Laocoon: Hellenistic sculpture (ca. 50-25 BCE), possibly by Rhodian sculptors Laocoon, a Trojan prophet, argues against taking the wooden horse into the city and urges the Trojans to destroy it. The Roman poet Virgil in his epic Aeneid (2.40-56, 199-234) tells the story: |
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Next thing we knew, in front of everyone, Laocoon with a great company Came furiously running from the Height, And still far off cried out: "O my poor people, Men of Troy, what madness has come over you? Can you believe the enemy truly gone? A gift from the Danaans, and no ruse? Is that Ulysses' way, as you have known him? Achaeans must be hiding in this timber, Or it was built to butt against our walls, Peer over them into our houses, pelt The city from the sky. Some crookedness Is in this thing. Have no faith in the horse! Whatever it is, even when Greeks bring gifts I fear them, gifts and all." He broke off then And rifled his big spear with all his might Against the horse's flank, the curve of belly. It stuck there trembling, and the rounded hull Reverberated groaning at the blow. If the gods' will had not been sinister, If our own minds had not been crazed, He would have made us foul that Argive den With bloody steel, and Troy would stand today- O citadel of Priam, towering still! . . . . . . . . And now another sign, more fearful still, |
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Broke on our blind miserable people, Filling us all with dread. Laocoon, Acting as Neptune's priest that day by lot, Was on the point of putting to the knife A massive bull before the appointed altar, When ahlook there! From Tenedos, on the calm sea, twin snakes I shiver to recall itendlessly Coiling, uncoiling, swam abreast for shore, Their underbellies showing as their crests Reared red as blood above the swell; behind They glided with great undulating backs. While with both hands he fought to break the knots, Drenched in slime, his head-bands black with venom, Sending to heaven his appalling cries Like a slashed bull escaping from an altar, The fumbled axe shrugged off. The pair of snakes Now flowed away and made for the highest shrines, The citadel of pitiless Minerva, Where coiling they took cover at her feet Under the rondure of her shield. New terrors Ran in the shaken crowd: the word went round Laocoon had paid, and rightfully, For profanation of the sacred hulk With his offending spear hurled at its flank. Translation by Robert Fitzgerald |