Part 12

To him, also, the society of ruffians was better than none. A great and admirable idea! If we could but be sure that Sophocles, too, had meant to express it! But I must reluctantly confess to finding nothing of the sort in him, unless, indeed, I were to use, instead of my own eyes, those of the old scholiast, who thus transposes the words:—Οὐ μόνον ὅπου καλὸν οὐκ εἶχέ τινα τῶν ἐγχωρίων γείτονα, ἀλλὰ οὐδὲ κακόν, παρ’ οὗ ἀμοιβαῖον λόγον στενάζων ἀκούσειε. Brumoy, as well as our modern German translator, has held to this reading, like the translators quoted above. Brumoy says, “Sans société, même importune;” and the German, “jeder Gesellschaft, auch der beschwerlichsten, beraubt.” My reasons for differing from all of these are the following. First, it is evident that if κακογείτονα was meant to be separated from τιν’ ἐγχώρων and constitute a distinct clause, the particle οὐδέ would necessarily have been repeated before it. Since this is not the case, it is equally evident that κακογείτονα belongs to τίνα, and there should be no comma after ἐγχώρων. This comma crept in from the translation. Accordingly, I find that some Greek editions (as that published at Wittenberg of 1585 in 8vo, which was wholly unknown to Fabricius) are without it, but put a comma only after κακογείτονα, as is proper. Secondly, is that a bad neighbor from whom we may expect, as the scholiast has it, στόνον ἀντίτυπον, ἀμοιβαῖον? To mingle his sighs with ours is the office of a friend, not an enemy. In short, the word κακογείτονα has not been rightly understood. It has been thought to be derived from the adjective κακός, when it is really derived from the substantive τὸ κακόν. It has been translated an evil neighbor, instead of a neighbor in ill. Just as κακόμαντις means not an evil, in the sense of a false, untrue prophet, but a prophet of evil, and κακότεχνος means not a bad, unskilful painter, but a painter of bad things. In this passage the poet means by a neighbor in ill, one who is overtaken by a similar misfortune with ourselves, or from friendship shares our sufferings; so that the whole expression, οὐδ’ ἔχων τιν’ ἐγχώρων κακογείτονα, is to be translated simply by “neque quenquam indigenarum mali socium habens.” The new English translator of Sophocles, Thomas Franklin, must have been of my opinion. Neither does he find an evil neighbor in κακογείτων, but translates it simply “fellow-mourner.”

Exposed to the inclement skies, Deserted and forlorn he lies, No friend nor fellow-mourner there, To soothe his sorrow and divide his care.

Note 8, p. 34.

Saturnal. lib. v. cap. 2. “Non parva sunt alia quæ Virgilius traxit a Græcis, dicturumne me putatis quæ vulgo nota sunt? quod Theocritum sibi fecerit pastoralis operis autorem, ruralis Hesiodum? et quod in ipsis Georgicis, tempestatis serenitatisque signa de Arati Phænomenis traxerit? vel quod eversionem Trojæ, cum Sinone suo, et equo ligneo cæterisque omnibus, quæ librum secundum faciunt, a Pisandro pene ad verbum transcripserit? qui inter Græcos poetas eminet opere, quod a nuptiis Jovis et Junonis incipiens universas historias, quæ mediis omnibus sæculis usque ad ætatem ipsius Pisandri contigerunt, in unam seriem coactas redegerit, et unum ex diversis hiatibus temporum corpus effecerit? in quo opere inter historias cæteras interitus quoque Trojæ in hunc modum relatus est. Quæ fideliter Maro interpretando, fabricatus est sibi Iliacæ urbis ruinam. Sed et hæc et talia ut pueris decantata prætereo.”

Not a few other things were brought by Virgil from the Greeks, and inserted in his poem as original. Do you think I would speak of what is known to all the world? how he took his pastoral poem from Theocritus, his rural from Hesiod? and how, in his Georgics, he took from the Phenomena of Aratus the signs of winter and summer? or that he translated almost word for word from Pisander the destruction of Troy, with his Sinon and wooden horse and the rest? For he is famous among Greek poets for a work in which, beginning his universal history with the nuptials of Jupiter and Juno, he collected into one series whatever had happened in all ages, to the time of himself, Pisander. In which work the destruction of Troy, among other things, is related in the same way. By faithfully interpreting these things, Maro made his ruin of Ilium. But these, and others like them, I pass over as familiar to every schoolboy.

Note 9, p. 35.

I do not forget that a picture mentioned by Eumolpus in Petronius may be cited in contradiction of this. It represented the destruction of Troy, and particularly the history of Laocoon exactly as narrated by Virgil. And since, in the same gallery at Naples were other old pictures by Zeuxis, Protogenes, and Apelles, it was inferred that this was also an old Greek picture. But permit me to say that a novelist is no historian. This gallery and picture, and Eumolpus himself, apparently existed only in the imagination of Petronius. That the whole was fiction appears from the evident traces of an almost schoolboyish imitation of Virgil. Thus Virgil (Æneid lib. ii. 199–224):—

Hic aliud majus miseris multoque tremendum Objicitur magis, atque improvida pectora turbat. Laocoon, ductus Neptuno sorte sacerdos, Solemnis taurum ingentem mactabat ad aras. Ecce autem gemini a Tenedo tranquilla per alta (Horresco referens) immensis orbibus angues Incumbunt pelago, pariterque ad litora tendunt: Pectora quorum inter fluctus arrecta, jubæque Sanguineæ exsuperant undas: pars cetera pontum Pone legit, sinuatque immensa volumine terga. Fit sonitus, spumante salo: jamque arva tenebant, Ardentesque oculos suffecti sanguine et igni Sibila lambebant linguis vibrantibus ora. Diffugimus visu exsangues. Illi agmine certo Laocoonta petunt, et primum parva duorum Corpora natorum serpens amplexus uterque Implicat, et miseros morsu depascitur artus. Post ipsum, auxilio subeuntem ac tela ferentem, Corripiunt, spirisque ligant ingentibus; et jam Bis medium amplexi, bis collo squamea circum Terga dati, superant capite et cervicibus altis. Ille simul manibus tendit divellere nodos, Perfusus sanie vittas atroque veneno: Clamores simul horrendos ad sidera tollit. Quales mugitus, fugit cum saucius aram Taurus et incertam excussit cervice securim.

And thus Eumolpus, in whose lines, as is usually the case with improvisators, memory has had as large a share as imagination:—

Ecce alia monstra. Celsa qua Tenedos mare Dorso repellit, tumida consurgunt freta, Undaque resultat scissa tranquillo minor. Qualis silenti nocte remorum sonus Longe refertur, cum premunt classes mare, Pulsumque marmor abiete imposita gemit. Respicimus, angues orbibus geminis ferunt Ad saxa fluctus: tumida quorum pectora Rates ut altæ, lateribus spumas agunt: Dat cauda sonitum; liberæ ponto jubæ Coruscant luminibus, fulmineum jubar Incendit æquor, sibilisque undæ tremunt; Stupuere mentes. Infulis stabant sacri Phrygioque cultu gemina nati pignora Laocoonte, quos repente tergoribus ligant Angues corusci: parvulas illi manus Ad ora referunt: neuter auxilio sibi Uterque fratri transtulit pias vices, Morsque ipsa miseros mutuo perdit metu. Accumulat ecce liberûm funus parens Infirmus auxiliator; invadunt virum Jam morte pasti, membraque ad terram trahunt. Jacet sacerdos inter aras victima.

The main points are the same in both, and in many places the same words are used. But those are trifles, and too evident to require mention. There are other signs of imitation, more subtle, but not less sure. If the imitator be a man with confidence in his own powers, he seldom imitates without trying to improve upon the original; and, if he fancy himself to have succeeded, he is enough of a fox to brush over with his tail the footprints which might betray his course. But he betrays himself by this very vanity of wishing to introduce embellishments, and his desire to appear original. For his embellishments are nothing but exaggerations and excessive refinements. Virgil says, “Sanguineæ jubæ”; Petronius, “liberæ jubæ luminibus coruscant”; Virgil, “ardentes oculos suffecti sanguine et igni”; Petronius, “fulmineum jubar incendit æquor.” Virgil, “fit sonitus spumante salo”; Petronius, “sibilis undæ tremunt.” So the imitator goes on exaggerating greatness into monstrosity, wonders into impossibilities. The boys are secondary in Virgil. He passes them over with a few insignificant words, indicative simply of their helplessness and distress. Petronius makes a great point of them, converting the two children into a couple of heroes.

Neuter auxilio sibi Uterque fratri transtulit pias vices Morsque ipsa miseros mutuo perdit metu.

Who expects from human beings, and children especially, such self-sacrifice? The Greek understood nature better (Quintus Calaber, lib. xii.), when he made even mothers forget their children at the appearance of the terrible serpents, so intent was every one on securing his own safety.

... ἔνθα γυναῖκες Οἴμωζον, καὶ πού τις ἑῶν ἐπελήσατο τέκνων Aὐτὴ ἀλευομένη στυγερὸν μόρον....

The usual method of trying to conceal an imitation is to alter the shading, bringing forward what was in shadow, and obscuring what was in relief. Virgil lays great stress upon the size of the serpents, because the probability of the whole subsequent scene depends upon it. The noise occasioned by their coming is a secondary idea, intended to make more vivid the impression of their size. Petronius raises this secondary idea into chief prominence, describing the noise with all possible wealth of diction, and so far forgetting to describe the size of the monsters that we are almost left to infer it from the noise they make. He hardly would have fallen into this error, had he been drawing solely from his imagination, with no model before him which he wished to imitate without the appearance of imitation. We can always recognize a poetic picture as an unsuccessful imitation when we find minor details exaggerated and important ones neglected, however many incidental beauties the poem may possess, and however difficult, or even impossible, it may be to discover the original.

Note 10, p. 36.

Suppl. aux Antiq. Expl. T. i. p. 243. Il y a quelque petite différence entre ce que dit Virgile, et ce que le marbre représente. Il semble, selon ce que dit le poëte, que les serpens quittèrent les deux enfans pour venir entortiller le père, au lieu que dans ce marbre ils lient en même temps les enfans et leur père.

Note 11, p. 37.

Donatus ad v. 227, lib. ii. Æneid. Mirandum non est, clypeo et simulacri vestigiis tegi potuisse, quos supra et longos et validos dixit, et multiplici ambitu circumdedisse Laocoontis corpus ac liberorum, et fuisse superfluam partem. The “non” in the clause “mirandum non est,” should, it seems to me, be omitted, unless we suppose the concluding part of the sentence to be missing. For, since the serpents were of such extraordinary length, it would certainly be surprising that they could be concealed beneath the goddess’s shield, unless this also were of great length, and belonged to a colossal figure. The assurance that this was actually the case must have been meant to follow, or the “non” has no meaning.

Note 12, p. 39.

In the handsome edition of Dryden’s Virgil (London, 1697). Yet here the serpents are wound but once about the body, and hardly at all about the neck. So indifferent an artist scarcely deserves an excuse, but the only one that could be made for him would be that prints are merely illustrations, and by no means to be regarded as independent works of art.

Note 13, p. 40.

This is the judgment of De Piles in his remarks upon Du Fresnoy: “Remarquez, s’il vous plaît, que les draperies tendres et légères, n’étant données qu’au sexe féminin, les anciens sculpteurs ont évité autant qu’ils out pu, d’habiller les figures d’hommes; parce qu’ils ont pensé, comme nous l’avons déjà dit qu’en sculpture on ne pouvait imiter les étoffes, et que les gros plis faisaient un mauvais effet. Il y a presque autant d’exemples de cette vérité, qu’il y a parmi les antiques, de figures d’hommes nuds. Je rapporterai seulement celui du Laocoon, lequel, selon la vraisemblance, devrait être vêtu. En effet, quelle apparence y a-t-il qu’un fils de roi, qu’un prêtre d’Apollon, se trouvât tout nud dans la cérémonie actuelle d’un sacrifice? car les serpens passèrent de l’île de Tenedos au rivage de Troye, et surprirent Laocoon et ses fils dans le temps même qu’il sacrifiait à Neptune sur le bord de la mer, comme le marque Virgile dans le second livre de son Enéide. Cependant les artistes qui sont les auteurs de ce bel ouvrage, ont bien vu qu’ils ne pouvaient pas leur donner de vêtements convenables à leur qualité, sans faire comme un amas de pierres, dont la masse ressemblerait à un rocher, au lieu des trois admirables figures, qui ont été, et qui sont toujours, l’admiration des siècles. C’est pour cela que de deux inconveniens, ils out jugé celui des draperies beaucoup plus fâcheux, que celui d’aller contre la vérité même.”

Note 14, p. 42.

Maffei, Richardson, and, more recently, Herr Von Hagedorn. (Betrachtungen über die Malerei, p. 37. Richardson, Traité de la Peinture, vol. iii.) De Fontaines does not merit being reckoned in the same class with these scholars. In the notes to his translation of Virgil, he maintains, indeed, that the poet had the group in mind, but he is so ignorant as to ascribe it to Phidias.

Note 15, p. 44.

I can adduce no better argument in support of my view than this poem of Sadolet. It is worthy of one of the old poets, and, since it may well take the place of an engraving, I venture to introduce it here entire.

DE LAOCOONTIS STATUA JACOBI SADOLETI CARMEN.

Ecce alto terræ e cumulo, ingentisque ruinæ Visceribus, iterum reducem longinqua reduxit Laocoonta dies; aulis regalibus olim Qui stetit, atque tuos ornabat, Tite, Penates. Divinæ simulacrum artis, nec docta vetustas Nobilius spectabat opus, nunc celsa revisit Exemptum tenebris redivivæ mœnia Romæ. Quid primum summumque loquar? miserumne parentem Et prolem geminam? an sinuatos flexibus angues Terribili aspectu? caudasque irasque draconum Vulneraque et veros, saxo moriente, dolores? Horret ad hæc animus, mutaque ab imagine pulsat Pectora, non parvo pietas commixta tremori. Prolixum bini spiris glomerantur in orbem Ardentes colubri, et sinuosis orbibus errant, Ternaque multiplici constringunt corpora nexu. Vix oculi sufferre valent, crudele tuendo Exitium, casusque feros: micat alter, et ipsum Laocoonta petit, totumque infraque supraque Implicat et rabido tandem ferit ilia morsu. Connexum refugit corpus, torquentia sese Membra, latusque retro sinuatum a vulnere cernas. Ille dolore acri, et laniatu impulsus acerbo, Dat gemitum ingentem, crudosque evellere dentes Connixus, lævam impatiens ad terga Chelydri Objicit: intendunt nervi, collectaque ab omni Corpore vis frustra summis conatibus instat. Ferre nequit rabiem, et de vulnere murmur anhelum est. At serpens lapsu crebro redeunte subintrat Lubricus, intortoque ligat genua infima nodo. Absistunt suræ, spirisque prementibus arctum Crus tumet, obsepto turgent vitalia pulsu, Liventesque atro distendunt sanguine venas. Nec minus in natos eadem vis effera sævit Implexuque angit rapido, miserandaque membra Dilacerat: jamque alterius depasta cruentum Pectus, suprema genitorem voce cientis, Circumjectu orbis, validoque volumine fulcit. Alter adhuc nullo violatus corpora morsu, Dum parat adducta caudam divellere planta, Horret ad aspectum miseri patris, hæret in illo, Et jam jam ingentes fletus, lachrymasque cadentes Anceps in dubio retinet timor. Ergo perenni Qui tantum statuistis opus jam laude nitentes, Artifices magni (quanquam et melioribus actis Quæritur æternum nomen, multoque licebat Clarius ingenium venturæ tradere famæ) Attamen ad laudem quæcunque oblata facultas Egregium hanc rapere, et summa ad fastigia niti. Vos rigidum lapidem vivis animare figuris Eximii, et vivos spiranti in marmore sensus Inserere, aspicimus motumque iramque doloremque, Et pene audimus gemitus; vos extulit olim Clara Rhodos, vestræ jacuerunt artis honores Tempore ab immenso, quos rursum in luce secunda Roma videt, celebratque frequens: operisque vetusti Gratia parta recens. Quanto præstantius ergo est Ingenio, aut quovis extendere fata labore, Quam fastus et opes et inanem extendere luxum.

LAOCOON, BY JAMES SADOLET.

So, from the depths of earth and the bowels of mighty ruins, the long-deferred day has brought back the returning Laocoon, who stood of old in thy royal halls and graced thy penates, Titus. The image of divine art, a work as noble as any produced by the learning of antiquity, now freed from darkness, beholds again the lofty walls of renovated Rome. With what part shall I begin as the greatest? the unhappy father and his two sons? the sinuous coils of the terrible serpents? the tails and the fierceness of the dragons? the wounds and real pains of the dying stone? These chill the mind with horror, and pity, mingled with no slight fear, drives our hearts back from the dumb image. Two gleaming snakes cover a vast space with their gathered coils, and move in sinuous rings, and hold three bodies bound in a many-twisted knot. Eyes scarce can bear to behold the cruel death and fierce sufferings. One gleaming seeks Laocoon himself, winding him all about, above, below, and attacks his groins at last with poisonous bite. The imprisoned body recoils, and you see the limbs writhe and the side shrink back from the wound. Forced by the sharp pain and bitter anguish, he groans; and, trying to tear out the cruel teeth, throws his left hand upon the serpent’s back. The nerves strain, and the whole body in vain collects its strength for the supreme effort. He cannot endure the fierce torture, and pants from the wound. But the slippery snake glides down with frequent folds, and binds his leg below the knee with twisted knot. The calves fall in, the tight-bound leg swells between the pressing coils, and the vitals grow tumid from the stopping of the pulses, and black blood distends the livid veins. The same cruel violence attacks the children no less fiercely, tortures them with many encircling folds, and lacerates their suffering limbs. Now satiated upon the bloody breast of one, who, with his last breath, calls upon his father, the serpent supports the lifeless body with the mighty circles thrown around it. The other, whose body has as yet been hurt by no sting, while preparing to pluck out the tail from his foot, is filled with horror at sight of his wretched father, and clings to him. A double fear restrains his great sobs and falling tears. Therefore ye enjoy perpetual fame, ye great artificers who made the mighty work, although an immortal name may be sought by better deeds, and nobler talents may be handed down to future fame. Yet any power employed to snatch this praise and reach the heights of fame is excellent. Ye have excelled in animating the rigid stone with living forms, and inserting living senses within the breathing marble. We see the movement, the wrath and pain, and almost hear the groans. Illustrious Rhodes begot you of old. Long the glories of your art lay hid, but Rome beholds them again in a second dawn, and celebrates them with many voices, in fresh acknowledgment of the old labor. How much nobler, then, to extend our fates by art or toil than to swell pride and wealth and empty luxury.

(Leodegarii a Quercu Farrago Poematum, T. ii.) Gruter has introduced this poem with another one of Sadolet into his well-known collection, but with many errors. (Delic. Poet. Italorum. Parte alt.)

Note 16, p. 45.

De la Peinture, tome iii. p. 516. C’est l’horreur que les Troïens ont conçue contre Laocoon, qui était nécessaire à Virgile pour la conduite de son poëme; et cela le mène à cette description pathétique de la destruction de la patrie de son héros. Aussi Virgile n’avait garde de diviser l’attention sur la dernière nuit, pour une grand ville entière, par la peinture d’un petit malheur d’un particulier.

Note 17, p. 51.

I say it is possible, but I would wager ten against one that it is not so. Juvenal is speaking of the early days of the republic, when splendor and luxury were yet unknown, and the soldier put whatever gold and silver he got as booty upon his arms and the caparisons of his horse. (Sat. xi.)

Tunc rudis et Grajas mirari nescius artes Urbibus eversis prædarum in parte reperta Magnorum artificum frangebat pocula miles. Ut phaleris gauderet equus, cælataque cassis Romuleæ simulacra feræ mansuescere jussæ Imperii fato, geminos sub rupe Quirinos, Ac nudam effigiem clypeo fulgentis et hasta, Pendentisque Dei perituro ostenderet hosti.

The soldier broke up the precious cups, the masterpieces of great artists, to make a she-wolf, a little Romulus and Remus to deck his helmet with. All is plain down to the last two lines, where the poet proceeds to describe such a figure on the helmets of the old soldiers. The figure is meant for the god Mars, but what can the term _pendentis_ mean as applied to him? Rigaltius found in an old gloss the interpretation “quasi ad ictum se inclinantis.” Lubinus supposes the figure to have been on the shield, and, as the shield hung from the arm, the figure might be spoken of as hanging. But this is contrary to the construction, the subject of “ostenderet” being not “miles” but “cassis.” According to Britannicus, whatever stands high in the air may be said to hang, and the expression may be used of this figure perched above or upon the helmet. Some would read “perdentis” as a contrast to the following “perituro,” though none but themselves would think the contrast desirable. What does Addison say to this doubtful passage? He thinks all the commentators are wrong and maintains this to be the true meaning. “The Roman soldiers, who were not a little proud of their founder and the military genius of their republic, used to bear on their helmets the first history of Romulus, who was begot by the god of war and suckled by a wolf. The figure of the god was made as if descending upon the priestess Ilia, or, as others call her, Rhea Silvia. As he was represented descending, his figure appeared suspended in the air over the vestal virgin, in which sense the word ‘pendentis’ is extremely proper and poetical. Besides the antique basso-rilievo (in Bellori) that made me first think of this interpretation, I have since met with the same figures on the reverses of a couple of ancient coins, which were stamped in the reign of Antoninus Pius.” (Addison’s Travels, Rome, Tonson’s edition, 1745, p. 183.)