NOTES TO THE LAOCOON.

Note 1, p. 8.

Antiochus (Anthol. lib. ii. cap. 4). Hardouin, in his commentary on

Pliny (lib. xxxv. sect. 36), attributes this epigram to a certain Piso.

But among all the Greek epigrammatists there is none of this name.

Note 2, p. 9.

For this reason Aristotle commanded that his pictures should not be

shown to young persons, in order that their imagination might be kept as

free as possible from all disagreeable images. (Polit. lib. viii. cap.

5, p. 526, edit. Conring.) Boden, indeed, would read Pausanias in this

passage instead of Pauson, because that artist is known to have painted

lewd figures (de Umbra poetica comment. 1, p. xiii). As if we needed a

philosophic law-giver to teach us the necessity of keeping from youth

such incentives to wantonness! A comparison of this with the well-known

passage in the “Art of Poesy” would have led him to withhold his

conjecture. There are commentators, as Kühn on Ælian (Var. Hist. lib.

iv. cap. 3), who suppose the difference mentioned by Aristotle as

existing between Polygnotus, Dionysius, and Pauson to consist in this:

that Polygnotus painted gods and heroes; Dionysius, men; and Pauson,

animals. They all painted human figures; and the fact that Pauson once

painted a horse, does not prove him to have been a painter of animals as

Boden supposes him to have been. Their rank was determined by the degree

of beauty they gave their human figures; and the reason that Dionysius

could paint nothing but men, and was therefore called pre-eminently the

anthropographist, was that he copied too slavishly, and could not rise

into the domain of the ideal beneath which it would have been blasphemy

to represent gods and heroes.

Note 3, p. 11.

The serpent has been erroneously regarded as the peculiar symbol of a

god of medicine. But Justin Martyr expressly says (Apolog. ii. p. 55,

edit. Sylburgh), παρά παντὶ τῶν νομιζομένων παρ’ ὑμῖν θεῶν, ὄφις

σύμβολον μέγα καὶ μυστήριον ἀναγράφεται; and a number of monuments might

be mentioned where the serpent accompanies deities having no connection

with health.

Note 4, p. 12.

Look through all the works of art mentioned by Pliny, Pausanias, and the

rest, examine all the remaining statues, bas-reliefs, and pictures of

the ancients, and nowhere will you find a fury. I except figures that

are rather symbolical than belonging to art, such as those generally

represented on coins. Yet Spence, since he insisted on having furies,

would have done better to borrow them from coins than introduce them by

an ingenious conceit into a work where they certainly do not exist.

(Seguini Numis. p. 178. Spanheim, de Præst. Numism. Dissert. xiii. p.

639. Les Césars de Julien, par Spanheim, p. 48.) In his Polymetis he

says (dial. xvi.): “Though furies are very uncommon in the works of the

ancient artists, yet there is one subject in which they are generally

introduced by them. I mean the death of Meleager, in the relievos of

which they are often represented as encouraging or urging Althæa to burn

the fatal brand on which the life of her only son depended. Even a

woman’s resentment, you see, could not go so far without a little help

from the devil. In a copy of one of these relievos, published in the

‘Admiranda,’ there are two women standing by the altar with Althæa, who

are probably meant for furies in the original, (for who but furies would

assist at such a sacrifice?) though the copy scarce represents them

horrid enough for that character. But what is most to be observed in

that piece is the round disc beneath the centre of it, with the evident

head of a fury upon it. This might be what Althæa addressed her prayers

to whenever she wished ill to her neighbors, or whenever she was going

to do any very evil action. Ovid introduces her as invoking the furies

on this occasion in particular, and makes her give more than one reason

for her doing so.” (Metamorph. viii. 479.)

In this way we might make every thing out of any thing. “Who but

furies,” asks Spence, “would have assisted at such a sacrifice?” I

answer, the maid-servants of Althæa, who had to kindle and feed the

fire. Ovid says (Metamorph. viii.):—

Protulit hunc (stipitem) genetrix, tædasque in fragmina poni

Imperat, et positis inimicos admovet ignes.

“The mother brought the brand and commands torches to be placed upon the

pieces, and applies hostile flame to the pile.”

Both figures have actually in their hands these “tædas,” long pieces of

pine, such as the ancients used for torches, and one, as her attitude

shows, has just broken such a piece. As little do I recognize a fury

upon the disc towards the middle of the work. It is a face expressive of

violent pain,—doubtless the head of Meleager himself (Metamorph. viii.

515).

Inscius atque absens flamma Meleagros in illa

Uritur; et cæcis torreri viscera sentit

Ignibus; et magnos superat virtute dolores.

“Meleager, absent and unconscious, is consumed in that fire, and feels

his bowels parched with the unseen flames; yet with courage he subdues

the dreadful pains.”

The artist used this as an introduction to the next incident of the same

story,—the death of Meleager. What Spence makes furies, Montfaucon took

to be fates, with the exception of the head upon the disc, which he also

calls a fury. Bellori leaves it undecided whether they are fates or

furies. An “or” which sufficiently proves that they are neither the one

nor the other. Montfaucon’s further interpretation should have been

clearer. The female figure resting on her elbows by the bed, he should

have called Cassandra, not Atalanta. Atalanta is the one sitting in a

grieving attitude with her back towards the bed. The artist has very

wisely turned her away from the family, as being only the beloved, not

the wife, of Meleager, and because her distress at a calamity of which

she had been the innocent cause must have exasperated his family.

Note 5, p. 14.

He thus describes the degrees of sadness actually expressed by

Timanthes: “Calchantem tristem, mæstum Ulyssem, clamantem Ajacem,

lamentantem Menelaum.” Ajax screaming would have been extremely ugly,

and since neither Cicero nor Quintilian, when speaking of this picture,

so describe him, I shall venture with the less hesitation to consider

this an addition with which Valerius has enriched the canvas from his

own invention.

Note 6, p. 15.

We read in Pliny (lib. 34, sect. 19): “Eundem [Myro] vicit et Pythagoras

Leontinus, qui fecit statiodromon Astylon, qui Olympiæ ostenditur: et

Libyn puerum tenentem tabulam, eodem loco, et mala ferentem nudum.

Syracusis autem claudicantem: cujus hulceris dolorem sentire etiam

spectantes videntur.” “Pythagoras Leontinus surpassed him (Myro). He

made the statue of the runner, Astylon, which is exhibited at Olympia,

and in the same place a Libyan boy holding a tablet, and a rude statue

bearing apples; but at Syracuse a limping figure, the pain of whose sore

the beholders themselves seem to feel.” Let us examine these last words

more closely. Is there not evident reference here to some person well

known as having a painful ulcer? “Cujus hulceris,” &c. And shall that

“cujus” be made to refer simply to the “claudicantem,” and the

“claudicantem,” perhaps, to the still more remote “puerum?” No one had

more reason to be known by such a malady than Philoctetes. I read,

therefore, for “claudicantem,” “Philoctetem,” or, at least, both

together, “Philoctetem claudicantem,” supposing that, as the words were

so similar in sound, one had crowded out the other. Sophocles represents

him as στίβον κατ’ ἀνάγκην ἕρπειν, compelled to drag his limping gait,

and his not being able to tread as firmly on his wounded foot would have

occasioned a limp.

Note 7, p. 24.

When the chorus perceives Philoctetes under this accumulation of

miseries, his helpless solitude seems the circumstance that chiefly

touches them. We hear in every word the social Greek. With regard to one

passage, however, I have my doubts. It is this:—

Ἵν’ αὐτὸς ἦν πρόσουρος οὐκ ἔχων βάσιν,

οὐδέ τιν’ ἐγχώρων,

κακογείτονα παρ’ ᾧ στόνον ἀντίτυπον

βαρυβρῶτ’ ἀποκλαύ—

σειεν αἱματηρόν.

Lit.: I myself, my only neighbor, having no power to walk, nor any

companion, a neighbor in ill, to whom I might wail forth my echoing,

gnawing groans, bloodstained.

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