The choice of subject is one of the happiest that can be imagined,--men struggling with dangerous animals, and animals that do not act as a mass of concentrated force, but with divided powers; that do not rush in at one side, nor offer a combined resistance, but capable by their prolonged organization of paralyzing without injuring them, three men, or more or less. From the action of this numbing force results, consistently with the most violent action, a pervading unity and repose throughout the whole. The different action of the serpents is exhibited in gradation. The one is simply twined around its victims, the other becomes irritated and bites its antagonist. The three figures are in like manner most wisely selected: a strong, well-developed man, but evidently past the age of greatest energy, and therefore less able to endure pain and suffering. Substitute in his place a robust young man and the charm of the group vanishes. Joined with him in his suffering are two boys, small in proportion to his figure; again still two natures susceptible of pain. The struggles of the youngest are powerless; he is frightened, but not injured. The father struggles powerfully, but ineffectually; his efforts have rather the effect to exasperate the opposed force. His opponent, becoming irritated, wounds him. The eldest son is least encumbered. He suffers neither anguish nor pain; he is frightened by the sudden wounding of his father, and his movement thereupon; he cries out, at the same moment endeavoring to free his foot from the serpent’s fold. Here then is spectator, witness, and accessory to the fact; and thus the work is completed. Let me here repeat what I alluded to above,--that all three figures exhibit a twofold action, and thus are occupied in most manifold ways. The youngest son strives to free himself by raising his right arm, and with his left hand keeps back the serpent’s head; he is striving to alleviate the present, and avert the greater, evil,--the highest degree of action he can attain in his present imprisoned condition. The father is striving to shake off the serpents, while his body recoils from the immediate bite. The oldest son is terrified by his father’s starting, and seeks at the same time to free himself from the lightly entwining serpent. The choice of the highest moment of expression has already been spoken of as a great advantage possessed by this work of art; let us now consider this problem in greater detail. We assumed the case of natural serpents twining about a father sleeping by his sons, so that in considering the separate moments, we might be led to a climax of interest. The first moments of the serpents’ winding about them in sleep are portentous, but not significant for art. We might perhaps imagine an infant Hercules asleep, with a serpent twined about him; but in this case the form in repose would show us what we were to expect when he waked.