u03bd\u03b5\u03c8\u03b9\u03cc\u03c2. He need only have looked from the third to the\nfourth year of the seventy-seventh Olympiad to find that the Archon of\nthat year was called Aphepsion by the ancient authors quite as often as\nPh\u00e6don, if not oftener. He is called Ph\u00e6don by Diodorus Siculus,\nDionysius Halicarnassus, and the anonymous author of the table of the\nOlympiads; while the Arundelian marbles, Apollodorus, and, quoting him,\nDiogenes Laertius, call him Aphepsion. Plutarch calls him by both names;\nPh\u00e6don in the life of Theseus and Aphepsion in the life of Cimon. It is\ntherefore probable, as Palmerius supposes, \u201cAphepsionem et Ph\u00e6donem\nArchontas fuisse eponymos; scilicet, uno in magistratu mortuo, suffectus\nfuit alter.\u201d (Exercit. p. 452.) This reminds me that Winkelmann, in his\nfirst work on the imitation of Greek art, allowed an error to creep in\nwith regard to Sophocles. \u201cThe most beautiful of the youths danced naked\nin the theatre, and Sophocles, the great Sophocles, was in his youth the\nfirst to show himself thus to his fellow-citizens.\u201d Sophocles never\ndanced naked on the stage. He danced around the trophies after the\nvictory of Salamis, according to some authorities naked, but according\nto others clothed. (Athen. lib. i. p. m. 20.) Sophocles was one of the\nboys who was brought for safety to Salamis, and on this island it\npleased the tragic muse to assemble her three favorites in a gradation\ntypical of their future career. The bold \u00c6schylus helped gain the\nvictory; the blooming Sophocles danced around the trophies; and on the\nsame happy island, on the very day of the victory, Euripides was born.\n\n\n\n\n                                 INDEX.\n\n\n Achilles, sceptre of, 98;\n   shield of, 113.\n\n Action, culminating point of an, not the point to be represented by the\n    artist, 16.\n\n Albani, Cardinal Alexander, his discovery of a vase which illustrated\n    the date of the Laocoon, 178 _et seq._\n\n Anacreon, two odes of, 133, 139.\n\n Apelles, his picture of Diana, 143.\n\n Ariosto, his description of Alcina, 128, 138.\n\n Aristophanes, element of disgust used by, 161.\n\n Aristotle, advice of, to Protogenes, 76;\n   his reason why we receive pleasure from a faithful copy of the\n      disagreeable, 154.\n\n Art should express nothing essentially transitory, 17.\n\n Arts among the ancients, subject to the control of law, 10.\n\n\n Bacchus, how represented in poetry and painting, 56 _et seq._\n\n Beauty, the supreme law of the imitative arts, 11;\n   subordinated in modern art to other ends, 16;\n   representations of physical, the province of painting, not of poetry,\n      126.\n\n Boivin, his explanations of Homer, 118, 121.\n\n\n Calaber, Quintus, his rendering of the story of Laocoon, 34;\n   his account of the death of Thersites, 150.\n\n Callimachus, his picture of famine, 165.\n\n Caricature, law against, among the Thebans, 9.\n\n Caylus, Count, some points in his work considered, 71, 77, 80, 82, 86,\n    87, 93;\n   his sketch for a picture of Helen, 140.\n\n Chateaubrun, his representation of Philoctetes, 25.\n\n Cicero, his views in regard to bodily pain, 28.\n\n Cleyn, Francis, illustrations by, 39.\n\n Constancy, how represented in art, 68 _et seq._\n\n\n Dacier, Madame, her translation of Homer, 113.\n\n Dante, his description of the starvation of Ugolino, 166.\n\n Deformity, physical, in art, produces disgust, 159.\n\n Disgust produced more through the other senses than through that of\n    sight, 160;\n   object of, in painting, 167.\n\n Disgusting, the, its use in expressing the horror of famine, 164.\n\n Dolce, his dialogue on Painting, 131.\n\n Drama, expression of suffering in the, 21 _et seq._\n\n Dryden, his Ode on Cecilia\u2019s Day, 89.\n\n\n Flaccus, Valerius, his description of an angry Venus, 57 _et seq._\n\n French language, not adapted to translation of Homer, 112.\n\n\n German language, compared to the Greek, 113.\n\n Gladiator, Borghese, the author\u2019s theory in regard to the, 184 _et\n    seq._\n\n Gladiatorial shows, effect of, 29.\n\n\n Haller, Von, description quoted from his \u201cAlps,\u201d 103.\n\n Hercules, as represented by Sophocles, 6;\n   the, of Sophocles, 31.\n\n Hogarth, his criticism of the Apollo Belvidere, 145.\n\n Homer, expressions of pain in his heroes, 4;\n   representation of his heroes, 79 _et seq._;\n   his descriptions not generally available for pictures, 83, 143;\n   his picture of Pandarus, 89;\n   style of, 93;\n   his description of the chariot of Juno, 94;\n   his description of the sceptre of Agamemnon, 95;\n   of the shield of Achilles, 98, 113, 118;\n   of the bow of Pandarus, 99;\n   his indebtedness to the flexibility of the Greek language, 112;\n   his description of the beleaguered city, 121;\n   avoids detailed description, 127;\n   his representation of Helen, 136;\n   his Thersites, 148 _et seq._\n\n\n Imitations of the poet by the artist and the reverse, 49 _et seq._\n\n Invention required less of the artist than of the poet, 72 _et seq._\n\n\n Junius, Francis, an unsafe authority, 188.\n\n Juno, how represented in ancient art, 57.\n\n\n Kleist, Von, his own judgment of his poem \u201cSpring,\u201d 108.\n\n Klotzius, on the effects of different forms of the disagreeable in art,\n    158.\n\n\n Laocoon, of Virgil, 20 _et seq._;\n   compared with the statue, 36 _et seq._;\n   contains traits unavailable for the artist, 42;\n   the group of, possibly suggested by Virgil\u2019s description, 43 _et\n      seq._;\n   the, probable date of, 170 _et seq._\n\n Longinus, his remarks in regard to eloquence and poetry, 188.\n\n Lucian represents physical beauty by comparison with statues, 135.\n\n\n Manasses, Constantinus, his pictures of Helen, 127.\n\n Martiani, his opinion in regard to the date of the Laocoon, 34 _et\n    seq._\n\n Mazzuoli, his \u201cRape of the Sabines,\u201d 109.\n\n Mengs, his criticism on Raphael\u2019s drapery, 110.\n\n Milton furnishes few subjects for a painter, 87.\n\n Minerva, how represented in ancient art, 57, 78.\n\n Montfaucon, his want of taste, 14;\n   his opinions in regard to the date of the Laocoon, 33 _et seq._\n\n\n Olympic judges, law of the, 10.\n\n Ovid, his description of Lesbia, 137;\n   his description of the punishment of Marsyas, 163;\n   his picture of famine, 165.\n\n\n Pain, expression of, in Sophocles, 3;\n   in Homer, 4, 5;\n   among Europeans, 4;\n   among the Greeks, 5;\n   in its disfiguring extreme, not compatible with beauty, 13;\n   expression of, among the English, 26.\n\n Painting among the Greeks confined to imitation of beauty, 8.\n\n Passion, violent, not expressed in ancient art, 12.\n\n Pauson, character of his pictures, 9.\n\n Phidias, his indebtedness to Homer, 144 _et seq._\n\n Philoctetes of Sophocles, the, his sufferings compared with those of\n    Laocoon, 3;\n   the, of Pythagoras Leontinus, 14;\n   of Sophocles, the embodiment of physical and mental suffering, 23,\n      24, 30.\n\n Picturesque, the, in poetry, 88.\n\n Pisander, possibly Virgil\u2019s predecessor in the history of Laocoon, 34.\n\n Pliny, his mention of the Laocoon, 172;\n   of famous Greek sculptors, 173 _et seq._\n\n Poetry, how it surpasses art in description of physical beauty, 137 _et\n    seq._\n\n Polygnotus, pictures of, 123 _et seq._\n\n Pope, contempt of, for descriptive poems, 108;\n   his explanations of Homer, 122 _et seq._\n\n Pordenone, his picture of the entombment, 167.\n\n Pyreicus, character of his pictures, 9.\n\n\n Religion, influence of, on art, 62 _et seq._\n\n Richardson, remarks of, on Virgil\u2019s Laocoon, 45;\n   his criticism of Pordenone, 167.\n\n Ridiculous, the, heightened by an element of disgust, 161.\n\n\n Sadolet, extract from, 46.\n\n Shakespeare, his use of ugliness in the character of Richard III., 151.\n\n Sophocles, a Laocoon among his lost works, 6;\n   his description of the desert cave of Philoctetes, 163.\n\n Spence, Rev. Mr., criticism of his work \u201cPolymetis,\u201d 50;\n   notions of, in regard to the resemblance between painting and poetry,\n      55, 57.\n\n Statius, his description of an angry Venus, 57 _et seq._\n\n Statues, beautiful, produced beautiful men, 10.\n\n Stoicism not adapted to the drama, 6.\n\n Stosch, Herr von, his opinion of the Borghese Gladiator, 183.\n\n Symbols, use of, in poetry and painting, 67 _et seq._\n\n\n Temperance, how represented in art, 68 _et seq._\n\n Timanthes, picture of Iphigenia by, 12.\n\n Timomachus, his representations of Ajax and Medea, 18.\n\n Titian, his picture of the Prodigal Son, 109.\n\n\n Ugliness, as used in poetry, 149, 156;\n   as used in painting, 153, 156.\n\n Urania, how represented in art, 67.\n\n\n Vesta, how worshipped, 64 _et seq._\n\n Virgil, description from the Georgics, 106;\n   his description of the shield of \u00c6neas, 114;\n   the Dido of, 133;\n   his introduction of the Harpies, 166.\n\n\n Winkelmann, quoted, 1;\n   soundness of his criticism doubted, 2;\n   his opinion of the Laocoon, 168;\n   his opinion of the Borghese Gladiator, 183;\n   criticism of, 187 _et seq._\n\n\n Zeuxis, his picture of Helen, 140 _et seq._\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 1:\n\n  Von der Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in der Malerei und\n  Bildhauerkunst, p. 21, 22.\n\nFootnote 2:\n\n  Brumoy Th\u00e9\u00e2t. des Grecs, T. ii. p. 89.\n\nFootnote 3:\n\n  Iliad v. 343. \u1f29 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1 \u1f30\u03ac\u03c7\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b1.\n\nFootnote 4:\n\n  Iliad v. 859.\n\nFootnote 5:\n\n  Th. Bartholinus. De Causis contempt\u00e6 a Danis adhuc Gentilibus Mortis,\n  cap. 1.\n\nFootnote 6:\n\n  Iliad vii. 421.\n\nFootnote 7:\n\n  Odyssey iv. 195.\n\nFootnote 8:\n\n  Chateaubrun.\n\nFootnote 9:\n\n  See Appendix, note 1.\n\nFootnote 10:\n\n  See Appendix, note 2.\n\nFootnote 11:\n\n  Aristophanes, Plut. v. 602 et Acharnens. v. 854.\n\nFootnote 12:\n\n  Plinius, lib. xxx. sect. 37.\n\nFootnote 13:\n\n  De Pictura vet. lib. ii. cap. iv. sect. 1.\n\nFootnote 14:\n\n  Plinius, lib. xxxiv. sect. 9.\n\nFootnote 15:\n\n  See Appendix, note 3.\n\nFootnote 16:\n\n  See Appendix, note 4.\n\nFootnote 17:\n\n  Plinius, lib. xxxv. sect. 35. Cum m\u0153stos pinxisset omnes, pr\u00e6cipue\n  patruum, et tristiti\u00e6 omnem imaginem consumpsisset, patris ipsius\n  vultum velavit, quem digne non poterat ostendere.\n\nFootnote 18:\n\n  Valerius Maximus, lib. viii. cap. 2. Summi m\u0153roris acerbitatem arte\n  exprimi non posse confessus est.\n\nFootnote 19:\n\n  Antiquit. expl. T. i. p. 50.\n\nFootnote 20:\n\n  See Appendix, note 5.\n\nFootnote 21:\n\n  Bellorii Admiranda, Tab. 11, 12.\n\nFootnote 22:\n\n  Plinius, lib. xxxiv. sect. 19.\n\nFootnote 23:\n\n  See Appendix, note 6.\n\nFootnote 24:\n\n  Philippus, Anthol. lib. iv. cap. 9, ep. 10.\n\n               \u1f08\u03b9\u03b5\u1f76 \u03b3\u1f70\u03c1 \u03b4\u03b9\u03c8\u1fb7\u03c2 \u03b2\u03c1\u03ad\u03c6\u03b5\u03c9\u03bd \u03c6\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd. \u1f26 \u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f38\u03ae\u03c3\u03c9\u03bd\n                 \u0394\u03b5\u03cd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, \u1f24 \u0393\u03bb\u03b1\u03cd\u03ba\u03b7 \u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bb\u03b9 \u03c3o\u1f76 \u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c6\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2;\n               \u1f18\u1fe4\u1fe5\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f10\u03bd \u03ba\u03b7\u03c1\u1ff7 \u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u03b4\u03bf\u03ba\u03c4\u03cc\u03bd\u03b5....\n\nFootnote 25:\n\n  Vita Apoll. lib. ii. cap. 22.\n\nFootnote 26:\n\n  See Appendix, note 7.\n\nFootnote 27:\n\n  Mercure de France, April, 1755, p. 177.\n\nFootnote 28:\n\n  \u201cThe Theory of Moral Sentiments,\u201d by Adam Smith, part i. sect. 2, chap\n  1. (London, 1761.)\n\nFootnote 29:\n\n  Trach. v. 1088, 1089:\n\n                            \u1f45\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f65\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b8\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2\n                          \u0392\u03ad\u03b2\u03c1\u03c5\u03c7\u03b1 \u03ba\u03bb\u03b1\u03af\u03c9\u03bd....\n\nFootnote 30:\n\n  Topographi\u00e6 Urbis Rom\u00e6, lib. iv. cap. 14. Et quanquam hi (Agesander et\n  Polydorus et Athenodorus Rhodii) ex Virgilii descriptione statuam hanc\n  formavisse videntur, &c.\n\nFootnote 31:\n\n  Suppl. aux Ant. Expliq. T. i. p. 242. Il semble qu\u2019Ag\u00e9sandre,\n  Polydore, et Ath\u00e9nodore, qui en furent les ouvriers, aient travaill\u00e9\n  comme \u00e0 l\u2019envie, pour laisser un monument qui r\u00e9pondait \u00e0\n  l\u2019incomparable description qu\u2019a fait Virgile de Laocoon, &c.\n\nFootnote 32:\n\n  See Appendix, note 8.\n\nFootnote 33:\n\n  Paralip. lib. xii. v. 398\u2013408.\n\nFootnote 34:\n\n  Or rather serpent, for Lycophron mentions but one:\n\n                  \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u03b4\u03bf\u03b2\u03c1\u1ff6\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c1\u03ba\u03ad\u03c9\u03c2 \u03bd\u03ae\u03c3\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b9\u03c0\u03bb\u1fb6\u03c2\u00b7\n\nFootnote 35:\n\n  See Appendix, note 9.\n\nFootnote 36:\n\n  See Appendix, note 10.\n\nFootnote 37:\n\n                          Their destined way they take,\n      And to Laocoon and his children make;\n      And first around the tender boys they wind,\n      Then with their sharpened fangs their limbs and bodies grind.\n      The wretched father, running to their aid\n      With pious haste, but vain, they next invade.\u2014DRYDEN.\n\nFootnote 38:\n\n  See Appendix, note 11.\n\nFootnote 39:\n\n  With both his hands he labors at the knots.\n\nFootnote 40:\n\n           Twice round his waist their winding volumes rolled,\n           And twice about his gasping throat they fold.\n           The priest thus doubly choked,\u2014their crests divide,\n           And towering o\u2019er his head in triumph ride.\u2014DRYDEN.\n\nFootnote 41:\n\n  See Appendix, note 12.\n\nFootnote 42:\n\n  See Appendix, note 13.\n\nFootnote 43:\n\n  His holy fillets the blue venom blots.\u2014DRYDEN.\n\nFootnote 44:\n\n  See Appendix, note 14.\n\nFootnote 45:\n\n  See Appendix, note 15.\n\nFootnote 46:\n\n  See Appendix, note 16.\n\nFootnote 47:\n\n  The first edition was issued in 1747; the second, 1755. Selections by\n  N. Tindal have been printed more than once.\n\nFootnote 48:\n\n  Val. Flaccus, lib. vi. v. 55, 56. Polymetis, dial. vi. p. 50.\n\nFootnote 49:\n\n  See Appendix, note 17.\n\nFootnote 50:\n\n  See Appendix, note 18.\n\nFootnote 51:\n\n  See Appendix, note 19.\n\nFootnote 52:\n\n  Tibullus, Eleg. 4, lib. iii. Polymetis, dial. viii.\n\nFootnote 53:\n\n  Statius, lib. i. Sylv. 5, v. 8. Polymetis, dial. viii.\n\nFootnote 54:\n\n  See Appendix, note 20.\n\nFootnote 55:\n\n  \u00c6neid, lib. viii. 725. Polymetis, dial. xiv.\n\nFootnote 56:\n\n  In various passages of his Travels [Remarks on Italy] and his\n  Dialogues on Ancient Medals.\n\nFootnote 57:\n\n  Polymetis, dial. ix.\n\nFootnote 58:\n\n  Metamorph. lib. iv. 19, 20. When thou appearest unhorned, thy head is\n  as the head of a virgin.\n\nFootnote 59:\n\n  Begeri Thes. Brandenb. vol. iii. p. 242.\n\nFootnote 60:\n\n  Polymetis, dial. vi.\n\nFootnote 61:\n\n  Polymetis, dial. xx.\n\nFootnote 62:\n\n  Polymetis, dial. vii.\n\nFootnote 63:\n\n  Argonaut. lib. ii. v. 102\u2013106. \u201cGracious the goddess is not emulous to\n  appear, nor does she bind her hair with the burnished gold, letting\n  her starry tresses float about her. Wild she is and huge, her cheeks\n  suffused with spots; most like to the Stygian virgins with crackling\n  torch and black mantle.\u201d\n\nFootnote 64:\n\n  Thebaid. lib. v. 61\u201364. \u201cLeaving ancient Paphos and the hundred\n  altars, not like her former self in countenance or the fashion of her\n  hair, she is said to have loosened the nuptial girdle and have sent\n  away her doves. Some report that in the dead of night, bearing other\n  fires and mightier arms, she had hasted with the Tartarean sisters to\n  bed-chambers, and filled the secret places of homes with twining\n  snakes, and all thresholds with cruel fear.\u201d\n\nFootnote 65:\n\n  See Appendix, note 21.\n\nFootnote 66:\n\n  See Appendix, note 22.\n\nFootnote 67:\n\n  See Appendix, note 23.\n\nFootnote 68:\n\n  Polymetis, dial. vii.\n\nFootnote 69:\n\n  See Appendix, note 24.\n\nFootnote 70:\n\n  See Appendix, note 25.\n\nFootnote 71:\n\n  Lipsius de Vesta et Vestalibus, cap. 13.\n\nFootnote 72:\n\n  Pausanias, Corinth. cap. xxxv. p. 198 (edit. Kuhn).\n\nFootnote 73:\n\n  Pausanias, Attic. cap. xviii. p. 41.\n\nFootnote 74:\n\n  Polyb. Hist. lib. xvi. sect. 2, Op. T. ii. p. 443 (edit Ernest.).\n\nFootnote 75:\n\n  See Appendix, note 26.\n\nFootnote 76:\n\n  See Appendix, note 27.\n\nFootnote 77:\n\n  Polymetis, dial. viii.\n\nFootnote 78:\n\n  Statius, Theb. viii. 551.\n\nFootnote 79:\n\n  Polymetis, dial. x.\n\nFootnote 80:\n\n  See Appendix, note 28.\n\nFootnote 81:\n\n  See Appendix, note 29.\n\nFootnote 82:\n\n  Betrachtungen \u00fcber die Malerei, p. 159.\n\nFootnote 83:\n\n  Ad Pisones, v. 128\u2013130. \u201cThou wilt do better to write out in acts the\n  story of Troy, than to tell of things not yet known nor sung.\u201d\n\nFootnote 84:\n\n  Lib. xxxv. sect. 36.\n\nFootnote 85:\n\n  See Appendix, note 30.\n\nFootnote 86:\n\n  Iliad xxi. 385.\n\nFootnote 87:\n\n                                She only stepped\n              Backward a space, and with her powerful hand\n              Lifted a stone that lay upon the plain,\n              Black, huge, and jagged, which the men of old\n              Had placed there for a landmark.\u2014BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 88:\n\n  See Appendix, note 31.\n\nFootnote 89:\n\n  See Appendix, note 32.\n\nFootnote 90:\n\n  Iliad iii. 381.\n\nFootnote 91:\n\n  Iliad v. 23.\n\nFootnote 92:\n\n  Iliad xx. 444.\n\nFootnote 93:\n\n  Iliad xx. 446.\n\nFootnote 94:\n\n  Iliad xx. 321.\n\nFootnote 95:\n\n  See Appendix, note 33.\n\nFootnote 96:\n\n  Iliad i. 44\u201353. Tableaux tir\u00e9s de l\u2019Iliade, p. 70.\n\n                               Down he came,\n           Down from the summit of the Olympian mount,\n           Wrathful in heart; his shoulders bore the bow\n           And hollow quiver; there the arrows rang\n           Upon the shoulders of the angry god,\n           As on he moved. He came as comes the night,\n           And, seated from the ships aloof, sent forth\n           An arrow; terrible was heard the clang\n           Of that resplendent bow. At first he smote\n           The mules and the swift dogs, and then on man\n           He turned the deadly arrow. All around\n           Glared evermore the frequent funeral piles.\u2014BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 97:\n\n  Iliad iv. 1\u20134. Tableaux tir\u00e9s de l\u2019Iliade, p. 30.\n\n              Meantime the immortal gods with Jupiter\n              Upon his golden pavement sat and held\n              A council. Hebe, honored of them all,\n              Ministered nectar, and from cups of gold\n              They pledged each other, looking down on Troy.\n\n              BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 98:\n\n  See Appendix, note 34.\n\nFootnote 99:\n\n  See Appendix, note 35.\n\nFootnote 100:\n\n  See Appendix, note 36.\n\nFootnote 101:\n\n  Iliad v. 722.\n\n                                   Hebe rolled the wheels,\n           Each with eight spokes, and joined them to the ends\n           Of the steel axle,\u2014fellies wrought of gold,\n           Bound with a brazen rim to last for ages,\u2014\n           A wonder to behold. The hollow naves\n           Were silver, and on gold and silver cords\n           Was slung the chariot\u2019s seat; in silver hooks\n           Rested the reins; and silver was the pole\n           Where the fair yoke and poitrels, all of gold,\n           She fastened.\u2014BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 102:\n\n  Iliad ii. 43\u201347.\n\n            He sat upright and put his tunic on,\n            Soft, fair, and new, and over that he cast\n            His ample cloak, and round his shapely feet\n            Laced the becoming sandals. Next, he hung\n            Upon his shoulders and his side the sword\n            With silver studs, and took into his hand\n            The ancestral sceptre, old but undecayed.\u2014BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 103:\n\n  Iliad ii. 101\u2013108.\n\n                                              He held\n            The sceptre; Vulcan\u2019s skill had fashioned it,\n            And Vulcan gave it to Saturnian Jove,\n            And Jove bestowed it on his messenger,\n            The Argus-queller Hermes. He in turn\n            Gave it to Pelops, great in horsemanship;\n            And Pelops passed the gift to Atreus next,\n            The people\u2019s shepherd. Atreus, when he died,\n            Bequeathed it to Thyestes, rich in flocks;\n            And last, Thyestes left it to be borne\n            By Agamemnon, symbol of his rule\n            O\u2019er many isles and all the Argive realm.\u2014BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 104:\n\n  Iliad i. 234\u2013239.\n\n               By this my sceptre, which can never bear\n               A leaf or twig, since first it left its stem\n               Among the mountains,\u2014for the steel has pared\n               Its boughs and bark away,\u2014to sprout no more,\n               And now the Achaian judges bear it,\u2014they\n               Who guard the laws received from Jupiter.\n\n               BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 105:\n\n  Iliad iv. 105\u2013111.\n\n                          He uncovered straight\n          His polished bow made of the elastic horns\n          Of a wild goat, which, from his lurking-place,\n          As once it left its cavern lair, he smote,\n          And pierced its breast, and stretched it on the rock.\n          Full sixteen palms in length the horns had grown\n          From the goat\u2019s forehead. These an artisan\n          Had smoothed, and, aptly fitting each to each,\n          Polished the whole and tipped the work with gold.\n\n          BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 106:\n\n  Von Haller\u2019s Alps.\n\n          The lofty gentian\u2019s head in stately grandeur towers\n        Far o\u2019er the common herd of vulgar weeds and low;\n        Beneath his banners serve communities of flowers;\n        His azure brethren, too, in rev\u2019rence to him bow.\n        The blossom\u2019s purest gold in curving radiations\n        Erect upon the stalk, above its gray robe gleams;\n        The leaflets\u2019 pearly white with deep green variegations\n        With flashes many-hued of the moist diamond beams.\n        O Law beneficent! which strength to beauty plighteth,\n        And to a shape so fair a fairer soul uniteth.\n\n        Here on the ground a plant like a gray mist is twining,\n        In fashion of a cross its leaves by Nature laid;\n        Part of the beauteous flower, the gilded beak is shining,\n        Of a fair bird whose shape of amethyst seems made.\n        There into fingers cleft a polished leaf reposes,\n        And o\u2019er a limpid brook its green reflection throws;\n        With rays of white a striped star encloses\n        The floweret\u2019s disk, where pink flushes its tender snows.\n        Thus on the trodden heath are rose and emerald glowing,\n        And e\u2019en the rugged rocks are purple banners showing.\n\nFootnote 107:\n\n  Breitinger\u2019s kritische Dichtkunst, vol. ii. p. 807.\n\nFootnote 108:\n\n  Georg. lib. iii. 51 and 79.\n\n            If her large front and neck vast strength denote;\n            If on her knee the pendulous dewlap float;\n            If curling horns their crescent inward bend,\n            And bristly hairs beneath the ear defend;\n            If lengthening flanks to bounding measure spread;\n            If broad her foot and bold her bull-like head;\n            If snowy spots her mottled body stain,\n            And her indignant brow the yoke disdain,\n            With tail wide-sweeping as she stalks the dews,\n            Thus, lofty, large, and long, the mother choose.\n\n            DRYDEN.\n\nFootnote 109:\n\n  Georg. lib. iii. 51 and 79.\n\n              Light on his airy crest his slender head,\n              His belly short, his loins luxuriant spread;\n              Muscle on muscle knots his brawny breast, &c.\n\n              DRYDEN.\n\nFootnote 110:\n\n  De Art. Poet. 16.\n\nFootnote 111:\n\n  See Appendix, note 37.\n\nFootnote 112:\n\n  See Appendix, note 38.\n\nFootnote 113:\n\n  Gedanken \u00fcber die Sch\u00f6nheit und \u00fcber den Geschmack in der Malerei, p.\n  69.\n\nFootnote 114:\n\n  Iliad v. 722.\n\nFootnote 115:\n\n  Iliad xii. 296.\n\nFootnote 116:\n\n  Dionysius Halicarnass. in Vita Homeri apud Th. Gale in Opusc. Mythol.\n  p. 401.\n\nFootnote 117:\n\n  See Appendix, note 39.\n\nFootnote 118:\n\n  \u00c6neid lib. viii. 447.\n\n                          Their artful hands a shield prepare.\n            One stirs the fire, and one the bellows blows;\n            The hissing steel is in the smithy drowned;\n            The grot with beaten anvils groans around.\n            By turns their arms advance in equal time,\n            By turns their hands descend and hammers chime;\n            They turn the glowing mass with crooked tongs.\n\n            DRYDEN.\n\nFootnote 119:\n\n  See Appendix, note 40.\n\nFootnote 120:\n\n  Iliad xviii. 497\u2013508.\n\n                             Meanwhile a multitude\n           Was in the forum where a strife went on,\u2014\n           Two men contending for a fine, the price\n           Of one who had been slain. Before the crowd\n           One claimed that he had paid the fine, and one\n           Denied that aught had been received, and both\n           Called for the sentence which should end the strife.\n           The people clamored for both sides, for both\n           Had eager friends; the herald held the crowd\n           In check; the elders, upon polished stones,\n           Sat in a sacred circle. Each one took\n           In turn a herald\u2019s sceptre in his hand,\n           And rising gave his sentence. In the midst\n           Two talents lay in gold, to be the meed\n           Of him whose juster judgment should prevail.\n\n           BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 121:\n\n  Iliad xviii. 509\u2013540.\n\nFootnote 122:\n\n  See Appendix, note 41.\n\nFootnote 123:\n\n  Phocic. cap. xxv.-xxxi.\n\nFootnote 124:\n\n  See Appendix, note 42.\n\nFootnote 125:\n\n  Betrachtungen \u00fcber die Malerei, p. 185.\n\nFootnote 126:\n\n  Written in 1763.\n\nFootnote 127:\n\n  \u201cShe was a woman right beautiful, with fine eyebrows, of clearest\n  complexion, beautiful cheeks; comely, with large, full eyes, with\n  snow-white skin, quick-glancing, graceful; a grove filled with graces,\n  fair-armed, voluptuous, breathing beauty undisguised. The complexion\n  fair, the cheek rosy, the countenance pleasing, the eye blooming; a\n  beauty unartificial, untinted, of its natural color, adding brightness\n  to the brightest cherry, as if one should dye ivory with resplendent\n  purple. Her neck long, of dazzling whiteness; whence she was called\n  the swan-born, beautiful Helen.\u201d\n\nFootnote 128:\n\n  See Appendix, note 43.\n\nFootnote 129:\n\n  Orlando Furioso, canto vii. st. 11\u201315.\n\n          Her shape is of such perfect symmetry,\n            As best to feign the industrious painter knows;\n            With long and knotted tresses; to the eye\n            Not yellow gold with brighter lustre glows.\n            Upon her tender cheek the mingled dye\n            Is scattered of the lily and the rose.\n            Like ivory smooth, the forehead gay and round\n            Fills up the space and forms a fitting bound.\n\n          Two black and slender arches rise above\n            Two clear black eyes, say suns of radiant light,\n            Which ever softly beam and slowly move;\n            Round these appears to sport in frolic flight,\n            Hence scattering all his shafts, the little Love,\n            And seems to plunder hearts in open sight.\n            Thence, through \u2019mid visage, does the nose descend,\n            Where envy finds not blemish to amend.\n\n          As if between two vales, which softly curl,\n            The mouth with vermeil tint is seen to glow;\n            Within are strung two rows of orient pearl,\n            Which her delicious lips shut up or show,\n            Of force to melt the heart of any churl,\n            However rude, hence courteous accents flow;\n            And here that gentle smile receives its birth,\n            Which opes at will a paradise on earth.\n\n          Like milk the bosom, and the neck of snow;\n            Round is the neck, and full and round the breast;\n            Where, fresh and firm, two ivory apples grow,\n            Which rise and fall, as, to the margin pressed\n            By pleasant breeze, the billows come and go.\n            Not prying Argus could discern the rest.\n            Yet might the observing eye of things concealed\n            Conjecture safely from the charms revealed.\n\n          To all her arms a just proportion bear,\n            And a white hand is oftentimes descried,\n            Which narrow is and somedeal long, and where\n            No knot appears nor vein is signified.\n            For finish of that stately shape and rare,\n            A foot, neat, short, and round beneath is spied.\n            Angelic visions, creatures of the sky,\n            Concealed beneath no covering veil can lie.\n\n          WILLIAM STEWART ROSE.\n\nFootnote 130:\n\n  See Appendix, note 44.\n\nFootnote 131:\n\n  See Appendix, note 45.\n\nFootnote 132:\n\n  See Appendix, note 46.\n\nFootnote 133:\n\n  See Appendix, note 47.\n\nFootnote 134:\n\n  See Appendix, note 48.\n\nFootnote 135:\n\n  \u00c6neid iv. 136.\n\n             The queen at length appears;\n             A flowered cymar with golden fringe she wore,\n             And at her back a golden quiver bore;\n             Her flowing hair a golden caul restrains;\n             A golden clasp the Tyrian robe sustains.\u2014DRYDEN.\n\nFootnote 136:\n\n  Od. xxviii., xxix.\n\nFootnote 137:\n\n  \u0395\u1f30\u03ba\u03cc\u03bd\u03b5\u03c2, \u00a7 3, T. ii. p. 461 (edit. Reitz).\n\nFootnote 138:\n\n  Iliad iii. 121.\n\nFootnote 139:\n\n  Ibid. 319.\n\nFootnote 140:\n\n  Ibid. 156\u2013158.\n\n              Small blame is theirs if both the Trojan knights\n            And brazen-mailed Achaians have endured\n            So long so many evils for the sake\n            Of that one woman. She is wholly like\n            In feature to the deathless goddesses.\u2014BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 141:\n\n  Val. Maximus lib. iii. cap. 7. Dionysius Halicarnass. Art. Rhet. cap.\n  12. \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 \u03bb\u03cc\u03b3\u03c9\u03bd \u1f10\u03be\u03b5\u03c4\u03ac\u03c3\u03b5\u03c9\u03c2.\n\nFootnote 142:\n\n               So be it; let her, peerless as she is,\n               Return on board the fleet, nor stay to bring\n               Disaster upon us and all our race.\u2014BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 143:\n\n  Fabricii Biblioth. Gr\u00e6c. lib. ii. cap. 6, p. 345.\n\nFootnote 144:\n\n  See Appendix, note 49.\n\nFootnote 145:\n\n  Iliad i. 528. Valerius Maximus, lib. iii. cap. 7.\n\n             As thus he spoke the son of Saturn gave\n             The nod with his dark brows. The ambrosial curls\n             Upon the Sovereign One\u2019s immortal head\n             Were shaken, and with them the mighty mount\n             Olympus trembled.\u2014BRYANT.\n\nFootnote 146:\n\n  See Appendix, note 50.\n\nFootnote 147:\n\n  Hogarth\u2019s Analysis of Beauty, chap. xi.\n\nFootnote 148:\n\n  Iliad iii. 210.\n\nFootnote 149:\n\n  Philos. Schriften des Herrn Moses Mendelssohn, vol. ii. p. 23.\n\nFootnote 150:\n\n  De Poetica, cap. v.\n\nFootnote 151:\n\n  Paralipom. lib. i. 720\u2013778.\n\nFootnote 152:\n\n  King Lear, Act i. scene 2.\n\nFootnote 153:\n\n  King Richard III. Act i. scene 1.\n\nFootnote 154:\n\n  Briefe, die neueste Literatur betreffend, Part v. p. 102.\n\nFootnote 155:\n\n  De Poetica, cap. iv.\n\nFootnote 156:\n\n  Klotzii Epistol\u00e6 Homeric\u00e6, p. 33 et seq.\n\nFootnote 157:\n\n  Klotzii Epistol\u00e6 Homeric\u00e6, p. 103.\n\nFootnote 158:\n\n  Nubes, 170\u2013174. _Disciple._ But he was lately deprived of a great idea\n  by a weasel. _Strepsiades._ In what way? tell me. _Disciple._ He was\n  studying the courses of the moon and her revolutions, and, while\n  gazing upward open-mouthed, a weasel in the dark dunged upon him from\n  the roof.\n\nFootnote 159:\n\n  See Appendix, note 51.\n\nFootnote 160:\n\n  \u03a0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 \u1f5d\u03c8\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2, \u03c4\u03bc\u1fc6\u03bc\u03b1 \u03ae. p. 15 (edit. T. Fabri).\n\nFootnote 161:\n\n  Scut. Hercul. 266.\n\nFootnote 162:\n\n  Philoct. 31\u201339.\n\nFootnote 163:\n\n  \u00c6neid, lib. ii. 277.\n\nFootnote 164:\n\n  Metamorph. vi. 387. \u201cThe skin is torn from the upper limbs of the\n  shrieking Marsyas, till he is nought but one great wound: thick blood\n  oozes on every side; the bared sinews are visible; and the palpitating\n  veins quiver, stripped of the covering of skin; you can count the\n  protruding entrails, and the muscles shining in the breast.\n\nFootnote 165:\n\n  Metamorph. lib. viii. 809. \u201cSeeing Famine afar off, she delivers the\n  message of the goddess. And after a little while, although she was yet\n  at a distance and was but approaching, yet the mere sight produced\n  hunger.\u201d\n\nFootnote 166:\n\n  Hym. in Cererem, 111\u2013116.\n\nFootnote 167:\n\n  Argonaut. lib. ii. 228\u2013233. \u201cScarcely have they left us any food that\n  smells not mouldy, and the stench is unendurable. No one for a time\n  could bear the foul food, though his stomach were beaten of adamant.\n  But bitter necessity compels me to bethink me of the meal, and, so\n  remembering, put it into my wretched belly.\u201d\n\nFootnote 168:\n\n  See Appendix, note 52.\n\nFootnote 169:\n\n  Richardson de la Peinture, vol. i. p. 74.\n\nFootnote 170:\n\n  Geschichte der Kunst, p. 347.\n\nFootnote 171:\n\n  Not Apollodorus, but Polydorus. Pliny is the only one who mentions\n  these artists, and I am not aware that the manuscripts differ in the\n  writing of the name. Had such been the case, Hardouin would certainly\n  have noticed it. All the older editions also read Polydorus.\n  Winkelmann must therefore have merely made a slight error in\n  transcribing.\n\nFootnote 172:\n\n  \u1f08\u03b8\u03b7\u03bd\u03cc\u03b4\u03c9\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u0394\u03b1\u03bc\u03ad\u03b1\u03c2 ... \u03bf\u1f57\u03c4\u03bf\u03b9 \u03b4\u1f72 \u1f08\u03c1\u03ba\u03ac\u03b4\u03b5\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f30\u03c3\u1f76\u03bd \u1f10\u03ba \u039a\u03bb\u03b5\u03af\u03c4\u03bf\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2.\n  Phoc. cap. ix. p. 819 (edit. Kuhn).\n\nFootnote 173:\n\n  Plinius, lib. xxxiv. sect. 19.\n\nFootnote 174:\n\n  Lib. xxxvi. sect. 4. \u201cNor are there many of great repute the number of\n  artists engaged on celebrated works preventing the distinction of\n  individuals; since no one could have all the credit, nor could the\n  names of many be rehearsed at once: as in the Laocoon, which is in the\n  palace of the emperor Titus, a work surpassing all the results of\n  painting or statuary. From one stone he and his sons and the wondrous\n  coils of the serpents were sculptured by consummate artists, working\n  in concert: Agesander, Polydorus, and Athenodorus, all of Rhodes. In\n  like manner Craterus with Pythodorus, Polydectes with Hermolaus,\n  another Pythodorus with Artemon, and Aphrodisius of Tralles by\n  himself, filled the palaces of the C\u00e6sars on the Palatine with\n  admirable statuary. Diogenes, the Athenian, decorated the Pantheon of\n  Agrippa, and the Caryatides on the columns of that temple rank among\n  the choicest works, as do also the statues on the pediment, though\n  these, from the height of their position, are less celebrated.\u201d\n\nFootnote 175:\n\n  B\u0153otic. cap. xxxiv. p. 778 (edit. Kuhn).\n\nFootnote 176:\n\n  Plinius, lib. xxxvi. sect. 4, p. 730.\n\nFootnote 177:\n\n  Geschichte der Kunst, part ii. p. 331.\n\nFootnote 178:\n\n  Plinius, xxxvi. sect. 4.... \u201cwhich would make the glory of any other\n  place. But at Rome the greatness of other works overshadows it, and\n  the great press of business and engagements turns the crowd from the\n  contemplation of such things; for the admiration of works of art\n  belongs to those who have leisure and great quiet.\u201d\n\nFootnote 179:\n\n  See Appendix, note 53.\n\nFootnote 180:\n\n  Plinius, xxxvi. sect. 4.\n\nFootnote 181:\n\n  Geschichte der Kunst, part ii. p. 347.\n\nFootnote 182:\n\n  Lib. xxxvi. sect. 4.\n\nFootnote 183:\n\n  See Appendix, note 54.\n\nFootnote 184:\n\n  Prefatio Edit. Sillig. \u201cLest I should seem to find too much fault with\n  the Greeks, I would be classed with those founders of the art of\n  painting and sculpture, recorded in these little volumes, whose works,\n  although complete and such as cannot be sufficiently admired, yet bear\n  a suspended title, as Apelles or Polycletus \u2018was making\u2019; as if the\n  work were always only begun and still incomplete, so that the artist\n  might appeal from criticism as if himself desirous of improving, had\n  he not been interrupted. Wherefore from modesty they inscribed every\n  work as if it had been their last, and in hand at their death. I think\n  there are but three with the inscription, \u2018He made it,\u2019 and these I\n  shall speak of in their place. From this it appeared that the artists\n  felt fully satisfied with their work, and these excited the envy of\n  all.\u201d\n\nFootnote 185:\n\n  See Appendix, note 55.\n\nFootnote 186:\n\n  Geschichte der Kunst, part i. p. 394.\n\nFootnote 187:\n\n  Cap. i. \u201cHe was also reckoned among their greatest leaders, and did\n  many things worthy of being remembered. Among his most brilliant\n  achievements was his device in the battle which took place near\n  Thebes, when he had come to the aid of the B\u0153otians. For when the\n  great leader Agesilaus was now confident of victory, and his own hired\n  troops had fled, he would not surrender the remainder of the phalanx,\n  but with knee braced against his shield and lance thrust forward, he\n  taught his men to receive the attack of the enemy. At sight of this\n  new spectacle, Agesilaus feared to advance, and ordered the trumpet to\n  recall his men who were already advancing. This became famous through\n  all Greece, and Chabrias wished that a statue should be erected to him\n  in this position, which was set up at the public cost in the forum at\n  Athens. Whence it happened that afterwards athletes and other artists\n  [or persons versed in some art] had statues erected to them in the\n  same position in which they had obtained victory.\u201d\n\nFootnote 188:\n\n  See Appendix, note 56.\n\nFootnote 189:\n\n  \u03a0\u03b5\u03c1\u1f76 \u1f5d\u03c8\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2, \u03c4\u03bc\u1fc6\u03bc\u03b1, \u03b9\u03b4\u2019 (edit. T. Fabri), \u03c1. 36, 39. \u201cBut so it is that\n  rhetorical figures aim at one thing, poetical figures at quite\n  another; since in poetry emphasis is the main object, in rhetoric\n  distinctness.\u201d\n\nFootnote 190:\n\n  \u201cSo with the poets, legends and exaggeration obtain and in all\n  transcend belief; but in rhetorical figures the best is always the\n  practicable and the true.\u201d\n\nFootnote 191:\n\n  De Pictura Vet. lib. i. cap. 4, p. 33.\n\nFootnote 192:\n\n  Von der Nachahmung der griech. Werke, &c., 23.\n\nFootnote 193:\n\n  \u03a4\u03bc\u1fc6\u03bc\u03b1, \u03b2. \u201cNext to this is a third form of faultiness in pathos, which\n  Theodorus calls _parenthyrsus_; it is a pathos unseasonable and empty,\n  where pathos is not necessary; or immoderate, where it should be\n  moderate.\u201d\n\nFootnote 194:\n\n  Geschichte der Kunst, part i. p. 136.\n\nFootnote 195:\n\n  Herodotus de Vita Homeri, p. 756 (edit. Wessel).\n\nFootnote 196:\n\n  Iliad, vii.\n\nFootnote 197:\n\n  Geschichte der Kunst, part i. p. 176. Plinius, lib. xxxv. sect. 36.\n  Athen\u00e6us, lib. xii. p. 543.\n\nFootnote 198:\n\n  Geschichte der Kunst, part ii. p. 353. Plinius, lib. xxxvi. sect. 4.\n\nFootnote 199:\n\n  See Appendix, note 57.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n               _Messrs. Roberts Brothers\u2019 Publications._\n\n\n\n\n                                GOETHE\u2019S\n\n                          HERMANN AND DOROTHEA\n\n\n                       TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN\n\n                         BY ELLEN FROTHINGHAM.\n\n                          WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n         _Thin 8vo, cloth, gilt, bevelled boards. Price $2.00.\n\n             A cheaper edition, 16mo, cloth. Price $1.00._\n\n\u201cMiss Frothingham\u2019s translation is something to be glad of: it lends\nitself kindly to perusal, and it presents Goethe\u2019s charming poem in the\nmetre of the original.... It is not a poem which could be profitably\nused in an argument for the enlargement of the sphere of woman: it\nteaches her subjection, indeed, from the lips of a beautiful girl, which\nare always so fatally convincing; but it has its charm, nevertheless,\nand will serve at least for an agreeable picture of an age when the\nideal woman was a creature around which grew the beauty and comfort and\nsecurity of home.\u201d\u2014_Atlantic Monthly._\n\n\u201cThe poem itself is bewitching. Of the same metre as Longfellow\u2019s\n\u2018Evangeline,\u2019 its sweet and measured cadences carry the reader onward\nwith a real pleasure as he becomes more and more absorbed in this\ndescriptive wooing song. It is a sweet volume to read aloud in a select\ncircle of intelligent friends.\u201d\u2014_Providence Press._\n\n\u201cMiss Frothingham has done a good service, and done it well, in\ntranslating this famous idyl, which has been justly called \u2018one of the\nmost faultless poems of modern times.\u2019 Nothing can surpass the\nsimplicity, tenderness, and grace of the original, and these have been\nwell preserved in Miss Frothingham\u2019s version. Her success is worthy of\nthe highest praise, and the mere English reader can scarcely fail to\nread the poem with the same delight with which it has always been read\nby those familiar with the German. Its charming pictures of domestic\nlife, the strength and delicacy of its characterization, the purity of\ntone and ardent love of country which breathe through it, must always\nmake it one of the most admired of Goethe\u2019s works.\u201d\u2014_Boston Christian\nRegister._\n\n\n        _Sold everywhere. Mailed, postpaid, by the Publishers_,\n\n                                               ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON.\n\n\n\n\n                 SANSKRIT AND ITS KINDRED LITERATURES.\n\n                   STUDIES IN COMPARATIVE MYTHOLOGY.\n\n\n                        By LAURA ELIZABETH POOR.\n\n               16mo. Cloth. 400 pages       Price, $2.00.\n\nThe book goes over ground which has been made new by the modern\ndiscoveries in philology and mythology. It describes and compares the\nliteratures of the different Aryan families, and brings forward the\ncomparative mythology, as it manifests itself in each different country,\nfilling a place which is almost empty in that department, and giving in\na brief space information which is scattered through hundreds of\ndifferent volumes. In fact, there is no one book which contains just\nwhat this does,\u2014a sketch of comparative mythology, with history enough\nto make it clear and connected. It creates and fills a place of its own.\n\n\nRev. Dr. F. H. Hedge, of Harvard University, Cambridge, says of it:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe unpretending volume with the above title is just what was needed to\npopularize the results of the researches of such scholars as Wilson,\nSpiegel, Grimm, Monier Williams, M\u00fcller, Whitney, and others, and to\nplace them within easy reach of readers who may not have access to those\nwriters. The author\u2019s task seems to have been well executed; she has\nproduced an entertaining and instructive work, full of interesting\nmatter, illustrated by choice extracts, and written in an easy and\nanimated style. Such books, of course, are not consulted as final\nauthorities, but this is well worth reading by all who desire an initial\nacquaintance with the subjects discussed.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne of the chief merits of the volume is the clearness with which the\nauthor expresses her thoughts, and the skill with which she disentangles\nthe subtleties of metaphysical and religious doctrines, making them\nplain to the most casual reader.\u201d\u2014_Boston Courier._\n\n\n\u201cThe book, of course, is an elementary one, but it must be valuable to\nthe young student who desires to get a complete view of literature and\nof the reciprocal relations of its various divisions. It can hardly fail\nto interest the reader in the new science of which it gives results, and\nlead him to more exhaustive studies for himself. If such a work could be\nmade a school text-book it would give pupils a long start in their\npursuit of a correct and systematic knowledge of language and\nliterature.\u201d\u2014_Buffalo Courier._\n\n\n\u201cLet no intelligent reader be deterred from its diligent perusal by\nthe learned name which introduces the interesting book now offered to\nthe public to illustrate studies in comparative mythology. The word\nSanskrit has an abstruse sound to unenlightened ears, but there is\nnothing abstruse in the subject as here presented, and nothing\ndifficult to be understood by persons of ordinary culture.... The\nwriter\u2019s treatment of the subject is much to be commended. It is\nbright, fresh, earnest, and strong. She arouses the reader\u2019s attention\nfrom the beginning, charms his imagination by choice extracts from the\nliterary treasures of past ages, pleases his taste by drawing\nparallelisms between the myths of the past and the fables of the\npresent, convinces him that one literature unites different nations\nand different centuries, and that each nation is a link in the great\nchain of development of the human mind. We earnestly commend this work\nto all who would understand the unity and continuity of literature. It\nis full of general information and instruction, the style is earnest\nand easy, the enthusiasm sympathetic, and the presentation specially\nthought-stirring and satisfactory.\u201d\u2014_Providence Journal._\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                          TRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTES\n\n\n 1. Silently corrected palpable typographical errors; retained\n      non-standard spellings and dialect.\n 2. Reindexed footnotes using numbers and collected together at the end\n      of the last chapter.\n 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.\n 4. Enclosed blackletter font in =equals=.","title":"Laocoon : $b An essay upon the limits of painting and poetry. With remarks illustrative of various points in the history of ancient art.","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":64851}