Hence all the good from opulence that springs, Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth imparts But view them closer, craft and fraud appear; E'en liberty itself is bartered here. At gold's superior charms all freedom flies; Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old! Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, I see the lords of human kind pass by; Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashioned fresh from nature's hand, True to imagined right, above control, While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictured here; Till, overwrought, the general system feels, Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown: And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonored die. Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, By proud contempt or favor's fostering sun; I only would repress them to secure: For just experience tells, in every soil, That those who think must govern those that toil; Is but to lay proportioned loads on each. O then how blind to all that truth requires, To call it freedom when themselves are free, Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart; VOL. XVIII. - 7 Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour And over fields where scattered hamlets rose Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays, Through tangled forests and through dangerous ways, Where beasts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise, The pensive exile, bending with his woe, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, Vain, very vain, my weary search to find Our own felicity we make or find: With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, THE LIMITATIONS OF PICTORIAL ART. BY LESSING. (From the "Laocoon.") [GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING, poet and dramatist, was born at Camenz, Silesia, January 22, 1729; died at Brunswick, February 15, 1781. He was educated at the Fürstenschule of Meissen; studied theology at Leipsic, 1746-1748; and worked as a journalist and critic in Berlin, 1748-1752. Meanwhile he became deeply interested in the drama, published several successful plays, and in 1767 was made official playwright, and director of the Hamburg theater. From 1770 until his death he was librarian of the ducal library at Wolfenbüttel. The comedy" Minna von Barnhelm " (1765) was the first national drama of Germany, and the tragedy "Emilia Galotti" (1772) is considered his dramatic masterpiece, but the noble philosophic drama "Nathan the Wise" (1779) is the only one that lives. His masterpiece, however, is "Laocoon" (1766), a short fragment on the principles of art, which has been, and still is, of world-wide influence. His other works are: "Wolfenbüttelsche Fragmente" (1777), "Anti-Goerze" (1778), "Die Erziehung des Menschengeschlechts" (1780), and "Ernst und Falk" (1778-1780).] UPON examining the reasons alleged for the sculptor of the Laocoon being obliged to exercise moderation in the expression of bodily pain, I find that they are all to be attributed to the essential nature of his art and its inherent exigencies and limitations. They would therefore hardly be applicable to poetry. Without attempting here to decide how far the poet can succeed in describing physical beauty, it will not be disputed that, as the whole infinite realm of perfection lies open to his imitation, this visible garb, in which perfection becomes beauty, forms but one of the least of the means by which he can awaken our interest in his characters. He often neglects to make use of this means at all, feeling assured that, if his hero has won our regard, his nobler qualities will either engage our attention to such a degree that we shall bestow no thought on his bodily form; or that, if we do think of it, they will so far prepossess us that we shall, in our own minds, attribute to him an exterior, if not beautiful, at least not unpleasing. At any rate, he will not allow himself to pay any regard to the sense of sight, in any single trait that is not expressly intended to appeal to that sense. When Virgil's Laocoon shrieks, does it occur to any one that a widely opened mouth is required for shrieking, and that such a mouth is ugly? It suffices that clamores horrendos ad sidera tollit produces a powerful effect upon the ear, be its impression upon the eye what it may. And if any one here feels the want of a beautiful picture, the poet's whole effect is lost upon him. The poet, moreover, is nowise compelled to concentrate his description into the space of a single moment. He may take up any individual action at will from its source and carry it on, through every possible variation, to its close. These variations, each of which would, in the case of the artist, need a separate work, require but a single trait at the hands of the poet; and though this trait, if taken by itself, might offend the hearer's imagination, preparation would either be made for it by what preceded, or it would be softened down and counteracted by what follows it, in such a manner that it loses its solitary impression, and, by this combination, produces the best possible effect. Assuming, therefore, that it were really unbecoming in a man to shriek while suffering intense pain: how could this slight, momentary impropriety prejudice us against one whose other virtues have already enlisted our sympathy? Virgil's Laocoon shrieks, but this shrieking Laocoon is the very same whom we already know and love as the most considerate of patriots and the most affectionate of fathers. We ascribe his shrieking, not to his character, but solely to his insupportable suffering. This, and nothing more, is what we hear in his shrieks, and by them alone could the poet have represented it to us in a vivid manner. Who, then, will still censure him? Who would not rather admit that, if the artist did well in not allowing his Laocoon to shriek, the poet acted equally wisely in letting him do so? For But Virgil is here merely a narrative poet; would his justification include the dramatic poet also? The account of a person's shriek produces one kind of impression; the shriek itself produces another. The drama, designed, as it is, for the living art of the actor, should perhaps for that very reason confine itself more strictly within the limits of material art. we there not merely imagine that we see and hear a shrieking Philoctetes, but we actually do see and hear him. The nearer the actor approaches to nature, the more susceptibly will our eyes and ears be offended; for it is indisputable that this is the case in actual life when we hear and perceive loud and intense expressions of pain. Moreover, bodily pain is as a rule not capable of arousing our compassion to the same extent as other misfortunes. Our imagination can distinguish too little in it for the mere sight of it to awaken feelings in any way equiva notW |