In a word, we dare boldly affirm that this work exhausts its subject and happily fulfils all the conditions of art. It teaches us that if the master can infuse his feeling of beauty into tranquil and simple subjects, this feeling can also be exhibited in its highest energy and dignity when it manifests itself in the creation of varied characters, and knows how, by artistic imitation, to temper and control the passionate outbreak of human feeling. We shall give in the sequel a full account of the statues known by the name of the family of Niobe, as well as the group of the Farnesian Bull; these are among the few representations of pathos that remain to us of antique sculpture. It has been the usual fate of the moderns to blunder in their choice of subjects of this sort. When Milo, with both his hands fast in the cleft of a tree, is attacked by a lion, art in vain endeavors to create a work that will excite a sincere sympathy. A twofold suffering, a fruitless struggle, a helpless state, a certain defeat can only excite horror, if they do not leave us cold. Finally, a word concerning this subject in its connection with poetry. It is doing Virgil and poetic art a great injustice to compare even for a moment this most succinct achievement of Sculpture with the episodical treatment of the subject in the Æneid. Since the unhappy exile, Æneas, is to recount how he and his fellow-citizens were guilty of the unpardonable folly of bringing the famous horse into their city, the Poet must hit upon some way to provide a motive for this action. Everything is subordinated to this end, and the story of Laocoon stands here as a rhetorical argument to justify an exaggeration if only it serves its purpose. Two monstrous serpents come out of the sea with crested heads; they rush upon the children of the priest who had injured the horse, encircle them, bite them, besmear them, twist and twine about the breast and head of the father as he hastens to their assistance, and hold up their heads in triumph while the victim, inclosed in their folds, screams in vain for help. The people are horror-struck and fly at once; no one dares to be a patriot any longer; and the hearer, satiated with the horror of the strange and loathsome story, is willing to let the horse be brought into the city. Thus, in Virgil, the story of Laocoon serves only as a step to a higher aim, and it is a great question whether the occurrence be in itself a poetic subject. THE COLLECTOR AND HIS FRIENDS (1799)