by the critics. In my opinion it serves to exalt the skill of the artist quite as much as the other variation which they all unite in remarking, but which they rather attempt to excuse than venture to commend,—I mean the difference in point of costume. Virgil's Laocoon is arrayed in his sacerdotal garments, while in the sculptured groupe he appears, along with his two sons, entirely naked. It is said that there have been persons fastidious enough to object that there is an absurdity in representing a king's son and a priest stark naked on the solemn occasion of a sacrifice. I have heard, too, that there are critics who have gravely replied to this objection, that the mode of treatment complained of is nothing more than an offence against usage, which the sculptor was constrained to commit, from his inability to give the figures any appropriate clothing. Sculpture, say these sapient critics, is incapable of imitating the texture of stuffs; thick folds produce a bad effect, and thus the sculptor is compelled to make choice of the least of two evils, and rather to offend against truth itself, than expose himself to censure in the

execution of the draperies.* If the ancient artists would have laughed at the criticism, I do not know what they would have said to the reply. For, even allowing that sculpture were capable of imitating the various materials of which garments are composed, just as well as painting, does it necessarily follow that Laocoon should be clothed? Should we lose nothing beneath this clothing? Does a garment, the production of servile hands, possess an equal share of beauty with an organized body, the work of Eternal Wisdom? Does the imitation of the one demand the same abilities, claim the same merit, or obtain the same praise, as that of the other? Do we require nothing beyond a mere ocular deception, without heeding the means employed in producing that deception?

A garment in the hands of the poet differs from a real dress in this,—it conceals nothing; the imagination sees all that is beneath it. Whether Virgil's Laocoon be clothed or not, his sufferings are as visible throughout every part

* See Note 18, end of volume.

of his body as in the work of the sculptor. The sacerdotal bandage encircles, without shrouding his brow; in fact, far from injuring, it is rather made to strengthen the idea we are led to form of the agonies of the wearer;

"His holy fillets the blue venom blots."

We see that the dignity of his priestly character itself avails not to preserve him from destruction; its very emblem of distinction, that which, above all, procured for him consideration and respect, is profaned and soaked with the poisonous slime of the serpents.

But the idea thus beautifully suggested by the poet, the artist was compelled to renounce, if he would preserve uninjured the effect of his work. Had he placed this bandage on his Laocoon, he would have considerably weakened the expression. The brow must have been partially covered; and the brow is the very seat of expression. Therefore, as he had elsewhere sacrificed expression to beauty, so here he sacrificed usage to expression. In fact, generally speaking, the laws of usage were but lightly

regarded by the ancients; they felt that the highest object of their art led them entirely to dispense with it. This object of paramount importance was beauty;—necessity invented clothing, and what has art to do with necessity? I do not mean to deny that there may be beauty even in clothing, but what is it in comparison with the beauty of the human form? And will he who has the power to achieve the higher grade of excellence, voluntarily occupy himself on the lower? I am very much inclined to suspect that the most perfect master in draperies betrays the deficiency of his genius by his very skill.

SIXTH SECTION.

The Supposition that the Sculptor of the Laocoon has imitated the Poet, conveys no Imputation derogatory to the Genius of the former.

My conjecture that the Sculptor has imitated the Poet, by no means tends to disparage the skill of the former. On the contrary, this imitation serves to display his judgment in the most favorable light. In taking the Poet for his guide, he has not permitted himself to be led by him in every trifling particular. He selected a model, it is true; but, as it was his business to transfer this model from one art to another, he had abundant opportunities of thinking for himself. And so judiciously has he availed himself of these opportunities, that the very points in which he departs from his model, prove that, however distinguished the Poet was in his