Laocon: history and mysteries of a discovery

[Agesander, Athenadorus of Rhodes and Polydorus, Laocoon Group, marble, 1st century BC – 1st century AD, Vatican Museums.]

The candor of marble, the coldness of the surfaces so smooth and defined do not dampen the tragedy of the death of a seer, Laocoon, and his two children.
Enveloped by snakes marine, they wriggle to free themselves from the tight coils. It's all useless, the terrible snakes bite them, suffocate them, kill them.
In a game of curved lines, weaves, contortions, blocked movements and gazes full of pathos, Laocon casts a last, desperate glance towards the Gods.

He ran frantically towards a huge wooden horse that the Greeks had left as a gift just outside the city walls.
In his heart he held a dark omen of death and ran, desperate, with the sole aim of dispelling it.

The very long war that had almost destroyed the city of Troy was over, yet Laocon knew the wiles of the Greeks and feared them.
He took a spear, threw it at the horse's belly and hoped with all his might that it would resonate, proving to be empty.
But it was not so.

He was shouting now, warning everyone not to get close to the Trojan horse, to set it on fire and forget about it.
It was at that point that the gods intervened: Athena, who had allied himself with the Greeks and admired the intelligence of Ulysses, fearing that the deception would be revealed, he sent monstrous serpents which, from the depths of the sea, crawled towards the beach to kill Laoconte and his sons.

This is the scene of death and pain that an anonymous sculptor immortalizes in an incredibly alive statue.
And this is the story of something that was lost and found again. It is a succession of mysteries, solutions and wonders that created the case of restoration of the Laoconte.
It is a story that lasted centuries, which begins and ends with a discovery.

It was a cold January day in 1506, when, in a vineyard near Colle Oppio, some marble snakes came to light.
Those spiers were a piece of history that resurfaced after years of oblivion. The same sea monsters that had crushed the Trojan seer to death were now bringing them back to the light.

Such an incredible work could not go unnoticed, it seems that even Homer spoke of a statue worthy of legend, so full of pathos that Emperor Titus had wanted it for himself.
One emerged from the hard soil sculpture of unparalleled beauty that has fascinated the entire artistic world.
Michelangelo in person, accompanied to the location of the discovery by Giuliano da Sangallo first certifies its importance. She appeared almost completely intact, only her father's right arm, that of one of the sons and other small details were missing.

It is from the incompleteness of the Laoconte, from his vulnerability, that the desire to see him complete, in his original splendor, arises. And this is how one of the most interesting pages in the history of restoration was written.

But what does it mean restoration?
Today, the ultimate goal is to make a work usable again, that is, one that can last over the centuries, without however erasing the traces of time.
In ancient times, however, restoration had the sole purpose of rebuild.

So perfect, so emotionally stimulating, the Laocoon was desired by everyone, but it was Pope Hadrian VI who bought it to place it in Belvedere gardens. A worthy place for a work of such splendor.

It was 28 April 1523, when some ambassadors of the Republic of Venice, who arrived in Rome to declare obedience to the Pope, asked to visit the Belvedere and described that "figure of great excellence", focusing on its refinement, so much so that "you can see the knots, the veins and your nerves on every side, which couldn't be said better in a living body.".
He is sitting with two children, surrounded by snakes that wrap around them so much that "he is clearly seen languishing and dying and one of the little boys is seen, very tightly surrounded by the snake, twice around, one of which passes through his breasts and squeezes his heart so much that he becomes dead", the other, still alive, feels death approaching and "with a tearful face, shouting towards his father".
The desperation and violence of this scene are so perfect that the Venetian ambassadors believed it to be “It is impossible for human art to achieve so much and so natural work".

Mystery number one.
The Venetian ambassadors recall that the Laoconte's right arm was missing: a real oddity. Years before, in fact, a very young man Jacopo Sansovino, had distinguished himself in an artistic competition promoted by Twine to make a copy of the work and integrate the original.
Sansovino, a budding artist, was also acclaimed by Raffaello, who considered his project perfect, full of pathos and emotion also thanks to the position of the arm: bent backwards.
Why is it missing now?

Probably, the young sculptor had placed some parts in plaster which, over time, had crumbled or been damaged to the point of being removed. His inexperience did not allow him to be so master of sculptural techniques as to modify such a masterpiece.

Many small mysteries that unravel by peeking through ancient documents, and it is among these that a second name emerges: Baccio Bandinelli.
Although several clues showed that the right arm was bent behind the shoulder of the Trojan priest, the opinion prevailed that it was extended outwards, in a heroic, highly dynamic gesture. Some even believed that Laocon was holding a spear, ready to throw a second.

Bandinelli hypothesized that the arm was indeed behind the back, but bent 90° upwards. In symmetrical contrast to the left.
A play of curved lines - the triple wrapping of the snake around the shoulder - and straight lines that helps the eye understand the dynamism of the movements. It introduces the scene and its pathos.
Yet, that wasn't the most popular solution.

Nine hundred gold ducats. This was the price that Pope Leo X had earmarked to reproduce a copy of the Laoconte. It would have been a perfect gift for King of France, Francis I. The work had to be sculpted in marble, in separate pieces, because Michelangelo claimed that the original was a set of marble blocks.
While the gift for the French king proceeded, the Roman statue was also completed following Bandinelli's own project.

[Baccio Bandinelli. Laocoon group. Marble. 1519-1525. Florence, Uffizi gallery]

Yet, there is a second mystery: we have no documents regarding the complete restoration of the work. That is, there is no evidence of what the final position of the restored arm was.
Why? Perhaps because he did not succeed well enough or, perhaps, because external opposition intervened and he could not complete it.
It will remain a mystery.

The third act now begins, the one in which he is the protagonist Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli, one of Michelangelo's most trusted collaborators.
It was July 1532 when Sebastian del Piombo, who took care of Michelangelo's affairs in the curia, communicated to his friend and artist that he had obtained from the Pope that "the friar who works the marble” left the convent and went to Rome. Just as Buonarroti desired. What interested Michelangelo was not so much the restoration of the statues in the Belvedere Courtyard, but the realization of a new and grandiose project. The tomb of Julius II.
In the meantime, Montorsoli would have restored the Hercules-Commodus, the Apollo and, obviously, the Laoconte.
Overworked, Montorsoli was unable to dedicate himself as he would have liked to the restorations, and it was Laoconte himself who paid the price.

The new arm was much simpler than Bandinelli's: raised and inclined slightly forward. He grips the snake forcefully, his muscles tense in an effort to push the beast away from him and he succeeds. The arm is free from coils, the deadly snakes knot only at the biceps, forming a loop.
It is the last strenuous opposition to the destiny that the gods have chosen for him, and is described by gestures full of emphasis and desperation.

[Gerard Audran, Laocoön quoted, front view. Etching print. In Les proportions du corps humain &c., À paris, sn, 1683, pl. 1.]

Third mystery.
Although the arm was built in 1533, it was only installed between 1535 and 1540, when Montorsoli was no longer in Rome. Why?
There is an eighteenth-century anecdote, significant, fluctuating and anonymous, but probably true. Not wanting to confront i summi artifices, the sculptor decided to model an arm in terracotta. An annoying element, which gave the idea of ​​being only a preparatory model. And that's what it probably was: a sketch for an unfinished restoration.

Last Stand. The mystery revealed.
A leap of four centuries and we are in 1905, when Ludwig Pollack visit one's shop Roman stonemason, in via Labicana, a few hundred meters from the place where the work was found.
Among blocks of marble, hundreds of fragmented statues, chalk dust and tools, Pollack notices a bent arm. Crumbled by time, yet still clutched by the body of a serpent, the Laoconte's arm had rested, patiently waiting to be found.
The extraordinary discovery was not greeted with the fanfare we would expect. The apparently different marble, the proportions judged to be smaller, the poor state of conservation, the gap of at least 10 cm. between the arm and the shoulder, made people believe that the new fragment did not belong to the original, but to one of its copies.
Fifty years had to pass for the discovery to be given the prominence it deserved and for, with a long, laborious and expensive operation, the Pollack arm to be returned to its owner. Between 1957 and 1959.

Thus ends the story of Laoconte's arm. A discovery that fascinated the entire artistic world, which worked to restore the work to its former splendor, thus weaving the fabric of a particular and complex history of restoration, which only ended when the last one re-emerged, original, intact, piece of this marble puzzle.

Detail of the Pollack arm.

Sofia Pettorelli
Having recently graduated in Cultural Heritage Management, she currently works in a press office.
Her passion for writing, storytelling and art led her to collaborate with TheArcult.