Ventis expositus et pedibus captus
Nullum cohabitatorem
Nec vicinum ullum saltem malum habens, apud quem gemitum mutuum.
Gravemque ac cruentum
Ederet.
The translation of Thomas Johnson differs from this only in the choice
of words:—
Ubi ipse ventis erat expositus, firmum gradum non habens,
Nec quenquam indigenarum,
Nec malum vicinum, apud quem ploraret
Vehementur edacem
Sanguineum morbum, mutuo gemitu.
One might think he had borrowed these words from the translation of
Thomas Naogeorgus, who expresses himself thus (his work is very rare,
and Fabricius himself knew it only through Operin’s Catalogue):—
... ubi expositus fuit
Ventis ipse, gradum firmum haud habens,
Nec quenquam indigenam, nec vel malum
Vicinum, ploraret apud quem
Vehementer edacem atque cruentum
Morbum mutuo.
If these translations are correct, the chorus pronounces the strongest
possible eulogy on human society. The wretch has no human being near
him; he knows of no friendly neighbor; even a bad one would have been
happiness. Thomson, then, might have had this passage in mind when he
puts these words into the mouth of his Melisander, who was likewise
abandoned by ruffians on a desert island:—
Cast on the wildest of the Cyclad isles
Where never human foot had marked the shore,
These ruffians left me; yet believe me, Arcas,
Such is the rooted love we bear mankind,
All ruffians as they were, I never heard
A sound so dismal as their parting oars.
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.