Download the full version of the ebook now at ebookgrade.

com

Practical Radiation Oncology Physics A

Companion to Gunderson & Tepper's
Clinical Radiation Oncology

https://ebookgrade.com/product/practical-
radiation-oncology-physics-a-companion-to-
gunderson-teppers-clinical-radiation-oncology/

Explore and download more ebook at https://ebookgrade.com

Other documents randomly have
different content
 NOTES TO THE LAOCOON.

Note 1, p. 8.
Antiochus (Anthol. lib. ii. cap. 4). Hardouin, in his commentary on
Pliny (lib. xxxv. sect. 36), attributes this epigram to a certain Piso.
But among all the Greek epigrammatists there is none of this name.
 Note 2, p. 9.
For this reason Aristotle commanded that his pictures should not
be shown to young persons, in order that their imagination might be
kept as free as possible from all disagreeable images. (Polit. lib. viii.
cap. 5, p. 526, edit. Conring.) Boden, indeed, would read Pausanias
in this passage instead of Pauson, because that artist is known to
have painted lewd figures (de Umbra poetica comment. 1, p. xiii). As
if we needed a philosophic law-giver to teach us the necessity of
keeping from youth such incentives to wantonness! A comparison of
this with the well-known passage in the “Art of Poesy” would have
led him to withhold his conjecture. There are commentators, as
Kühn on Ælian (Var. Hist. lib. iv. cap. 3), who suppose the difference
mentioned by Aristotle as existing between Polygnotus, Dionysius,
and Pauson to consist in this: that Polygnotus painted gods and
heroes; Dionysius, men; and Pauson, animals. They all painted
human figures; and the fact that Pauson once painted a horse, does
not prove him to have been a painter of animals as Boden supposes
him to have been. Their rank was determined by the degree of beauty
they gave their human figures; and the reason that Dionysius could
paint nothing but men, and was therefore called pre-eminently the
anthropographist, was that he copied too slavishly, and could not rise
into the domain of the ideal beneath which it would have been
blasphemy to represent gods and heroes.
 Note 3, p. 11.
The serpent has been erroneously regarded as the peculiar symbol
of a god of medicine. But Justin Martyr expressly says (Apolog. ii. p.
55, edit. Sylburgh), παρά παντὶ τῶν νομιζομένων παρ’ ὑμῖν θεῶν,
ὄφις σύμβολον μέγα καὶ μυστήριον ἀναγράφεται; and a number of
monuments might be mentioned where the serpent accompanies
deities having no connection with health.
 Note 4, p. 12.
Look through all the works of art mentioned by Pliny, Pausanias,
and the rest, examine all the remaining statues, bas-reliefs, and
pictures of the ancients, and nowhere will you find a fury. I except
figures that are rather symbolical than belonging to art, such as those
generally represented on coins. Yet Spence, since he insisted on
having furies, would have done better to borrow them from coins
than introduce them by an ingenious conceit into a work where they
certainly do not exist. (Seguini Numis. p. 178. Spanheim, de Præst.
Numism. Dissert. xiii. p. 639. Les Césars de Julien, par Spanheim, p.
48.) In his Polymetis he says (dial. xvi.): “Though furies are very
uncommon in the works of the ancient artists, yet there is one
subject in which they are generally introduced by them. I mean the
death of Meleager, in the relievos of which they are often represented
as encouraging or urging Althæa to burn the fatal brand on which the
life of her only son depended. Even a woman’s resentment, you see,
could not go so far without a little help from the devil. In a copy of
one of these relievos, published in the ‘Admiranda,’ there are two
women standing by the altar with Althæa, who are probably meant
for furies in the original, (for who but furies would assist at such a
sacrifice?) though the copy scarce represents them horrid enough for
that character. But what is most to be observed in that piece is the
round disc beneath the centre of it, with the evident head of a fury
upon it. This might be what Althæa addressed her prayers to
whenever she wished ill to her neighbors, or whenever she was going
to do any very evil action. Ovid introduces her as invoking the furies
on this occasion in particular, and makes her give more than one
reason for her doing so.” (Metamorph. viii. 479.)
In this way we might make every thing out of any thing. “Who but
furies,” asks Spence, “would have assisted at such a sacrifice?” I
answer, the maid-servants of Althæa, who had to kindle and feed the
fire. Ovid says (Metamorph. viii.):—
Protulit hunc (stipitem) genetrix, tædasque in fragmina poni
Imperat, et positis inimicos admovet ignes.
“The mother brought the brand and commands torches to be placed
upon the pieces, and applies hostile flame to the pile.”
Both figures have actually in their hands these “tædas,” long pieces
of pine, such as the ancients used for torches, and one, as her
attitude shows, has just broken such a piece. As little do I recognize a
fury upon the disc towards the middle of the work. It is a face
expressive of violent pain,—doubtless the head of Meleager himself
(Metamorph. viii. 515).
Inscius atque absens flamma Meleagros in illa
Uritur; et cæcis torreri viscera sentit
Ignibus; et magnos superat virtute dolores.

“Meleager, absent and unconscious, is consumed in that fire, and

feels his bowels parched with the unseen flames; yet with courage he
subdues the dreadful pains.”
The artist used this as an introduction to the next incident of the
same story,—the death of Meleager. What Spence makes furies,
Montfaucon took to be fates, with the exception of the head upon the
disc, which he also calls a fury. Bellori leaves it undecided whether
they are fates or furies. An “or” which sufficiently proves that they
are neither the one nor the other. Montfaucon’s further
interpretation should have been clearer. The female figure resting on
her elbows by the bed, he should have called Cassandra, not
Atalanta. Atalanta is the one sitting in a grieving attitude with her
back towards the bed. The artist has very wisely turned her away
from the family, as being only the beloved, not the wife, of Meleager,
and because her distress at a calamity of which she had been the
innocent cause must have exasperated his family.
 Note 5, p. 14.
He thus describes the degrees of sadness actually expressed by
Timanthes: “Calchantem tristem, mæstum Ulyssem, clamantem
Ajacem, lamentantem Menelaum.” Ajax screaming would have been
extremely ugly, and since neither Cicero nor Quintilian, when
speaking of this picture, so describe him, I shall venture with the less
hesitation to consider this an addition with which Valerius has
enriched the canvas from his own invention.
 Note 6, p. 15.
We read in Pliny (lib. 34, sect. 19): “Eundem [Myro] vicit et
Pythagoras Leontinus, qui fecit statiodromon Astylon, qui Olympiæ
ostenditur: et Libyn puerum tenentem tabulam, eodem loco, et mala
ferentem nudum. Syracusis autem claudicantem: cujus hulceris
dolorem sentire etiam spectantes videntur.” “Pythagoras Leontinus
surpassed him (Myro). He made the statue of the runner, Astylon,
which is exhibited at Olympia, and in the same place a Libyan boy
holding a tablet, and a rude statue bearing apples; but at Syracuse a
limping figure, the pain of whose sore the beholders themselves seem
to feel.” Let us examine these last words more closely. Is there not
evident reference here to some person well known as having a
painful ulcer? “Cujus hulceris,” &c. And shall that “cujus” be made to
refer simply to the “claudicantem,” and the “claudicantem,” perhaps,
to the still more remote “puerum?” No one had more reason to be
known by such a malady than Philoctetes. I read, therefore, for
“claudicantem,” “Philoctetem,” or, at least, both together,
“Philoctetem claudicantem,” supposing that, as the words were so
similar in sound, one had crowded out the other. Sophocles
represents him as στίβον κατ’ ἀνάγκην ἕρπειν, compelled to drag his
limping gait, and his not being able to tread as firmly on his
wounded foot would have occasioned a limp.
 Note 7, p. 24.
When the chorus perceives Philoctetes under this accumulation of
miseries, his helpless solitude seems the circumstance that chiefly
touches them. We hear in every word the social Greek. With regard
to one passage, however, I have my doubts. It is this:—
Ἵν’ αὐτὸς ἦν πρόσουρος οὐκ ἔχων βάσιν,
οὐδέ τιν’ ἐγχώρων,
κακογείτονα παρ’ ᾧ στόνον ἀντίτυπον
βαρυβρῶτ’ ἀποκλαύ—
σειεν αἱματηρόν.

Lit.: I myself, my only neighbor, having no power to walk, nor any

companion, a neighbor in ill, to whom I might wail forth my echoing,
gnawing groans, bloodstained.
The common translation of Winshem renders the lines thus:—
Ventis expositus et pedibus captus
Nullum cohabitatorem
Nec vicinum ullum saltem malum habens, apud quem gemitum mutuum.
Gravemque ac cruentum
Ederet.

The translation of Thomas Johnson differs from this only in the

choice of words:—
Ubi ipse ventis erat expositus, firmum gradum non habens,
Nec quenquam indigenarum,
Nec malum vicinum, apud quem ploraret
Vehementur edacem
Sanguineum morbum, mutuo gemitu.

One might think he had borrowed these words from the translation
of Thomas Naogeorgus, who expresses himself thus (his work is very
rare, and Fabricius himself knew it only through Operin’s
Catalogue):—
... ubi expositus fuit
 Ventis ipse, gradum firmum haud habens,
Nec quenquam indigenam, nec vel malum
Vicinum, ploraret apud quem
Vehementer edacem atque cruentum
Morbum mutuo.

If these translations are correct, the chorus pronounces the strongest

possible eulogy on human society. The wretch has no human being
near him; he knows of no friendly neighbor; even a bad one would
have been happiness. Thomson, then, might have had this passage in
mind when he puts these words into the mouth of his Melisander,
who was likewise abandoned by ruffians on a desert island:—
Cast on the wildest of the Cyclad isles
Where never human foot had marked the shore,
These ruffians left me; yet believe me, Arcas,
Such is the rooted love we bear mankind,
All ruffians as they were, I never heard
A sound so dismal as their parting oars.

To him, also, the society of ruffians was better than none. A great and
admirable idea! If we could but be sure that Sophocles, too, had
meant to express it! But I must reluctantly confess to finding nothing
of the sort in him, unless, indeed, I were to use, instead of my own
eyes, those of the old scholiast, who thus transposes the words:—Οὐ
μόνον ὅπου καλὸν οὐκ εἶχέ τινα τῶν ἐγχωρίων γείτονα, ἀλλὰ οὐδὲ
κακόν, παρ’ οὗ ἀμοιβαῖον λόγον στενάζων ἀκούσειε. Brumoy, as well
as our modern German translator, has held to this reading, like the
translators quoted above. Brumoy says, “Sans société, même
importune;” and the German, “jeder Gesellschaft, auch der
beschwerlichsten, beraubt.” My reasons for differing from all of these
are the following. First, it is evident that if κακογείτονα was meant to
be separated from τιν’ ἐγχώρων and constitute a distinct clause, the
particle οὐδέ would necessarily have been repeated before it. Since
this is not the case, it is equally evident that κακογείτονα belongs to
τίνα, and there should be no comma after ἐγχώρων. This comma
crept in from the translation. Accordingly, I find that some Greek
editions (as that published at Wittenberg of 1585 in 8vo, which was
wholly unknown to Fabricius) are without it, but put a comma only
after κακογείτονα, as is proper. Secondly, is that a bad neighbor from
whom we may expect, as the scholiast has it, στόνον ἀντίτυπον,
ἀμοιβαῖον? To mingle his sighs with ours is the office of a friend, not
an enemy. In short, the word κακογείτονα has not been rightly
understood. It has been thought to be derived from the adjective
κακός, when it is really derived from the substantive τὸ κακόν. It
has been translated an evil neighbor, instead of a neighbor in ill. Just
as κακόμαντις means not an evil, in the sense of a false, untrue
prophet, but a prophet of evil, and κακότεχνος means not a bad,
unskilful painter, but a painter of bad things. In this passage the poet
means by a neighbor in ill, one who is overtaken by a similar
misfortune with ourselves, or from friendship shares our sufferings;
so that the whole expression, οὐδ’ ἔχων τιν’ ἐγχώρων κακογείτονα, is
to be translated simply by “neque quenquam indigenarum mali
socium habens.” The new English translator of Sophocles, Thomas
Franklin, must have been of my opinion. Neither does he find an evil
neighbor in κακογείτων, but translates it simply “fellow-mourner.”
Exposed to the inclement skies,
Deserted and forlorn he lies,
No friend nor fellow-mourner there,
To soothe his sorrow and divide his care.
 Note 8, p. 34.
Saturnal. lib. v. cap. 2. “Non parva sunt alia quæ Virgilius traxit a
Græcis, dicturumne me putatis quæ vulgo nota sunt? quod
Theocritum sibi fecerit pastoralis operis autorem, ruralis Hesiodum?
et quod in ipsis Georgicis, tempestatis serenitatisque signa de Arati
Phænomenis traxerit? vel quod eversionem Trojæ, cum Sinone suo,
et equo ligneo cæterisque omnibus, quæ librum secundum faciunt, a
Pisandro pene ad verbum transcripserit? qui inter Græcos poetas
eminet opere, quod a nuptiis Jovis et Junonis incipiens universas
historias, quæ mediis omnibus sæculis usque ad ætatem ipsius
Pisandri contigerunt, in unam seriem coactas redegerit, et unum ex
diversis hiatibus temporum corpus effecerit? in quo opere inter
historias cæteras interitus quoque Trojæ in hunc modum relatus est.
Quæ fideliter Maro interpretando, fabricatus est sibi Iliacæ urbis
ruinam. Sed et hæc et talia ut pueris decantata prætereo.”
Not a few other things were brought by Virgil from the Greeks, and
inserted in his poem as original. Do you think I would speak of what
is known to all the world? how he took his pastoral poem from
Theocritus, his rural from Hesiod? and how, in his Georgics, he took
from the Phenomena of Aratus the signs of winter and summer? or
that he translated almost word for word from Pisander the
destruction of Troy, with his Sinon and wooden horse and the rest?
For he is famous among Greek poets for a work in which, beginning
his universal history with the nuptials of Jupiter and Juno, he
collected into one series whatever had happened in all ages, to the
time of himself, Pisander. In which work the destruction of Troy,
among other things, is related in the same way. By faithfully
interpreting these things, Maro made his ruin of Ilium. But these,
and others like them, I pass over as familiar to every schoolboy.
 Note 9, p. 35.
I do not forget that a picture mentioned by Eumolpus in Petronius
may be cited in contradiction of this. It represented the destruction
of Troy, and particularly the history of Laocoon exactly as narrated
by Virgil. And since, in the same gallery at Naples were other old
pictures by Zeuxis, Protogenes, and Apelles, it was inferred that this
was also an old Greek picture. But permit me to say that a novelist is
no historian. This gallery and picture, and Eumolpus himself,
apparently existed only in the imagination of Petronius. That the
whole was fiction appears from the evident traces of an almost
schoolboyish imitation of Virgil. Thus Virgil (Æneid lib. ii. 199–224):
—
Hic aliud majus miseris multoque tremendum
Objicitur magis, atque improvida pectora turbat.
Laocoon, ductus Neptuno sorte sacerdos,
Solemnis taurum ingentem mactabat ad aras.
Ecce autem gemini a Tenedo tranquilla per alta
(Horresco referens) immensis orbibus angues
Incumbunt pelago, pariterque ad litora tendunt:
Pectora quorum inter fluctus arrecta, jubæque
Sanguineæ exsuperant undas: pars cetera pontum
Pone legit, sinuatque immensa volumine terga.
Fit sonitus, spumante salo: jamque arva tenebant,
Ardentesque oculos suffecti sanguine et igni
Sibila lambebant linguis vibrantibus ora.
Diffugimus visu exsangues. Illi agmine certo
Laocoonta petunt, et primum parva duorum
Corpora natorum serpens amplexus uterque
Implicat, et miseros morsu depascitur artus.
Post ipsum, auxilio subeuntem ac tela ferentem,
Corripiunt, spirisque ligant ingentibus; et jam
Bis medium amplexi, bis collo squamea circum
Terga dati, superant capite et cervicibus altis.
Ille simul manibus tendit divellere nodos,
Perfusus sanie vittas atroque veneno:
Clamores simul horrendos ad sidera tollit.
Quales mugitus, fugit cum saucius aram
Taurus et incertam excussit cervice securim.
 And thus Eumolpus, in whose lines, as is usually the case with
improvisators, memory has had as large a share as imagination:—
Ecce alia monstra. Celsa qua Tenedos mare
Dorso repellit, tumida consurgunt freta,
Undaque resultat scissa tranquillo minor.
Qualis silenti nocte remorum sonus
Longe refertur, cum premunt classes mare,
Pulsumque marmor abiete imposita gemit.
Respicimus, angues orbibus geminis ferunt
Ad saxa fluctus: tumida quorum pectora
Rates ut altæ, lateribus spumas agunt:
Dat cauda sonitum; liberæ ponto jubæ
Coruscant luminibus, fulmineum jubar
Incendit æquor, sibilisque undæ tremunt;
Stupuere mentes. Infulis stabant sacri
Phrygioque cultu gemina nati pignora
Laocoonte, quos repente tergoribus ligant
Angues corusci: parvulas illi manus
Ad ora referunt: neuter auxilio sibi
Uterque fratri transtulit pias vices,
Morsque ipsa miseros mutuo perdit metu.
Accumulat ecce liberûm funus parens
Infirmus auxiliator; invadunt virum
Jam morte pasti, membraque ad terram trahunt.
Jacet sacerdos inter aras victima.

The main points are the same in both, and in many places the
same words are used. But those are trifles, and too evident to require
mention. There are other signs of imitation, more subtle, but not less
sure. If the imitator be a man with confidence in his own powers, he
seldom imitates without trying to improve upon the original; and, if
he fancy himself to have succeeded, he is enough of a fox to brush
over with his tail the footprints which might betray his course. But he
betrays himself by this very vanity of wishing to introduce
embellishments, and his desire to appear original. For his
embellishments are nothing but exaggerations and excessive
refinements. Virgil says, “Sanguineæ jubæ”; Petronius, “liberæ jubæ
luminibus coruscant”; Virgil, “ardentes oculos suffecti sanguine et
igni”; Petronius, “fulmineum jubar incendit æquor.” Virgil, “fit
sonitus spumante salo”; Petronius, “sibilis undæ tremunt.” So the
imitator goes on exaggerating greatness into monstrosity, wonders
into impossibilities. The boys are secondary in Virgil. He passes them
over with a few insignificant words, indicative simply of their
helplessness and distress. Petronius makes a great point of them,
converting the two children into a couple of heroes.
Neuter auxilio sibi
Uterque fratri transtulit pias vices
Morsque ipsa miseros mutuo perdit metu.

Who expects from human beings, and children especially, such self-
sacrifice? The Greek understood nature better (Quintus Calaber, lib.
xii.), when he made even mothers forget their children at the
appearance of the terrible serpents, so intent was every one on
securing his own safety.
... ἔνθα γυναῖκες
Οἴμωζον, καὶ πού τις ἑῶν ἐπελήσατο τέκνων
Aὐτὴ ἀλευομένη στυγερὸν μόρον....

The usual method of trying to conceal an imitation is to alter the

shading, bringing forward what was in shadow, and obscuring what
was in relief. Virgil lays great stress upon the size of the serpents,
because the probability of the whole subsequent scene depends upon
it. The noise occasioned by their coming is a secondary idea,
intended to make more vivid the impression of their size. Petronius
raises this secondary idea into chief prominence, describing the noise
with all possible wealth of diction, and so far forgetting to describe
the size of the monsters that we are almost left to infer it from the
noise they make. He hardly would have fallen into this error, had he
been drawing solely from his imagination, with no model before him
which he wished to imitate without the appearance of imitation. We
can always recognize a poetic picture as an unsuccessful imitation
when we find minor details exaggerated and important ones
neglected, however many incidental beauties the poem may possess,
and however difficult, or even impossible, it may be to discover the
original.
 Note 10, p. 36.
Suppl. aux Antiq. Expl. T. i. p. 243. Il y a quelque petite différence
entre ce que dit Virgile, et ce que le marbre représente. Il semble,
selon ce que dit le poëte, que les serpens quittèrent les deux enfans
pour venir entortiller le père, au lieu que dans ce marbre ils lient en
même temps les enfans et leur père.
 Note 11, p. 37.
Donatus ad v. 227, lib. ii. Æneid. Mirandum non est, clypeo et
simulacri vestigiis tegi potuisse, quos supra et longos et validos dixit,
et multiplici ambitu circumdedisse Laocoontis corpus ac liberorum,
et fuisse superfluam partem. The “non” in the clause “mirandum non
est,” should, it seems to me, be omitted, unless we suppose the
concluding part of the sentence to be missing. For, since the serpents
were of such extraordinary length, it would certainly be surprising
that they could be concealed beneath the goddess’s shield, unless this
also were of great length, and belonged to a colossal figure. The
assurance that this was actually the case must have been meant to
follow, or the “non” has no meaning.
 Note 12, p. 39.
In the handsome edition of Dryden’s Virgil (London, 1697). Yet
here the serpents are wound but once about the body, and hardly at
all about the neck. So indifferent an artist scarcely deserves an
excuse, but the only one that could be made for him would be that
prints are merely illustrations, and by no means to be regarded as
independent works of art.
 Note 13, p. 40.
This is the judgment of De Piles in his remarks upon Du Fresnoy:
“Remarquez, s’il vous plaît, que les draperies tendres et légères,
n’étant données qu’au sexe féminin, les anciens sculpteurs ont évité
autant qu’ils out pu, d’habiller les figures d’hommes; parce qu’ils ont
pensé, comme nous l’avons déjà dit qu’en sculpture on ne pouvait
imiter les étoffes, et que les gros plis faisaient un mauvais effet. Il y a
presque autant d’exemples de cette vérité, qu’il y a parmi les
antiques, de figures d’hommes nuds. Je rapporterai seulement celui
du Laocoon, lequel, selon la vraisemblance, devrait être vêtu. En
effet, quelle apparence y a-t-il qu’un fils de roi, qu’un prêtre
d’Apollon, se trouvât tout nud dans la cérémonie actuelle d’un
sacrifice? car les serpens passèrent de l’île de Tenedos au rivage de
Troye, et surprirent Laocoon et ses fils dans le temps même qu’il
sacrifiait à Neptune sur le bord de la mer, comme le marque Virgile
dans le second livre de son Enéide. Cependant les artistes qui sont
les auteurs de ce bel ouvrage, ont bien vu qu’ils ne pouvaient pas leur
donner de vêtements convenables à leur qualité, sans faire comme
un amas de pierres, dont la masse ressemblerait à un rocher, au lieu
des trois admirables figures, qui ont été, et qui sont toujours,
l’admiration des siècles. C’est pour cela que de deux inconveniens, ils
out jugé celui des draperies beaucoup plus fâcheux, que celui d’aller
contre la vérité même.”
 Note 14, p. 42.
Maffei, Richardson, and, more recently, Herr Von Hagedorn.
(Betrachtungen über die Malerei, p. 37. Richardson, Traité de la
Peinture, vol. iii.) De Fontaines does not merit being reckoned in the
same class with these scholars. In the notes to his translation of
Virgil, he maintains, indeed, that the poet had the group in mind, but
he is so ignorant as to ascribe it to Phidias.
 Note 15, p. 44.
I can adduce no better argument in support of my view than this
poem of Sadolet. It is worthy of one of the old poets, and, since it
may well take the place of an engraving, I venture to introduce it here
entire.

DE LAOCOONTIS STATUA JACOBI SADOLETI CARMEN.

Ecce alto terræ e cumulo, ingentisque ruinæ

Visceribus, iterum reducem longinqua reduxit
Laocoonta dies; aulis regalibus olim
Qui stetit, atque tuos ornabat, Tite, Penates.
Divinæ simulacrum artis, nec docta vetustas
Nobilius spectabat opus, nunc celsa revisit
Exemptum tenebris redivivæ mœnia Romæ.
Quid primum summumque loquar? miserumne parentem
Et prolem geminam? an sinuatos flexibus angues
Terribili aspectu? caudasque irasque draconum
Vulneraque et veros, saxo moriente, dolores?
Horret ad hæc animus, mutaque ab imagine pulsat
Pectora, non parvo pietas commixta tremori.
Prolixum bini spiris glomerantur in orbem
Ardentes colubri, et sinuosis orbibus errant,
Ternaque multiplici constringunt corpora nexu.
Vix oculi sufferre valent, crudele tuendo
Exitium, casusque feros: micat alter, et ipsum
Laocoonta petit, totumque infraque supraque
Implicat et rabido tandem ferit ilia morsu.
Connexum refugit corpus, torquentia sese
Membra, latusque retro sinuatum a vulnere cernas.
Ille dolore acri, et laniatu impulsus acerbo,
Dat gemitum ingentem, crudosque evellere dentes
Connixus, lævam impatiens ad terga Chelydri
Objicit: intendunt nervi, collectaque ab omni
Corpore vis frustra summis conatibus instat.
Ferre nequit rabiem, et de vulnere murmur anhelum est.
At serpens lapsu crebro redeunte subintrat
Lubricus, intortoque ligat genua infima nodo.