THE MESSAGE 
 lOF G REEK ART 
 
 H.H. POWERS 
 
 [OME READING SERIES 
 
 
 % 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 Wm. Sulzer 
 
Cornell University Library 
 N5630 .P88 
 
 The message of Greek art 
 
 olin 
 
 3 1924 030 649 374 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924030649374 
 
OF TIME AND SPACE. 
 
 By Wm. Sulzer 
 Former Governor of New York. 
 
 Our word time comes from the old Saxon 
 word tima. It is not related to the Latin word 
 tempus. 
 
 Time is a measurement from one event to 
 another event. It is the distance of duration 
 from one period to another period. 
 
 What we call time is measured by successive 
 intervals. The astronomical information for this 
 statement is the rotation of the earth, which, 
 from remotest antiquity, has been employed as 
 a measurement. Astronomers use what they 
 call sidereal time, and regulate their chronom- 
 eters accordingly. Many ancient people mea- 
 sured time by the moon — called lunar time. Now 
 the countries of the world use solar time, which 
 means the successive returns of the sun to the 
 meridian; but neither lunar time, nor solar time, 
 was ever an accurate measurement. The Mayan 
 people fixed their time by the transit of Venus, 
 which was the most accurate calendar of any 
 people in the history of the world. 
 
 More than 7,000 years ago the wise men of 
 India saw four planets in conjunction. So far 
 as they knew this had never happened before. 
 It was a marvelous sight. They called it the 
 "Caliyoga." Then they decreed that it should 
 constitute the year one, and that every 600 
 years thereafter a Hindu god, or sacred person, 
 should be born. This reckoning was subse- 
 quently adopted by other people in the East, but 
 most of them changed the number of years to 
 suit their own views, history, or tribal tradi- 
 tions. Astronomers now know that these four 
 planets are in conjunction every 28,000 years. 
 
 When the Roman Senate decreed Augustus 
 Caesar god, and made his person sacred, they 
 adopted a new calendar, and made his birthday 
 the year one — Anno Domini. They also named 
 our days and months. Their calendar, however, 
 
was so inaccurate that centuries afterwards it 
 had to be reformed by adding ten days. This 
 change made it more accurate, but it is now far 
 from being correct. 
 
 The story of time, throughout the earth, is 
 one of constant change and variation. As a 
 matter of fact there is no such thing as "Time". 
 It is a mere figment of the imagination, and has 
 nothing to do with the stellar universe. Never- 
 theless, I hope the day is not far distant when 
 the greatest scientists in the world will meet, 
 and agree upon a more accurate system of 
 measurement than we have at present. Our 
 days, and months, and years, should be so ar- 
 ranged that our calendar will be accurate, and 
 excite less derision, and cause less confusion. 
 Our calendar now is archaic, and out of line 
 with scientific knowledge. 
 
 Regarding space, that is a different proposi- 
 tion. Space is a fact. We can see it. We know 
 it. It has no center, and no circumference. It 
 had no beginning, and can have no end. It is 
 occupied by all the matter in the stellar uni- 
 verse, of which our earth, and our sun, are 
 infinitesimal grains of sand on the shoreless sea 
 of interstellar space. So I assert, from study, 
 observation, and reflection, without fear of suc- 
 cessful contradiction, the following, viz : 
 
 First: There is no time. 
 
 Second: Space has no limitations. It is not 
 expanding or contracting. 
 
 Third: Matter is scattered here and there, 
 throughout space. Matter is alive, and in con- 
 tinuous flux, which means change and trans- 
 formation. If all the matter we know about 
 in space was united it would mean, so far as 
 space is concerned, just about as much as an 
 atom in the rotunda of the Pennsylvania Rail- 
 road Station. It is hard to visualize this, but 
 It IS true. Matter is indestructible. The 
 natural state of matter is motion. Everything 
 moves; everything changes. There is nothing 
 permanent but change— metamorphism. For 
 every action there is reaction, of equal force 
 and opposite in direction. ' 
 
Fourth : Motion is a natural law like 
 change. All matter is in constant motion. 
 There is nothing static, and the law of motion 
 is perpetual. Motion is force ; and force is 
 energy; and energy in its last analysis is elec- 
 tricity. The law of motion applies to every 
 electron in space. 
 
 Fifth : These natural laws which apply to 
 space, matter, change, and motion are immu- 
 table. The knowledge of these natural laws, 
 and their application, constitutes all that we 
 know concerning the stellar universe. 
 
 Now and then a few Physicists advance the 
 theory that time and space are one — three parts 
 space and one part time. This, they tell us, is 
 the recipe for the cosmos. However, a little 
 thought will prove to any logical brain that 
 this theory is erroneous. As there is no time, 
 and time does not exist, it follows as a logical 
 conclusion that time cannot be a part of space. 
 
 We also hear much in recent days about 
 "Relativity" — especially from Professor Ein- 
 stein. Relativity is as old as the mountains. 
 It was taught, thousands of years ago, by the 
 wise men of India; then by the sages of 
 Chaldea; and from their teachings the Greeks 
 learned about it. Some of the greatest of the 
 ancient Greeks declared that everything in the 
 stellar universe was relative. Before Profes- 
 sor Einstein was born several German philos- 
 ophers, and English scientists, asserted the 
 theory. 
 
 I have read everything Mr. Einstein has 
 written, and so far as I can find out he has 
 made no discovery, nor added an iota to the 
 sum of human knowledge. There is no doubt 
 about his ability as a mathematician, but there 
 has been nothing added to mathematics since 
 Newton. 
 
 Hegel boasted that only one _ person in the 
 world understood him. Einstein boasts that 
 only about a dozen people in the world under- 
 stand him. Hegel was in error, and Einstein 
 is laboring under a delusion. Einstein's 
 abracadabra, like that of many of his predeces- 
 sors, in the classic word of Henry Ford is 
 "Bunk." 
 
Front i^pi'^ce. 
 
 Head of Demeter of Cnidus. British Museum, London. 
 
THE MESSAGE 
 
 OF 
 
 GREEK ART 
 
 BY 
 
 H. H. POWERS, Ph.D. 
 
 PRESIDENT OF THE BUREAU OF UNIVERSITY TRAVEL 
 AUTHOR OF " MORNINGS WITH MASTERS OF ART " 
 
 €\iz Cijautauqua ^xtss 
 
 CHAUTAUQUA, NEW YORK 
 
 MCMXIII , ,,,. 1^1 
 
 TYI T^ 
 
 nTTTT 
 
Copyright, 1913, 
 Bv H. H. POWERS. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1913. 
 
 J. S. Gushing Co. — Berwick ifc Smith Co. 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Introductlon. Things Greek 1 
 
 II. The Kingdom of Minos. The ^Egean Civilization. 
 
 3000(?)-1500(!') B.c 10 
 
 III. The Newcomers and their Art. The Invasion of the 
 
 Northerners. 1500(.')-1000(?) b.c 25 
 
 IV. The Worshiper and his Wooden Image. Cult Statues. 
 
 The Earliest Greek Sculpture ... .40 
 
 V. Temple Builders and Painters. Why the Greeks 
 ^~ painted the Parthenon . . . . 55 
 
 rVIy Art and the Tyrants. Pisistratus and his New 
 
 Program for Athens. 560-510 b.c 71 
 
 VII. Art and Democracy. The Democratic Reaction and 
 
 Victory over Persia. 510-450 b.c 96 
 
 VIII. Athens becomes an Empire. The Delian League. 
 
 Pericles and Phidias. 450-400 b.c 121 
 
 i ix. artand_ejtei-re. the building of the parthenon, 
 
 THE PrOPYL^A and THE ErECHTHEUM . 133 
 
 ''x!) New Ideals in Art. Phidias and the Parthenon 
 
 © 
 
 Sculptures . .... 158 
 
 XI. Art and the Scientists. Myron : Polyclitus and his 
 
 CanoV . ."'... . . 195 
 
 '■' Xir." Art Xnd'the Philosophers. Praxiteles and Scopas. 
 
 406-338 B.C. ' " . . ... . 211 
 
 XIII. The Diffusion of Art. Greek Memorials to the Dead 243 
 
 XIV. The Mutual Co nquest. G^reece.,, and Alexander. 
 
 338-300 B.C. . ... . . ^J78_ 
 
 XV. Dispersion and Transfusion. Alexandria, Rhodes, 
 
 and Pergamon. 300-146 b.c 310 
 
 INDEX ... ........ 335 
 
 APPENDIX , , . '. 337 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Head of Demeter of Cnidus. 
 
 FIGURE 
 I. 
 2, 
 3- 
 
 4' 
 5' 
 6. 
 
 7- 
 
 (London, British Museum) Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 i6 
 
 i6 
 i6 
 
 Minoan Vase. (Candia, Musjeum) .... 
 
 Minoan Vase. (Candia, Museum) 
 
 " Cup of Nestor." (Athens, National Museum) 
 Gold Ornaments from Mycenae. (Athens, National Museum) 
 Gold Ornaments from Mycenae. (Athens, National Museum) 
 Gold Cups from Vaphio. (Athens, National Museum) 
 Dipylon Vase. (Boston, Museum) . 
 
 8. Proto-Corinthian Vase. (Boston, Museum) 
 
 9. Black-figured Vase. (Boston, Museum) 
 
 10. Red-figured Vase. (Boston, Museum) . 
 
 11. Lion Gate. (Mycenae) .... 
 
 12. Female Figure from Delos. (Athens, National Museum) 
 
 1 3. Ground-plan of temple ; Distyle in antis 
 
 14. Ground-plan of temple ; Prostyle . 
 
 15. Ground-plan of temple ; Amphiprostyle . 
 
 16. Ground-plan of temple ; Peristyle . 
 
 17. Reconstruction of Fa9ade, Temple of ^gina 
 
 18. Heracles and the Hydra. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 19. Lions attacking a Bull. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) . 
 
 20. Typhon. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) .... 
 
 21. Figure mounting a Chariot. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 22. Athena and Giant. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 23. Sabouroff Head. (Berlin, Museum) 
 
 24. Rampin Head. (Paris, Louvre) 
 
 25. Calf-bearer. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 26. Female Figure. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 27. Female Figure. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 28. Female Figure. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 29. Female Figure. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 30. Female Figure by Antenor (?). (Athens, Acropolis Museum 
 
 31. Hestia Giustiniani. (Rome, Torlonia) . 
 
 32. Metope from Zeus Temple. (Olympia, Museum) 
 
 33. Apollo of Orchomenos, (Athens, National Museum) 
 
 34. Apollo of Thera. (Athens, National Museum) 
 
VIU 
 
 List of Illustrations 
 
 35- 
 36. 
 37- 
 38- 
 39- 
 40. 
 41. 
 42. 
 
 43- 
 44. 
 
 45- 
 46. 
 
 47- 
 48. 
 49. 
 50. 
 5i- 
 52- 
 53- 
 54- 
 55- 
 56. 
 57- 
 61- 
 
 64. 
 65- 
 
 7'- 
 72. 
 
 73- 
 74- 
 75- 
 76. 
 
 77' 
 78. 
 
 79. 
 80, 
 81. 
 82, 
 
 Apollo of Melos. (Athens, National Museum) 
 
 Apollo Strangford. (London, British Museum) 
 
 Apollo of Tenea. (Munich, Glyptothek) 
 
 Head of a Youth. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) . 
 
 Figure of a Youth. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) . 
 
 Harmodius and Aristogiton. (Naples, Museum) . 
 
 Apollo of the Omphalos. (Athens, National Museum) 
 
 Pericles. (London, British Museum) 
 
 The Parthenon. (Athens) 
 
 Stylobate of Parthenon .... 
 
 Capital of Parthenon .... 
 
 Restoration of the Acropolis of Athens . 
 
 Ground-plan of the Erechtheum. (Athens) 
 
 Maiden Porch, Erechtheum 
 
 Caryatid from Maiden Porch. (London, British Museum) 
 
 Athena Lemnia. (Dresden, Albettinum) 
 
 West Pediment from Temple of ^Egina. (Munich, Glyptothek) 
 
 Restoration of East Pediment, Temple of Zeus. (Olympia, Museum) 
 
 East Pediment of Parthenon, left half. (London, British Museum) 
 
 East Pediment of Parthenon, right half. (London, British Museum) 
 
 Weber Head. (Paris, Laborde Collection) .... 
 
 Metope from Parthenon. (London, British Museum) 
 ■60. Slabs from West Frieze of Parthenon (In situ) 
 •63. Slabs from North Frieze of Parthenon. (London, British Mu- 
 seum) .......... 
 
 Slab from East Frieze of Parthenon. (Paris, Louvre) 
 •67. Slabs from East Frieze of Parthenon. (Athens and London) 
 70. Slabs from South Frieze of Parthenon. (London, British Mu 
 seum) ........ 
 
 Nike fastening her Sandal. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 Nike leading a Bull. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 Head of Zeus. (Boston, Museum) . ..... 
 
 Athena Parthenos, Varvakeion Copy. (Athens, National Museum) 
 
 Athena Parthenos, Lenormant Copy. (Athens, National Museum) 
 
 Athena Parthenos, Pergamon Copy. (Berlin, Museum) 
 
 Athena Parthenos, Madrid Copy. (Madrid, Prado) 
 
 Minerva Giustiniani. (Rome, Vatican) . 
 
 Discobolus. (Rome, Terme) . 
 
 Dancing Satyr — Marsyas. (Rome, Lateran) 
 
 Doryphorus. (Naples, National Museum) 
 
 Amazon. (London, Lansdowne House) 
 
List of Illustrations ix 
 
 FIGURE PAGE 
 
 83. Hermes of Praxiteles. (Olympia, Museum) ..... 215 
 
 84. Head of Hermes 216 
 
 85. Apollo Sauroctonus. (Paris, Louvre) 221 
 
 86. Satyr — Marble Faun. (Rome, Capitoline) . . . .223 
 
 87. Aphrodite of Cnidus. (Rome, Vatican) 225 
 
 88. Head of Aphrodite 226 
 
 89. Eros with the Bow. (Rome, Vatican) 229 
 
 90. Eros Centocelle. (Rome, Vatican) 231 
 
 91. Demeter of Cnidus. (London, British Museum) .... 233 
 92-95. Slabs from Large Frieze of Mausoleum, Halicarnassus. (Lon- 
 don, British Museum) 235 
 
 96. Base of a Column from Ephesus. (London. British Museum) . 237 
 
 97. Niobid Chiaramonti. (Rome, Vatican) 238 
 
 98. Niobid, Roman Copy. (Florence, Uflizi) 239 
 
 99. Head of a Woman. (Athens, National Museum) . . . 241 
 
 100. Egyptian Tomb Door. (Cairo, Museum) 245 
 
 loi. Egyptian Memorial Tablet. (Cairo, Museum) .... 247 
 
 102. Grave Relief of the Farmer, by Alxenor. (Athens, National Mu- 
 
 seum) 249 
 
 103. Grave Rehef of Aristion. (Athens, National Museum) . . 249 
 
 104. Grave Relief of Hegeso. (Athens, Ceramicus) . . . -251 
 
 105. Grave Relief of Dexileos. (Athens, Ceramicus) .... 254 
 
 106. Grave Relief: The Farevirell. (Athens, National Museum) . . 258 
 
 107. Grave Relief of Protonoe. (Athens, Ceramicus) .... 260 
 
 108. Grave Relief: Mistress with Servants. (Athens, National Mu- 
 
 seum) ........... 261 
 
 109. Grave Relief: Three Figures with Infant. (Athens, National 
 
 Museum) 262 
 
 no. Grave Relief : Parting Admonitions. (Athens, National Museum) 264 
 
 111. Grave Relief : Father and Son. (Athens, National Museum) . 265 
 
 112. Grave Relief: Father comforting his Son. (Athens, National 
 
 Museum) 267 
 
 113. Grave Relief, detail: Head of Woman. (Athens, National Mu- 
 
 seum) ........... 269 
 
 114. Grave Rehef: Water Carrier. (Athens, Ceramicus) 
 
 115. Orpheus and Eurydice. (Naples, National Museum) 
 
 116. Mourning Athena. (Athens, Acropolis Museum) 
 
 117. Warrior, fragment from Grave Relief. (Copenhagen) 
 
 118. Ganymede and the Eagle. (Rome, Vatican) 
 
 119. Apollo Belvedere. (Rome, Vatican) . 
 
 120. Agias. (Delphi, Museum) 
 
 271 
 272 
 
 27s 
 281 
 284 
 286 
 289 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 FIGURE PAGE 
 
 121. Apoxyomenos. (Rome, Vatican) ....... 290 
 
 122. Head of Alexander, f Paris, Louvre) ...... 292 
 
 123. Head of Alexander — Helios. (Rome, Capitoline) . . . 293 
 
 124. Sarcophagus of the Mourning Women. (Constantinople) . . 295 
 
 125. Alexander Sarcophagus. (Constantinople) ..... 297 
 
 126. Nike of Pseonius, Restoration. (Olympia, Museum) . . . 300 
 
 127. Nike of Samothrace. (Paris, Louvre) ...... 302 
 
 128. Aphrodite of Melos. (Paris, Louvre) ...... 306 
 
 129. Head of a Woman. (Boston, Museum) ..... 318 
 
 130. Farnese Bull. (Naples, National Museum) 320 
 
 131. Laocoon. (Rome, Vatican) ........ 322 
 
 132. Dying Gaul. (Rome, Capitoline) 325 
 
 133. Fallen Giant. (Naples, National Museum) 325 
 
 134. Dying Amazon. (Naples, National Museum) .... 325 
 
 135. Marsyas. (Paris, Louvre) 329 
 
 136. Knife Grinder. (Florence, Uffizi) ...... 329 
 
 137. Section of Frieze, Pergamon Altar. (Berlin, Museum) . . 332 
 
THE MESSAGE OF GREEK ART 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 INTRODUCTION — THINGS GREEK 
 
 This is not a history of Greek art. Still less is it a record of 
 personal research or exploration beyond the limits of previous 
 knowledge. The writer is deeply conscious of the debt which 
 he and others owe to the patient scholarship which has rescued 
 from oblivion so much that he values, but he claims no part in 
 the honor of this achievement. He has found in the civiliza- 
 tion thus rescued a thing inspiring and enjoyable beyond any 
 other. While sharing with scholars the regret that so much 
 still remains unknown, he has even greater regret that the known 
 is so inaccessible, that so few enjoy what he has found enjoyable 
 or feel the inspiration which he has felt. This regret is the occa- 
 sion of this book, and sufficiently suggests its purpose. 
 
 As the title of the book implies, the subject here chiefly dis- 
 cussed is Greek art, but with emphasis rather upon the adjec- 
 tive than upon the noun. The subject is never dissociated in 
 thought from its great background of Greek civilization and 
 history, and it derives its chief interest to the writer from the 
 fact that it so constantly reveals and interprets this larger fact. 
 It is therefore the message of Greek art, what it has to tell us 
 of the Greeks, of their personality, their ideals and their experi- 
 ences, that will chiefly concern us, rather than considerations of 
 process or later accident. 
 
 By common consent the Greek civilization is the most remark- 
 able that the world has ever known. If its supremacy is more 
 relative than absolute, it is not the less significant. The Greeks 
 
The Message of Greek Art 
 
 of course lacked the distinctively modern appliances which have 
 so largely increased human eflSciency. The mighty blocks of 
 the Parthenon were lifted into place by muscle rather than by 
 steam power. The education of the Athenian citizen was accom- 
 plished without the printing press. Decidedly, in the matter 
 of plant, our civilization is superior. 
 
 But is it not clear that this very fact increases the marvel 
 of Greek achievement ? If they could produce such temples and 
 such personalities with their appliances, what ought we to pro- 
 duce with ours ? If we measure civilization by its plant, ours 
 is easily ahead. But if we measure by ratio of product to plant, 
 ours bears no comparison. Decidedly, the Greek was a success 
 at the task of living. 
 
 The conventional and concessive recognition of these facts 
 hinders rather than helps their appreciation. We never take 
 much account of facts which we concede unthinkingly as matters 
 of course. Hence it happens that when we are seriously con- 
 fronted with such facts, we too often repudiate our former con- 
 cessions and fail to draw the legitimate inference. After all, 
 isn't this Greek superiority a myth ? Was their art any better 
 than our art ? Have they anything to teach us, who are in so 
 many ways ahead of them in the race ? 
 
 The only answer to this complacent skepticism into which our 
 empty recognition resolves itself on the slightest pressure is to 
 be found in a fuller acquaintance with the Greeks and their 
 achievements. That answer the writer believes will be conclu- 
 sive. His conviction deepens that here is one of the supreme 
 phenomena of history. In Athens, for a century or two, life 
 scored its most notable success. Here for a brief season the 
 fecund organism of the species ceased to turn out its wonted 
 animal product, and produced the higher man-stuff in unprec- 
 edented measure. And this new type slipped the leash of old- 
 time superstitions, shook itself free from imbruting traditions, 
 won measurable control over the baser impulses, and strode 
 boldly over the barriers which convention had set to thought. 
 
Introduction 
 
 Imagination reveled in magnificent fancies and disciplined itself 
 for their realization. Emotion became the trained servant of 
 the mind, a thing neither petted nor suppressed. This union 
 of emotion and insight under perfect discipline produced those 
 great human products, art, science, literature, philosophy, 
 ethics, which together constitute culture, the finished human 
 thing. They did not exhaust the possibilities of these things, of 
 course. No race ever will, least of all a race which is granted 
 but a moment of existence on a mere speck of a vast darkened 
 earth. That is not the important thing. It concerns us rather 
 to note that life was here more productive of the higher goods 
 than at any other time or place. 
 
 All this, of course, wUl be interpreted as a relative rather than 
 an absolute supremacy. It amounts to saying that the Greeks 
 did extremely well, better indeed than any other people, con- 
 sidering their time and circumstances. At the risk of being 
 taken for an extremist, the writer wUl venture the opinion that 
 in essential matters the Greek supremacy was absolute as well 
 as relative. Greek character was better rounded than our own. 
 Greek mental development, though less affluent in detail, had 
 a juster balance of faculties than ours. Greek perception of 
 subtle harmonies of relation was much keener in many lines than 
 ours. Nor can it be admitted, as is so often assumed, that 
 Greek development was one-sided,, subordinating the ethical to 
 the aesthetic. Nothing is more amazing in Greek history than 
 the vigor of its ethical assertion. Even the most criticized acts 
 of the Athenian state compare favorably with those of the most 
 ethically developed peoples in our day. The attack upon 
 Syracuse was less wanton than our attack upon Mexico two 
 generations ago and its underlying motive far higher. Athenian 
 slavery was a thing of sweetness and light compared with our 
 own, and Greek religion interested itself in its amelioration as 
 our own did not do. No modern divine or prophet of other 
 mold has uttered words which will draw tears of homage after 
 two thousand years as do the words of Socrates in his prison. 
 
The Message of Greek Art 
 
 The list might be prolonged indefinitely, but it would take us far 
 from our chosen theme. Suffice it to say that it is more than 
 doubtful, in the light of our last century of history, whether any 
 race now living, if situated as were the Athenians, subjected to 
 the same temptations and confronted by the same appalling 
 disasters, would acquit themselves as well. And it is perfectly 
 certain that no modern people under like conditions would 
 build a Parthenon. 
 
 Can it be that such a people has no lesson for us, no wealth 
 of achievement to bequeath which shall lessen the perplexities 
 and increase the joy of living ? If so, then there is no value in 
 the continuity of life, and we live in vain for those who come 
 after us. There is infinite unplausibility in such an assumption. 
 There is no possible justification for the prevailing ignorance 
 and indifference regarding this most significant episode in human 
 history. Is it a thing to pardon when a prominent newspaper 
 can speak of Plato as an English writer, or a seemingly intelli- 
 gent listener to a lecture on the Age of Pericles can ask the 
 speaker to kindly tell her "what are pericles ?" Why is it that 
 the torch of Greek civilization lights us so dimly on our way ? 
 
 The explanation is to be found in part in the widespread 
 revolt against "classical studies" and the policy which they 
 represent. That policy is one of insistence upon the study of 
 the Greek language as a necessary preliminary to the study of 
 Greek literature and in general of things Greek. It matters 
 not that the route thus chosen is the most impassable of all 
 entrances into the promised land, that of those directed thither 
 not one in a hundred ever starts, and of those who start not one 
 in a hundred ever arrives ; it still holds its place as the road of 
 preference, the only one leading to the true mandarinate of 
 culture. 
 
 On no account would the writer be willing to see that road 
 closed. He studied Greek as a youth and does not regret it. 
 He remembers catching faint glimpses of the eternal things and 
 struggling with the lump in his throat as he wrestled with the 
 
Introduction 5 
 
 aorists of Plato, and he grudges neither the time nor the struggle. 
 But few were his comrades and slight his glimpses in this first 
 effort to spy out the land. Conquest and possession came 
 later and by another route. Not till after years, when his 
 Greek was forgotten, did he make the acquaintance of things 
 Greek. By all means keep open the old route via conjugation 
 and syntax, but give it no monopoly, no misleading preference. 
 We must open up other thoroughfares, broad and convenient, 
 through which all may enter. Let us hope that the day is not 
 far off when every department of Greek will be a department of 
 things Greek, in which, not one achievement of this favored 
 race and that the leanest and the least, but all the products of 
 its unparalleled culture shall be made accessible to all whom 
 they may profit. That accessibility must be secured by the 
 removal of every unnecessary obstacle. It is a crime against 
 culture to interpose the Greek language as a barrier to the 
 study of Greek literature. It is a calamitous mistake to devote, 
 to the problems of Greek syntax the energies which might 
 master the meaning of Greek art. 
 
 But our plea is not merely for a larger recognition of Greek 
 achievement, and for the study of Greek art as well as — even 
 in lieu of — Greek syntax. We must study Greek art in a 
 larger way. In art as in linguistic studies we have been more 
 careful of syntax than of sense. Our age is a scientific age. 
 Our triumphs have been those of intellect, the extension of 
 exact knowledge and its application to practical affairs. Emo- 
 tion and sentiment have had little to do with these achievements 
 and their part has seemed to be a disturbing one. We have 
 come to distrust emotion and to regard it as an indulgence of our 
 leisure hours to be eschewed in moments of serious occupation 
 and indulged but sparingly when we are in training. This 
 dispassionate "scientific spirit" is highly conducive to exact 
 knowledge, the great desideratum in scientific investigation. 
 
 But we sometimes forget that knowledge, as the word is 
 here used, can bring us only into intellectual relation with things. 
 
The Message of Greek Art 
 
 and that there are some things whose very nature requires a 
 different kind of knowing. Take people, for instance. How 
 long must we investigate a man before we can say that we know 
 him ? When a recruit is called to the colors, he is examined as 
 to height, weight, lung capacity, heart action, eyes, teeth and 
 every possible fact of significance. When the result is tabu- 
 lated, the examiner has a body of exact knowledge regarding 
 the man to which no friend of his can pretend, but has he made 
 any progress toward an acquaintance? Even if the examination 
 were extended to qualities of head and heart, the two would 
 never get acquainted, would never know each other in that very 
 significant sense which is familiar between friends, unless in- 
 vestigation were supplemented by another kind of experience. 
 
 It is acquaintance, as the word is understood between friends, 
 which is the object of our quest. Such a quest is not unscientific, 
 for it allows the fullest place to exact knowledge, but it involves 
 some things in addition which exact knowledge cannot furnish, 
 just as a fireside acquaintance with a person involves things 
 quite outside the measurements of the recruit. 
 
 The scientific preoccupation of our age has led to a great deal 
 of art study which is of much the same nature as the measure- 
 ment of the recruit. There is first of all the study of processes 
 or technique. There is a great deal to be learned about this, 
 and like any line of study, the inquiry becomes very absorbing. 
 The investigator may even forget that there is anything else 
 to study. The writer recalls the contemptuous remark of an 
 instructor in art history: "I don't bother about the artist's 
 message. What I try to show them is how he does it." This 
 is quite naturally the attitude of the craft, but it is not confined 
 to the craft. 
 
 The fragmentary character of Greek sculpture and of our 
 knowledge regarding it offers another line of fascinating scien- 
 tific inquiry, namely, archaeology. There are missing parts to 
 figure out, gaps in the series to fill, affinities to determine, at- 
 tributions to settle, literary allusions to explain, etc. These 
 
Introduction 
 
 are scientific problems of the greatest importance to the ultimate 
 understanding of Greek art, and so absorbing that in many an 
 academic circle archaeology and art seem to have become in- 
 terchangeable terms. 
 
 But it will be clear on a moment's reflection that however 
 valuable these studies may be, they do not give us what we are 
 seeking, an acquaintance which shall give us the artist's mean- 
 ing and inspiration. If instruction in art is too often limited 
 to such inquiries, it is because they are scientific in their nature, 
 and we know how to go about scientific inquiries. Even if 
 we are conscious of something beyond these inquiries which is 
 supremely important, we stand with a helpless feeling that this 
 is something which cannot be learned or taught, that in the 
 presence of art itself we cannot be helpful to one another. 
 And yet, oh, how we do need help in this same presence ! 
 
 There are many things about art which science may investi- 
 gate, but art itself is the very antithesis of science. Science is 
 organized knowledge, but art is organized emotion. They 
 are the two halves of our dual nature, two halves equally vital 
 and equally entitled to honor, halves Somewhat out of balance 
 just now, but superbly balanced in the character of the race 
 we are dealing with. Now to know emotion, we must feel, 
 just as to know color, we must see. We can no more interpret 
 art in terms of exact knowledge than we can interpret color 
 in terms of hearing. The things of the spirit must be spiritually 
 discerned. The essential thing, therefore, in studying art, is to 
 create in our minds ascertain emotional susceptibility, an ap- 
 preciative mood. The mind thus sensitized is quick to receive 
 the impress of the artist's imagination, while historic and technic 
 data acquire a new significance. But to explain art to a mind 
 not thus sensitized, is like photographing on! an unsensitized 
 plate. We may know all about a picture or statue, and if we 
 have not felt, we do not know it as art. 
 
 It is a delicate matter, in the light of these considerations, to 
 propose a task which our age seems to have regarded as either 
 
8 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 unworthy or beyond our powers. Not without concern does 
 the writer expose himself to the charge on the one hand of sen- 
 timentality, and on the other of presimiption. But whatever 
 the risk, he has elected to present Greek art as art. He would 
 fain trace these fair forms back, not to the quarry from whence 
 they were digged nor to the chisel with which they were shaped, 
 but to the mind that gave them meaning and to the passions 
 that gave them birth. He would invoke their aid to secure 
 spiritual citizenship in this most wonderful of communities, 
 to find himself in the mighty currents of feeling which animated 
 this creative race, to see their visions and share their struggles 
 for things good and beautiful and true. Through the aid of 
 Greek art once more to worship Athena in her temple, to re- 
 joice with the bridegroom at the bride imbued with charm by 
 Aphrodite, to join in the sad farewell at the departure to the 
 undiscovered country, and with Orpheus resign Eurydice to 
 the Lord of Shades, and in turn, to feel our heart leap within us 
 as Helios bursts from the waves and his chariot gleams from 
 the sky, this is to know Greek art. 
 
 It goes without saying that such a study leads us constantly 
 beyond the mere study of statues, back to the busy life which 
 they reveal. The very significance of Greek art, its vitality 
 which so far exceeds that of any other age or people, lies in the 
 fact that it never lost touch with life. Every wave of passion, 
 every alternation of victory and defeat, every change of private 
 culture or social organization was reflected in art. The study of 
 art, as here defined, consists largely in the tracing of this rela- 
 tion. If, therefore, the reader finds with surprise that the 
 writer continually digresses from art to history, the only reply 
 is that this is not a digression. If at the end, the reader feels 
 somewhat acquainted with the Greeks and their art, acquainted 
 with the Greeks through their art, on better terms with them 
 and more conscious of their spiritual fellowship, the purpose of 
 the writer will have been in so far accomplished. 
 
 It will possibly avoid misunderstanding and forestall criti- 
 
Introduction 
 
 cism to confess freely that something of symmetry and present- 
 ableness has been given to the subject by a freer use of conjec- 
 ture than a purely archaeological treatise would allow. At 
 the best, the magnificent fabric of Greek art must forever 
 hang in tatters. To one who, by long acquaintance, has be- 
 come conscious of its matchless beauty, the tatters matter little, 
 but at first they are all we see. To minimize at first these dis- 
 figurements is not only legitimate, but is in the interest of es- 
 sential truth. Nowhere has the writer indulged in mere guesses, 
 and seldom has he hazarded conjecture upon his own authority. 
 Whether he has been uniformly circumspect the reader must 
 judge. 
 
 It is in the interest of this same presentableness and this 
 higher mood of aSfethetic appreciation that controversy has been 
 almost excluded from these pages. The writer is quite aware 
 that some of the usual conclusions are challenged, and that in 
 certain cases several hypotheses compete for acceptance. In 
 most cases, however, the presumption has seemed strongly in 
 favor of one of these claimants, and the writer has felt it a 
 favor to the reader not to confuse him with an exaggerated sense 
 of uncertainty, or to dissipate by the temper of discussion the 
 elusive mood upon which the appreciation of art must depend. 
 Only in the rare cases where he has advanced a hypothesis of 
 his own has he felt it incumbent upon him to state opposing 
 views and his reasons for dissent. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF MINOS. THE ^GEAN CIVILIZATION. 
 3000 (?)-lSOO (?) B.C. 
 
 It was a warm afternoon in springtime when we clambered 
 over a rocky hill that rises above modern Argos. Below us 
 lay the town, its deceptively white cottages embowered in trees. 
 To the right, high above us, towered the mighty Larissa, citadel 
 of ancient Argos, with memories of Argive and Spartan, of 
 Venetian and Turk, while to the south, across the level plain, 
 rose the Gibraltar-like fortress of Palamidi, guarding the gate- 
 way to the gulf where our white yacht slumbered upon the blue 
 waters. 
 
 There were three of us, a silent, spectacled scholar, an irre- 
 pressible enthusiast, and another, who clambered together 
 over the rugged hillside and the scarcely less rugged remains of 
 man's tempering activity. There were bits of Roman wall 
 repairing Hellenistic structures ; there were Greek foundations 
 and earlier walls, and earlier yet, till the measuring rod of the 
 imagination gave up baffled, as that of the mind had done so 
 long before. One of these walls engages our special attention. 
 It is made of rough unshaped rocks such as abound upon the 
 hillside, but they are handled with not a little skill. Very 
 large are the stones that form the faces of the thick wall, and 
 so placed that their smoother sides are outward, while smaller 
 stones fill in between, and all are locked together cleverly, so 
 that the wall, still straight and trim, has triumphed over man 
 and nature. 
 
 We walk along the top of this venerable monument the like 
 of which we have just seen up at ancient Mycenae and "wall- 
 girt Tiryns," sister fortresses only a few miles away, when, lo, 
 
The Kingdom of Minos. The Mgean Civilization ii 
 
 our wall crosses diagonally another wall, reduced to a few courses 
 and covered by the shallow earth until uncovered recently by 
 the explorer's spade. It is a much poorer wall, made of small 
 stones, laid without skill, such as shepherds of to-day might 
 build for a sheepfold. Perhaps that is all it ever served for, 
 though it may have belonged to a royal palace. But the im- 
 portant thing is that it runs under our big wall, and so must 
 have been there, abandoned, buried and forgotten, when these 
 neighbors of Mycenae built the big wall, well on towards four 
 thousand years ago. The little wall must therefore be older, 
 perhaps a good deal older, and we view it with respect. 
 
 Suddenly the enthusiast begins with an archaic umbrella 
 to burrow under this earliest wall. No result for a time, then a 
 tiny shard or two, unmarked at first, but then with precious 
 telltale markings, and finally a flake of gleaming, vitreous sub- 
 stance like the fragment of a black bottle. Not glass, however, 
 for there were no bottles then, but obsidian, a volcanic stone 
 which is no stranger. The flake is possibly a rude arrow-tip, 
 but more probably only a chance flake struck off by the arrow- 
 head maker. That is all, yet we go away with a key to a great 
 civilization. What can it teach us ? 
 
 The first thing is that some one brought it there. There is 
 no deposit of obsidian in Greece. That is not a thing to see at 
 a glance, but we happen to know it. Long ago it must have 
 been brought, for it was there before that earliest wall was 
 built. Moreover, none but men of a very early time would 
 have had any motive for bringing it. Obsidian was used for 
 implements before men knew anything better, before the days 
 of iron, or even of the earlier bronze. Our chip must have been 
 left there by a neoUthic man. Where did he get it ? 
 
 Our yacht weighs anchor and steers toward the south and 
 east. The promontories fade, the coast islands are passed and 
 the sun goes down in the sea. We are in the most untenanted 
 part of the .^Egean, and despite its slumberous calm, we are 
 glad that our yacht is large and staunch. In the morning we 
 
12 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 steam through a crack in the rim of an ocean volcano and an- 
 chor in the crater of Melos, the most scenic and isolated of the 
 islands of the ^Egean. We make our pilgrimage to the former 
 resting place of the famous Aphrodite, and. do other homage, 
 but what concerns us now is that everywhere, in our path, in 
 the walls along the roadside, in cliff and cove, is the gleaming 
 obsidian. Here, then, our neolithic man may have found our 
 chip, — must have found it, for it is found nowhere else within 
 the limit of his accessible world. 
 
 And that means that while the Pyramids were still young, 
 the neoUthic obsidian merchant was crossing the uncharted 
 seas between Melos and Argos, bearing his wares, these and 
 many more besides, and returning with others in their stead. 
 And if here, then surely between other islands and other bays 
 as well. And so we find it. Not in Melos or in Argos only, 
 but in all the islands of the .(Egean and up the western coast of 
 Greece toward the Adriatic, on countless Greek hillsides, on the 
 Acropolis itself, in Troy, in remoter Cyprus, especially in Crete, 
 richest and strangest of them all, we find the same walls, the 
 same wares, the reminders of the same civilization. Not flakes 
 of obsidian alone, but handicraft in stone and ivory and above 
 all in pottery, most indestructible of all, and easiest record of 
 man's tastes and thoughts. Even farther we might trace these 
 far-wandering footsteps, to Sicily and Sardinia and even to 
 Spain, to central Spain, where in far-off Saragossa we find the 
 work of the ^Egean potter. 
 
 Who were these people, and whence and when came they? 
 We can give but tentative answer. One thing only seems cer- 
 tain. They were not Greeks. They occupied the land which 
 was later made glorious by Greek civilization; they were no 
 mean forerunners of that great race, and perhaps contributed 
 more to Greek civilization than has been recorded, but they 
 -.were not Greeks in complexion or build or temperament. They 
 seem to have been dark complexioned and short of stature, 
 while the early Greeks were tall, blue eyed, and fair. Their 
 
The Kingdom of Minos. The yEgean Civilization 13 
 
 speech, recorded in many inscriptions, is still a sealed book, 
 and holds the secret of their kinship. They were probably 
 part of an extensive race who once occupied all the peninsulas 
 and islands of the Eastern Mediterranean before aliens from 
 the north usurped their birthright. Some indications point to 
 an African origin, though of course in regions not yet domi- 
 nated by the negro type which has come to be too generally 
 associated in our thought with the "Dark Continent." 
 
 Of their civihzation we fortunately know much. Distributed 
 at first among many local centers and showing varied and pro- 
 vincial types, it gradually becomes unified under the apparent 
 sway of imperial Cnossus, where from the magnificent palace 
 whose ruins still astonish the beholder, the dynasty of the great 
 Minos ruled over the first sea empire. Cnossus alone among 
 ancient capitals, like London among modern, was unfortified. 
 How assured must have been the allegiance of Cretan subjects 
 among whom kings could dwell for a thousand years unprotected 
 by wall or bastion, how well organized the fleet that could 
 protect the Cretan coast from sea rovers and compel distant 
 isles and inland kinglets to pay the tribute for which we find 
 the tallies in Cnossus. Yet there is reason to believe that this 
 sway was seldom disturbed, and that a peaceful temper, un- 
 favorable to martial spirit, was the rule in the lEgtaxi world. 
 Commerce was well ordered and extensive, attaining vast pro- 
 portions, especially with Egypt in the days of her splendor. 
 The arts flourished, social procedure was defined by venerable 
 conventions, and writing, most useful and significant of man's 
 intellectual achievements, found elaborate development and 
 extensive use in the records at which we gaze, wistful but helpless. 
 But we are concerned with their art, as rertiote ages will be 
 with ours, for art alone' endures among things human. This 
 art is preserved chiefly in two forms, pottery and metal, with 
 slight remains in ivory, stone, plaster and painting, less durable 
 media of art expression. These men were not sculptors like 
 the Greeks, though the Lion Gate of Mycenae is one of a limited 
 
14 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 number of sculptured forms which are of profound significance. 
 They were not architects, like the builders of the Parthenon, 
 though they built palaces of vast extent, and so complicated 
 as to give rise in a later day to the tradition of the Labyrinth, 
 while luxuries, conveniences and sanitary arrangements of an 
 astoundingly modern character bear tribute to their skill. 
 Painting, albeit scantily preserved, must have been extensively 
 practiced. Though more decorative than pictorial in style, it 
 is not without amazingly lifelike transcripts from nature, fish 
 sporting in the water, a cat stealing through the high grass to 
 catch the bird perched on a bending stem, gayly dressed and 
 tight-laced guards of the palaces, etc. 
 
 But it is in pottery and metal that JEgea,n art is best pre- 
 served, and it is here that we may most easily discover its 
 characteristic elements. Pottery especially gives a most com- 
 prehensive record of the art feeling of an early j>eople. In the 
 first place it must be remembered that pottery fills an enor- 
 mously larger place in the economy of early peoples than in that 
 of to-day. We cook in vessels of iron, put our milk in cans of 
 tin, carry water in wooden pails, store wine in casks of wood, 
 keep our perfumery and drugs in bottles of glass, etc. Imagine 
 what it would mean if all our iron and tin and wood and glass 
 were taken away and we were obliged to find a substitute for 
 them all. Such was the situation in the ancient economy. 
 The ancient family cooked in earthen vessels, carried water in 
 earthen jars, stored wine and oil in earthen casks, poured water 
 or wine from earthen pitchers, kept perfumes in earthen 
 bottles. The potter's art supplied wants ranging from tiny vials 
 dainty as a lady's jewel, up to storage cisterns holding many 
 hogsheads. And as is always the case, the omnipresent utility 
 translated itself into symbolic and ceremonial forms, epitomizing 
 the ritual of religious and social procedure. Betrothal, mar- 
 riage, religious consecration, death, all these and many other 
 events in the great drama of man's life, the potter was asked to 
 commemorate in the stately forms of his infinitely supple art. 
 
The Kingdom of Minos. The JEgean Civilization 15 
 
 There is no craft in our later time upon which life so focuses 
 our attention and our skill. 
 
 Our interest in ancient pottery is further enhanced by the 
 ease with which it reflects other forms of art and life. The 
 Attic vase maker of the early day wrought many a stately vessel 
 expressive of the growing ritual of his time, form and feature 
 being determined by an ever more exacting convention, but 
 upon the broad surfaces whose decoration permitted the exer- 
 cise of his pictorial art he did not fail to portray the new water- 
 works which Pisistratus had inaugurated for Athenian conven- 
 ience, or the pictures that Polygnotus had painted in the Stoa, 
 or the stories from the lives of heroes and gods. Pottery thus 
 becomes at once the greatest of all the early arts and the re- 
 flection of all the rest. 
 
 In the long life of .^gean civilization, covering perhaps a 
 period of three thousand years, the art of the potter passed 
 through an eventful evolution, assuming many and contrasted 
 forms, but betraying throughout a certain dominant tendency 
 strongly suggestive of race character. To trace this evolution 
 is no part of our purpose. We are concerned merely with its 
 final forms and the race character which they indicate, for it 
 was these with which the northern invader came in contact 
 and which became his heritage. 
 
 In their form — always the most important element in the 
 potter's art — the ^Egean vases have no significant peculiari- 
 ties. These forms are elegant, and if less exquisite thah those 
 of the best Greek period, they vastly surpass the work of the 
 Greek potter who immediately succeeded. It is rather in their 
 decoration, where the artist was little hampered by considera- 
 tions of manufacture or use, that we are to look for the free 
 play of fancy and the expression of race feeling and ideals. 
 
 In their best-known types the ^Egean vases are decorated 
 with designs in immense variety, animals and plants, denizens 
 of earth, air and sea, as well as infinitely varied conventional or 
 geometrical figures. The whole range of the creation and even 
 
Pig. 1. — Vase. Museum, 
 Candia. 
 
 Fig. 2. — Vase. Museum, 
 Candia. 
 
 Fig. 3. — " Cup of Nestor." National Museum, Athens. 
 
The Kingdom of Minos. The Mgean Civilization 17 
 
 of geometrical abstraction is drawn upon, though with a sig- 
 nificant reluctance to represent the human figure. Yet with 
 all this immense range of motive, emphasis is always laid upon 
 one or two simple elements of an abstract character : the spiral, 
 the rosette, the curve in some form, to the exclusion of straight 
 line and angle. Of these forms, all of them of Egyptian origin, 
 the spiral is by far the most important (Fig. i). Sometimes it 
 is the simple spiral, a line traced with the brush, winding up 
 like a watch spring in a closely packed circle; sometimes the 
 reversed spiral, which you follow round its many turnings to the 
 center, when the line doubles back upon itself and finds its way 
 out again along the devious pathway by which it came in. 
 Sometimes there are four lines, all starting at once from the 
 center and winding their way outward till they reach the circle's 
 edge, when they dart off on tangents in four different directions 
 and, combining with other Unes, wind themselves up again 
 into other spirals like the first. Thus a two-line spiral could be 
 made to repeat itself in an indefinite series of watch springs, 
 linked by tangents, and constituting a border; a three-line 
 spiral could be made to cover a triangle, a four-line spiral a 
 rectangle, etc. For ceiling decorations, for furniture, for metal 
 work, for pottery, this uniform yet infinitely variable motive 
 was ever available. If a border went upright round a vase or 
 lay flat upon its spreading top, the accommodating spiral and 
 its tangent links were equally available. If called upon to 
 ornament a dagger blade, the successive spirals had but to ap- 
 pear in convenient diminuendo to follow perfectly the taper of 
 the blade. No motive has ever been so perfectly pliable, or 
 when skillfully executed and combined with other elements, so 
 uniformly pleasing as this sign manual of ^gean art. 
 
 Closely akin to the spiral is the rosette which, in various forms, 
 is an ever recurring motive in all forms of ^Egean decoration, 
 one which was not forgotten by their subtler heirs in the do- 
 main of art. The rosette could also be ranged in rows for bor- 
 ders, or used as the centerpiece of panels, and if less organic 
 
1 8 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 as the covering of a ceiling or other surface, this was an ad- 
 vantage in the many places where the requirement is for an 
 isolated unit of decoration, as in the bottom of a ceiling coffer, 
 or the limited area of a button or a brooch. The number of 
 varieties of rosette is absolutely unlimited. It could be edged 
 with borders in spiral and filled with patterns in every conceiv- 
 able variety of sinuous or simple curve. Notice a few examples 
 in Figure 5. 
 
 Turning from these abstract elements to motives taken from 
 nature, we are struck by the ^Egean choice. Not gods and 
 heroes, unless by necessity, but creatures of lower order; not 
 the eagle of Zeus or the hawk of Horus,, strong characterful 
 symbols of majesty and power, but by preference the swan and 
 the goose. Not the fir tree, the oak or the soaring cypress, 
 though all these were familiar, but curving fronds of leafage ; 
 strangest of all and oftenest, the octopus (Fig. 2) and sea algae. 
 Insects, too, are favorites, butterflies and moths and bees. 
 We occasionally find lions and bulls and other royal beasts, 
 but strangely modified, as we shall have occasion to note when 
 we turn to their famed work in metal. 
 
 A glance at any of these nature forms discloses the fact that 
 they bear very little resemblance to the creatures that suggested 
 them. It is not that they are clumsy, and that the artist's 
 skill was not equal to the rendering of nature in her true char- 
 acter. Doubtless the artist would have fallen short of perfect 
 naturalism if that had been his ideal, but nothing is clearer 
 than that this was not his ideal. His deviations from nature 
 are not shortcomings; they are deliberate modifications in 
 the interest of an end definitely proposed. And what is this 
 end? Simply his beloved spirals and curves. How much 
 better the plump form and curving neck of the goose than the 
 more vigorous lines of the eagle, if one is after curves. The last 
 thing a modern artist would think of is the cuttlefish, but if 
 you want spirals, his long tentacles are about the only thing 
 in the animal kingdom which will assume the desired form, while 
 
2 d 
 
 o o 
 
 2 
 
20 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 his plump pulpy body rivals the fattest goose in its curved out- 
 line, and the long rows of suckers can plausibly be rendered as 
 so many tiny rosettes. The cuttlefish was easily first in the 
 repertory of the scroll hunter. But other creatures were made 
 to do duty, even if under obvious constraint. The butterfly 
 and the moth had antennas which could be prolonged and wound 
 up like clock springs, while the outline of body and wings might 
 be freely rendered in pleasing curves. The long stems of sea 
 algae, too, were accommodating, if not very characterful. Hence 
 his bold distortion of forms only partially suited to his purposes. 
 If nature were too poor in the necessary curves and spirals, so 
 much the worse for nature. Nature must ask of art but hints 
 of her real self, and must permit of free traiTsformation in the 
 interest of art's ideals. True art has always reasoned thus. 
 
 We have seen how the absence of iron, tin, wood and glass 
 shifted the emphasis of our manifold technic arts on to the 
 potter's craft. In a less degree that emphasis was laid upon 
 metal art. The convenient and useful, but plebeian iron was 
 lacking. The precious metals were present and by their beauty, 
 their costliness and their ease of manipulation invited the ex- 
 ercise of artistic skill. If, in the absence of glass, the peasant 
 drank from an earthen cup, the king inevitably drank from a 
 goblet of gold. His sword hilt was of gold, and damascened gold 
 decorated his dagger blade. Gold rosettes and pectorals em- 
 bellished his apparel, and a gold mask covered his face in the 
 tomb. 
 
 All these articles, except the last, were decorated in the 
 familiar spirals and rosettes. Indeed, gold ornaments have 
 furnished our most convenient illustrations of these favorite 
 motives (Figs. 4 and 5). But it is to the few surviving examples 
 of the gold worker's art that we owe our clearest idea of the 
 ^gean representation of animals of the more commanding type. 
 Hunting scenes are frequent, and the lion, the leopard, the dog 
 and the deer were familiar themes. The Vaphio cups (Fig. 6) 
 offer a marvelous study of cattle in their two phases, wild and 
 
YiQ, 5. — Gold Ornaments from MyoensB. 
 National Museum, Athens. 
 
'W^ 
 
 By Courlesv of Gtnn * Co. 
 
 Fig. 6. — Gold Cups from Vaphio. National Museum, Athens. 
 
The Kingdom of Minos. The Mgean Civilization 23 
 
 domesticated. On the one cup is depicted the capture of wild 
 bulls by means of powerful nets, a sport which exposes the cap- 
 tor to no small danger from the infuriated beasts. The other 
 represents domestic cattle in contented, not to say sentimental, 
 mood. But whether the cattle be wild or tame, whether the 
 lion flee or turn on his pursuers, the same dominance of the 
 curve is observable as in the more pliable cuttlefish. In the 
 softened line, yielding to every obstacle, but adapting itself 
 to every situation, harmonizing all elements and maintaining 
 its character with unfailing persistence, we behold the habit of 
 long established art and the temperament of a people. 
 
 These two things, then, are our lesson. First, the art with 
 which we have to deal in this earliest twilight of Hellas is not 
 young art, but old, not crude art, but conventionalized. The 
 artist departs from nature, not because he must, but because 
 he will. He draws as we write, not laboriously, but with lines 
 that are automatic. But as we say of one man that he writes 
 a round hand and of another that his hand is angular, so of 
 artists. The ^Egean artists, not one, but all, drew with a round 
 hand. During the long centuries their love of representing 
 nature had slowly passed into a love of certain abstractions of 
 line and color, a universal tendency in art. The savage who 
 drew the mammoths on the walls of his cave cared not for curves 
 or colors, but only for mammoths. Not so the man who drew 
 the hunting scene on the dagger blade, or he who chose the un- 
 lovely cuttlefish for the sake of its lovely curves. The mere 
 love of representation is the naive beginning of art. The sub- 
 ordination of representation to abstract principles of design is, 
 to say the least, one of its hnes of progress. Let us not hasten 
 to take sides with the one principle or the other. "Never mind 
 your likings; try to understand," must be the admonition to 
 all of us who would fain have Ukings worth the minding. 
 
 It must be confessed that the devotion of the .<Egean artist 
 to his favorite spirals and curves is not always discreet. Not 
 to mention the unplausibility, at least to an observant age, of 
 
24 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 exaggerated tentacles and watch-spring antennae, our artist is 
 at times too penurious of space, and his decorative elements 
 are not always combined in a manner that is highly organic. 
 Between the legs and above the back of a running horse is some 
 space which he thinks it a pity to waste, and he works in a spiral 
 or two. In the unutilized space between geese and algae he 
 sprinkles the convenient but somewhat irrelevant rosettes of 
 which he is never weary. But if his devotion is not alwa)^ 
 according to reason, it is the more obviously devotion. No 
 Christian ever made the sign of the cross more devoutly than the 
 artist of the ^gean Isles repeated this chosen sjTnbol of that 
 beauty which he loved. 
 
 The second lesson is less certain, but more significant. The 
 choice of the .lEgean artist betrays his temperament and that of 
 his people. It is no accident when a people expresses its senti- 
 ments in nonresisting lines of softness and grace. The rugged 
 temper will crave more rugged form of expression. Gentle 
 and refined, but possibly effeminate and voluptuous, we in- 
 stinctively assume them to be. Pit them against the people 
 whose rugged and uncouth vases are decorated with harsh 
 zigzags and bristling angles, and our instinctive conviction is 
 that the latter must win. The test was not to be long delayed. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE NEWCOMERS AND THEIR ART. THE INVASION OF THE 
 NORTHERNERS. 1500 ( ?)-I000 (?) B.C. 
 
 Shadowy as is this kingdom of Minos which looms as the dim 
 background of Mediterranean history, we are yet able to follow 
 its development through something of the vicissitudes which 
 characterize the life of all nations. There was ebb and flow, 
 stagnation and revival, in the long course of its development. 
 Conspicuous among these revivals was a brief period of splendor 
 which began about fifteen hundred years before Christ. It is 
 significant that this revival coincides with the rule of the Eight- 
 eenth Dynasty in Egypt, when the mighty Thutmes carried 
 the arms and the fame of Egypt to the Euphrates and his ships 
 were seen on all seas. Busy was the traffic between Cnossus 
 and Memphis at that time, and perhaps this alone suffices to 
 account for the new lease of life which was then granted to the 
 long fossilized Mgean civilization. Certain it is that it again 
 became robust and creative, though perhaps less certain of its 
 ideals than in the earlier time. From this period date the 
 wonderful beehive tombs of Mycenae, second only to the Pyra- 
 mids as resting places of the great dead. At this time, too, 
 Mycenae was enlarged, and its walls rebuilt in wider circuit, 
 with hewn stone now, instead of unshaped blocks, and with 
 the famous Lion Gate as its entrance. So creative is this new 
 age that we are loath to attribute the change merely to new 
 opportunities and outside stimulus. To .some, such a change 
 can only be accounted for by an infusion of new blood. 
 
 Whether the new blood came at this time or not, it is cer- 
 tain that in the course of the next five hundred years the ^gean 
 civilization was first annoyed, then endangered and finally 
 
 25 
 
26 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 overwhelmed by the irruption of comparatively uncivilized 
 tribes from the north, the last and most conspicuous act in the 
 great drama being faintly recalled by the Greek historian as 
 the Dorian invasion of the eleventh century B.C. We shall 
 entirely misunderstand this great movement, however, and fail 
 to grasp its significance in connection with civilization and art, 
 if we conceive it as a well-organized military campaign pushed 
 through in a few years, and resulting in the wholesale expulsion 
 of the population and the appropriation of their territory. 
 Such a conquest would have destroyed the older civilization, 
 even if its material products had fallen into the invader's hands. 
 It is certain that for this region as a whole no such abrupt 
 transition took place. An exception must be noted in the case 
 of a single small body, who, entering from the north, had found 
 settlement in northern Greece, only to be dispossessed in turn 
 by more invaders of their kin. Pressed by enemies behind and 
 foes in front, they organized themselves into an armed camp, 
 eschewed commerce, and became the dreaded and art hating 
 Spartans of a later time. Had the conquest been wholly of 
 this character, there would have been no Greek art to engage 
 our attention. 
 
 The process, as a whole, continuing perhaps through five 
 centuries, is rather to be thought of as a peaceable penetration. 
 The .(Egean strongholds and opulent cities were situated upon 
 the islands and the rocky promontories of the mainland. Their 
 occupations were manufacture and commerce, and their bond 
 of union the sea. To some extent they controlled and tilled 
 the valleys of the mainland, and hunted in its forests, but there 
 was no definite boundary between the territory thus controlled 
 and the unexplored wilderness beyond, the domain of half 
 savage hordes unweakened by luxury and the scruples of social 
 sentiment. To this advantage of hardihood was added an- 
 other whose importance was long undreamed. These hardy 
 opponents of the bronze-armed .(Egeans had found iron in their 
 Danube valley and had learned to fashion it for their use. 
 
The Newcomers and their Art 27 
 
 For hundreds, even thousands, of years, the glamour of ^gean 
 civilization and its superior organization kept the northerner^ in 
 awe. Communication was constant, however, for the ^Egean 
 merchant was enterprising, and regular trade routes soon trav- 
 ersed the barbarian's land. They came to understand one 
 another's speech, and the northerner learned to covet the wealth 
 which the merchant displayed. Border difficulties inhere in 
 such a situation. Tillage is pushed farther afield and encroaches 
 upon traditional rights of pasture. Trespass is resented and 
 resisted. There are forays and cattle raids from the north and 
 punitive expeditions from the south. Each conflict teaches 
 the barbarian something of the secret of civilized organization, 
 something of the superiority of his own weapons, something of 
 the weakness and perhaps the dissensions of his antagonists. 
 Each foray discloses the richness of his booty and excites his 
 cupidity. 
 
 Some of these forays, too, achieve a measure of permanent 
 success. There are settlements across the border of individuals 
 and clans. The settlers learn the ways of their neighbors, 
 possibly even learn, to side with them against later marauders, 
 while still developing a race solidarity based on community 
 of interest and traditional allegiance. Slowly the hardy race 
 crowds its frontier southward. It bivouacs for a century, but 
 it always breaks camp. Its sanctuary is moved from the oaks 
 of northern Dodona to the shining cliffs of Delphi overlooking 
 the Gulf, then across into the Peloponnesus and over the stepping- 
 stones of the jEgean to tiny Delos and on to the promontories 
 of the Ionian coast. The momentum of the great advance 
 which had become a veritable wanderlust of the race is revealed 
 at last in the clear light of history as the great colonization 
 movement which, in the next five hundred years, extended to 
 the Pillars of Hercules and planted a Greek settlement on nearly 
 every available site in the circuit of the Mediterranean. 
 
 It is important that we should recognize the extreme slowness 
 of this movement and its predominantly peaceful character. 
 
28 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 In spite of its incidents of violence and occasional military 
 campaigns, there were long intervals of peace in which the 
 northerners, when once the movement had started, entered 
 the land as Joseph's brethren entered Egypt. They came to 
 appropriate rather than to exterminate the civilization which 
 had lured them. The process was in many ways analogous to 
 that now going on in our own land, with the difference that the 
 newcomers were of one rather than of diverse races, and that 
 boundaries were vague rather than definite, differences undoubt- 
 edly to the disadvantage of the .(Egeans. None the less the 
 assimilation which went steadily on gave to the newcomers not 
 only the arts, but in large measure the sympathies and the in- 
 terests of their neighbors. As border troubles became an ever 
 more serious problem to .(Egean statesmanship, it was inevitable 
 that the aliens thus won should sooner or later be made the bul- 
 wark of the enfeebled state against their kin, as Stilicho, the 
 Vandal, later held this same region for Rome against his fellow 
 barbarians. Thus was gained the respite of a centiuy or two, 
 perhaps, but these bearers of the iron sword could not long be 
 expected to defend for weaklings a throne which was in their 
 power. As Odoacer the Goth at last seated himself upon the 
 throne of Caesar and Charlemagne upon that of Clovis, so 
 Agamemnon at last ruled in the fortress of the Lion Gate. 
 
 The assimilation which it is all important that we should 
 keep in mind was neither complete nor uniform. Down in the 
 Central Peloponnesus, where the invaders drove the uncom- 
 promising Spartan wedge, there was little assimilation or none. 
 On the eastern side of the peninsula and in the islands, where 
 wholesale displacement never occurred, the penetration was 
 more peaceful and more gradual, and assimilation correspond- 
 ingly more complete. It is doubtful whether the transformation 
 of Athens or Corinth was characterized by any more abrupt 
 transitions than Boston has experienced in the changes of the 
 last two hundred years. 
 
 As exponents of the civilization thus appropriated, it is not 
 
The Newcomers and their Art 29 
 
 strange that the new race should be guilty of grave inconsist- 
 encies. We are fortunate in possessing an incomparable 
 picture of the new regime in the poems of Homer, which cele- 
 brate the capture of the last iEgean stronghold, — the only 
 one ever located on the Asiatic mainland. The poems are 
 written after the invaders, whom it will henceforth be con- 
 venient to call Greeks, have long been in undisputed possession 
 of the .(Egean mainland and of the adjacent islands, but it is 
 reminiscent of the great struggle and betrays at every step 
 the incongruous mixture of old and new which race experience 
 has not yet had time to fuse into a harmonious whole. The 
 reader of the Homeric poems cannot fail to be struck by these 
 incongruities. It is with no trace of apology that the poet 
 describes the return of his hero, Odysseus, to a palace (?), 
 where swine are in the fore court and his faithful dog awaits 
 his coming on a heap of manure in front of the door. Goats 
 and cows are tied indoors and swine are singed in front of the 
 entrance. Un tanned oxhides lie about the great hall and a 
 guest in altercation at the banquet finds ammunition to hurl 
 at his opponent in an ox hoof lying by his side. The floor is of 
 earth, and when soaked with the blood of the suitors, it is 
 cleaned' with a hoe. Homer is perfectly unconscious of the 
 revolting nature of these details. Nor are they to be explained 
 by the fact .that Ithaca is remote from the centers of j^gean 
 culture, a "wild and woolly west." Homer is guiltless of any 
 attempt at historical local color — he pictures the life of Odys- 
 seus in terms familiar to himself and his hearers. It was the 
 Greek life of his day. 
 
 But along with these features which have seemingly scarce 
 varied since the departure from the Danubian wilds, there are 
 numerous allusions to a magnificence which it is difficult to rec- 
 oncile with this squalor and filth, even when allowance is made 
 for the different standards of that time and ours. Menelaus 
 dwells in a palace of dazzling splendor; Helen rocks a silver 
 cradle ; Nestor drinks from a goblet of gold with golden doves 
 
30 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 sitting upon the handles and braces to the handles, whose all 
 but perfect counterpart we have found in a Mycenean grave 
 (Fig. 3) ; while Achilles carries a marvelous shield the descrip- 
 tion of which calls forth the poet's highest powers. 
 
 If we consider our poet's treatment of these contrasted details, 
 we note several facts of importance. First, his allusions to the 
 repulsive facts are always incidental. He never directs atten- 
 tion to them, even by way of apology. They are matters of 
 course to him and to his hearers, things no more requiring ex- 
 planation or apology than would a modern writer's allusion to 
 the fact that a dining room contained a table or a schoolroom 
 a blackboard. On the other hand, the magnificence rivets 
 attention and calls for extensive comment. This is but its 
 natural preeminence, perhaps, but it may well be doubted 
 whether a poet from the court of King Minos would not have 
 been inclined rather to take gold goblets for granted and to speak 
 of swine and manure heaps in the front yard with something 
 of assertive disgust. 
 
 But more significant is the fact that Homer describes this 
 splendor unintelligently, and attributes it to divine origin. 
 The shield of Achilles is the work not of a man, but of a god. 
 The elaborate scenes wrought by Hepheestus in the four quarters 
 of the shield are described with the liveliest interest, but the poet 
 never guesses that these scenes represent the four seasons, one 
 of the most familiar of the themes of ancient art. The exact 
 counterpart of this attitude is found in the mythology of the 
 Middle Ages concerning the works of classic art, which the feeble 
 powers of degenerate days could neither interpret nor conceive 
 as created by man. 
 
 Finally, we must note the frequent assumption of Homer 
 that the men of his day were degenerate. The heroes hurl 
 stones which it would require two men to lift, "such as men 
 now are," while in the higher realm of art and craft, the old 
 skill is forgotten and its creations are credited to the gods. In 
 this early day, therefore, the unprepossessing features of life 
 
The Newcomers and their Art 31 
 
 are Greek, the legacy of savage conditions from which the race 
 has but recently escaped, while its finery and its magnificence 
 is ^gean, the booty of recent conquest, a thing degraded and 
 ultimately destroyed. Exactly so the Roman later took over 
 the Greek art, admiring it, patronizing it, but misunderstand- 
 ing it, misusing, corrupting and ultimately destroying it. No 
 race can preserve such a heritage, or perpetuate a tradition 
 of "the things that are more excellent," unless that tradition 
 be born of its own experience, servant unto its own spiritual 
 needs. 
 
 But, in turn, no race can have the squandering of a treasure 
 thus accumulated without learning new wants and acquiring 
 new impulses. Within a few centuries the last vestige of this 
 rich .iEgean heritage had perished, but of it had been born a 
 need and an impulse by which it was destined to be immeasur- 
 ably surpassed. 
 
 It would be a mistake to assume, however, that the long 
 period of conquest and adjustment was devoid of art produc- 
 tion. Aside from the continuance, under however changed 
 conditions, of ^Egean art production, the conquerors had art 
 of their own in one form at least, the indispensable pottery. This 
 is clearly distinguished in the so-called geometric style which 
 characterizes this transition period. The vases of this period 
 are seldom graceful or highly finished in form, and their orna- 
 mentation in rude zigzags and angles suggests nothing of the 
 grace of the .^Egean spiral (Fig. 7). Even the spiral is drawn 
 with straight lines and angles and converted into the -Greek 
 fret, later to be the most widely used of all Greek ornamental 
 designs. Nothing of grace is here, but an unmistakable sug- 
 gestion of strength and virility. If the newcomer admired the 
 graceful creations of the Mycenaean potter, his tradition was 
 too fixed in this, the only art in which his ruder life had given 
 him long experience, to permit of easy substitution. Through- 
 out almost the entire ^Egean world this rude geometric pottery 
 prevailed for three hundred years after this region had become 
 
Fig. 7. — Dipylon Vase in the Geometric Style. 
 Museum, Boston. 
 
The Newcomers and their Art 33 
 
 Greek. Only gradually and most helplessly does the Greek 
 vase painter begin the use of animal and human figures. 
 
 Yet curiously enough one Uttle community seems never to 
 have abandoned the yEgean style, or, rather, to have evolved 
 it along logical lines and under Asiatic rather than Greek in- 
 fluence. This community was Corinth, always the most Asiatic 
 of Greek cities, whose vases, decorated with fantastic figures of 
 griffins and sphinxes in black and rich colors on a pale terra 
 cotta ground (Fig. 8), are found over the whole area of Greek 
 commerce. Nothing can surpass the daintiness of the perfumery 
 phials with tiny figures detailed by marvelous incised lines on 
 black or red, the vacant spaces being occupied by the familiar 
 rosettes. Never has the engraver's skill or the artist's phan- 
 tasy been more charmingly employed than in the decoration 
 of this pottery which held out against the universal rude geo- 
 metrical tradition. The result was that while the geometrical 
 ware supplied local needs, the pottery of export, that is, pottery 
 used for artistic or commemorative purposes, was made in 
 Corinth. For more than a century Corinth seems to have had 
 a virtual monopoly of this, the most extensive branch of an- 
 cient . commerce. 
 
 Such preeminence could not but excite envy and create com- 
 petition. Among Greek communities none was more favorably 
 situated than Athens to compete with Corinth for the lucrative 
 trade of the Mediterranean. Her facilities for shipment were 
 imrivaled, and her pottery excellent. Inevitably the crude 
 figures and arid designs of her harsh geometric style began to 
 feel the refining influence. Every part of the process is studied 
 with unprecedented thoroughness. Infinite pains is taken 
 with the clay to secure not only the fineness required for the 
 engraver's tool, but the rich red color so familiar in Greek vases. 
 Shape is studied until lines become eloquent with a beauty 
 which no decoration can enhance. The rude geometric designs 
 are subordinated and finally displaced by conventional designs 
 of the 'most exquisite delicacy in whose perfectly assimilated 
 
Fig. 8. — Proto-Coi'iiitliian Lekythos. Museum, Boston. 
 
Fig. 9. — Black-figured Amphora by Amasis. Museum, Boston. 
 
36 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Greek unity we can still trace Egyptian,' ^Egean and Assyrian 
 motives. Above all, the rude caricatures of men which add 
 questionable attractions to the early vases are slowly trans- 
 formed into the most exquisite drawings ever executed in 
 ceramic art. Here, little by little, was depicted, in the most 
 imperishable of all records, the story of gods and heroes, the 
 folk lore of the most artistic of peoples. 
 
 These figures are executed in black silhouette upon the rich 
 red brown of the vase in spaces beautifully set off by delicate 
 borders and masses of conventional design. Details such as 
 facial features, modeling, drapery folds, etc., are engraved on 
 the black surface with lines of surprising delicacy which no 
 living engraver could equal. Such are the so-called Black 
 Figure Vases, which in the sixth century before Christ surpassed 
 the pottery of all other peoples, and in beauty were the supreme 
 embodiment of Attic ceramic art (Fig. 9). Corinth strove 
 manfully to maintain her lead, dropping the superfluous rosettes 
 and substituting carefully drawn human figures for the sphinxes 
 and griflSns which the taste of the time rejected. Each step of 
 Athenian progress was watched and emulated; many an im- 
 provement was anticipated. Side by side the two wrought in 
 intensest rivalry to perfect the precious art, at once the source 
 of their profits and the object of their pride, but in the end the 
 palm rested with Athens in this as in other arts. 
 
 About the beginning of the fifth century the style changes. 
 The figures are now no longer silhouetted in black on a red 
 ground, but they are left in red, and the ground is painted 
 black (Fig. 10). This method had the great advantage that it 
 did away with the engraved line for draperies, etc. The figure 
 now being red upon a black ground, these details could be 
 drawn in slender black lines, in which the artist soon developed 
 extraordinary skill. For another century, that ever memorable 
 century of the Parthenon, Attic vases still challenge admiration 
 along with the best of the arts. Then their primacy passes 
 forever. Higher and more subtle forms of art are developed, 
 
Fig. 10. — Red-figured Loutrophoros. Museum, Boston. 
 
38 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 better suited to the more exacting aesthetic sense of this people 
 to whom life has disclosed its infinite possibilities. The potter 
 is neglected, his drawing becomes careless, his themes perfunc- 
 tory, and his art becomes the echo of the past. The craft 
 which for ten thousand years has served as the almost unique 
 medium of art expression is now relegated to the humble place 
 which it has since occupied and from which it can never again 
 be lifted to its old-time honor. 
 
 Yet the potter's art in Greece has for us an interest out of 
 all proportion to the importance of the craft in later times, for 
 the simple reason that it was the one art that the Greeks brought 
 with them into the land which they appropriated. Other crafts 
 they undoubtedly exercised, but they were hardly of a character 
 to give play to fancy or esthetic feeling, being both less developed 
 and less inherently suited to art expression. But the all-em- 
 bracing art of the potter, ranging from the humblest uses to the 
 symbolism of the highest sentiments, from a very early period 
 invites to artistic expression. Works of art in bronze and gold 
 they could not make. They had no training in these arts in 
 their native wilds, and it was not among these uncouth aliens, 
 however tolerated, that the /Egean artist was likely to seek his 
 apprentices. These arts, therefore, perished, as the alien be- 
 came master, or in any case were perpetuated by foreign crafts- 
 men and under foreign tradition. But pottery the Greek had 
 of his own. It might be ever so different from that of the 
 yEgeans ; it might continue for centuries its own uncouth tradi- 
 tion, unconscious of outside influence. None the less, the 
 mere fact that this craft was exercised, and consciously exer- 
 cised as art, while the other crafts were not, made this the one 
 point of sensitive contact between the new civilization and the 
 old. There is fortunately no appreciable tendency to direct 
 imitation. There is simply the birth of a new impulse, hastened 
 at least by this contact with the rich ^Egean art, and this im- 
 pulse expressed itself at first through the one medium which 
 earlier experience had provided. 
 
The Newcomers and their Art 39 
 
 As the impulse gained in strength, other media were dis- 
 covered, long inferior to this because of technical difficulties 
 to be overcome, but ultimately superior. In this competition 
 of art forms, the art of the potter was first immensely quickened, 
 but finally immeasurably surpassed and displaced. But this 
 did not occur until pottery had accomplished its mission of trans- 
 mitting the precious impulse of jEgean art to the new race 
 which was henceforth to be its supreme exponent. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE WORSHIPER AND HIS WOODEN IMAGE. CULT STATUES. 
 THE EARLIEST GREEK SCULPTURE 
 
 The great movement described in the preceding chapter 
 was largely completed before the year one thousand B.C. By 
 that time the new race held possession of the entire Greek main- 
 land and was looking for more worlds to conquer. The move- 
 ment across the Mgeern had undoubtedly begun, and it was not 
 long before all the JEgean islands and the promontories of the 
 much indented Asian coast were in their possession. The 
 Mgean had become a Greek lake. The movement, indeed, 
 did not stop here, but in accordance with the commercial policy 
 which was common to ^geans and Greeks alike, colonies were 
 sent out to strategic points east and west, north and south, as 
 far as the Pillars of Hercules on the one hand and the confines 
 of the Black Sea on the other. These colonies stretched in an 
 unbroken chain from Rhodes at the southeastern corner of the 
 .(^gean to the Hellespont, then round the circuit of the Black 
 Sea, then westward along the coast of Thrace and the long- 
 fingered Chalcidian peninsula. On the west the Ionian Islands 
 were convenient stepping-stones to southern Italy, where the 
 chain of Greek outposts recommenced, extending round the 
 heel and toe of the boot from Brindisi to Naples, then across to 
 Sicily, which it all but encircled, and thence with a daring leap 
 crossing the great expanse of the western Mediterranean to 
 Marseilles and Spain. Nor was Africa neglected.- Decadent 
 Egypt offered the enterprising race asylum in the new colony 
 of Naucratis, while ancient Lybia sheltered the flourishing 
 colony of Gyrene. 
 
 40 
 
The Worshiper and his Wooden Image 41 
 
 The territory thus occupied was not so very different from 
 that formerly controlled by the ^Egeans, but one or two impor- 
 tant differences should be noted. The great eastern arm of the 
 Mediterranean, stretching four hundred miles beyond Rhodes, 
 had come under the control of the Phoenicians, an enterprising 
 race with whom the ^Egeans had nbt had to deal. The great 
 Island of Cyprus, therefore, which had been an integral part of 
 the culture empire of the ^geans, never enters in any full sense 
 into the Greek domain, nor does Greek civilization ever largely 
 affect the tenaciously Semitic Syrian coast until carried there 
 by a later and an alien power. Unfortunately for the Greeks, 
 Phoenician influence did not stop here, but operating from its 
 magnificent strategic outpost, Carthage, it contested the pos- 
 session of Sicily, and largely nullified the efforts of the Greeks to 
 extend their control over the western Mediterranean. We have 
 no evidence that the .iEgeans met any such check in their west- 
 ern movement, in which direction their expansion was probably 
 limited only by distance and the deterrent influences of nature. 
 
 But this limitation to Greek advance was fully compensated 
 in another direction. If a new world power had arisen to dis- 
 pute the rule of the ^gean, an old power had decayed, which 
 had held the ^geans at bay. It is a curious fact that the 
 ^gean power, which seems to have extended from Syria to 
 Spain, never effected serious lodgment on the coast of Asia 
 Minor. Troy, barely across the Hellespont from Europe, is, 
 as far as we now know, the solitary exception. The reason is 
 apparently to be found in the existence of powerful states on the 
 Asian mainland which in the Mgeaxi period were as irresistible 
 by land as the ^geans by sea. Strangely enough, therefore, 
 this far-reaching sea empire never controlled the .iEgean coast. 
 The decay of these inland states, a fact of which there are many 
 indications, left the Greeks free to seize the promontories and 
 harbors of this much indented coast, and thus the ^Egean Sea 
 became a Greek lake. From these strategic positions the 
 Greek race has never been dislodged. Of political independence 
 
42 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 they have enjoyed little enough, but despite the rule of Persian, 
 Macedonian, Roman, Byzantine, Saracen and Turk, the popu- 
 lation, the speech, the activities, the wealth of these communities 
 have been continuously Greek. It is hardly too much to say 
 that if Homer were to land to-day. on the banks of the Scaman- 
 der, he could converse with the guide on "the plains of windy 
 Troy." 
 
 The enormous advantage to the Greeks of this control of 
 the Asia Minor coast need hardly be emphasized. The inter- 
 play between these two coasts of the ^gean during the forma- 
 tive period of Greek history was immense and invaluable. It 
 is no accident that at the moment when Athenian policy fos- 
 tered most the relation between Athens and Ionia, the art, 
 literature and culture of Athens made the most rapid advance. 
 How different had Turkish or even Phoenician cities stretched 
 from Cnidus to Ilium ! 
 
 It must not be forgotten that the race that took possession 
 of this ^gean domain was no longer the race of fair-haired 
 savages which had started so many centuries before on the great 
 southward march. Light and dark and tall and short now 
 mingled indiscriminately, with an ever increasing blending, pro- 
 ducing a new race in which neither of the earlier races would 
 have recognized its kin. Indeed, the assumption of but two 
 component elements is doubtless altogether too simple. The 
 elements were many, and the fusion by no means complete, as 
 the diversities and feuds of a later time testify all too plainly. 
 But some things they had in common, enough so that with all 
 their feuds, they never lost sight of their Hellenic unity. The 
 Athenian might ridicule the Boeotian and hate the Spartan, but 
 he never classed either with the Barbarian. The national 
 festivals like that of Olympia, which opened their lists impar- 
 tially to all_ Greeks, required inexorably that the athlete who 
 would enter the contest, prove his pure Greek descent. No 
 race ever was more exclusive, more conscious of race unity and 
 race destiny than the Greek. 
 
The Worshiper and his Wooden Image 43 
 
 Chief among these bonds of union was their language. 
 Though spoken with dialectal differences, it was one that, how- 
 ever spoken, all Greeks could understand. It is of all languages 
 the one that has changed least with the passing years. Solon 
 could read a modern Athenian newspaper, but the speech of 
 Rome would sound as riddles in the ears of Cicero. Whence 
 this language came we do not know. Was it spoken in simpler 
 form four thousand years ago in the halls of the king Minos, or 
 in the northern wilds ? We do not know, or need to know, for 
 our present purpose. Reenforced by the art of writing, it be- 
 came the great bond of union and outward sign of kinship in 
 this much amalgamated race. From Gibraltar to Batum the 
 Greek merchant heard the accents of his own speech. It is 
 not certain that the ^Egean empire enjoyed the advantage of 
 a single language. It is certain that the later Roman Empire 
 did not. 
 
 It must not disturb us that the great unity which we ars here 
 considering never became a political unity. It is not certain 
 that the ^Egean civilization was ever represented by a political 
 unity. That was the achievement of a later day. Nor should 
 it be forgotten that political unity is a relatively superficial 
 and transient thing, especially when it is not reenforced by 
 unity in culture. How ephemeral was the influence of Persia 
 in Asia Minor or of Egypt in Mesopotamia, or of the Saracen 
 in Spain despite centuries of dominion ! Even Rome, greatest 
 of poUtical molders of civilization, while Latinizing the more 
 primitive provinces of the west, could only carry into the con- 
 quered east the Greek civilization under the thinnest of Roman 
 disguises. Witness the ruins of Baalbek and the cities of the 
 Decapolis. 
 
 If we ask the reason for the failure of the Greeks to establish 
 a poUtical unity, we find many answers. Their habitat, much 
 divided by mountains and seas, hindered cohesion. Outside 
 pressure was too slight and intermittent, etc. These are im- 
 portant facts. But there is a deeper fact, which is too often 
 
44 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 forgotten, that larger political unities were not desirable. The 
 inhabitant of a modern world-empire sees obvious advantage 
 in membership in so powerful a body. The citizen of an early 
 world-empire neither felt nor had reason to feel in that way. 
 No empire up to the time of the Greeks had ever been a willing 
 aggregation for mutual advantage. When the king of Egypt 
 carried his arms to the Euphrates, he returned with rich spoil 
 of booty and slaves, and the governor whom he left behind was 
 little more than his instrument for further exaction. Conserva- 
 tion of the resources thus exploited scarcely began before Rome, 
 and the sole advantage of membership in such an empire as 
 that of Egypt or Persia was the possibility of protection from 
 one spoiler by another, a prospect of finite advantage and un- 
 certain dependence. 
 
 Knowing political aggregation in such forms, and only in 
 such forms, the Greek simply did not wish it. His failure to 
 form a political unity was therefore not a failure, but a success. 
 There were moments, to be sure, when such a unity, better in- 
 deed than that of Egypt or Persia, but still coerced, seemed 
 to impend. If any one of half a dozen accidents on the plain 
 of Syracuse had gone the other way, Athens, from her two 
 foci of the great ellipse, might have dominated the Greek world. 
 And then, perhaps, Rome need never have been. Think of it ! 
 A world refined by Athens instead of rough molded by Rome ; 
 a Christianity idealized by Plato rather than legalized by Augus- 
 tine. But the dream is seductive. The heavy-footed march 
 of humanity is little modified by the leader at its head. It is 
 doubtful whether the influence of Greek culture would have 
 been increased by political unity and world dominion. Such an 
 outcome would certainly have been less consonant with Greek 
 ideals. In judging the achievements of this wonderful race 
 we must avoid these anachronisms of political ideals and learn 
 to look, not with commiseration, but with admiration upon 
 the marvelous vitality with which for so long they succeeded 
 in maintaining their local individuality and creative power. 
 Their genius was not smothered by empire. 
 
The Worshiper and his Wooden Image 45 
 
 Having located the Greeks in their new home, it is important 
 to note their inevitable occupations. Like the .iEgeans before 
 them, they became artisans and traders. There was, indeed, no 
 other possible choice. Greece and the islands offer scant induce- 
 ments to the agriculturalist, some parts like Attica being pro- 
 ductive of little except men. On the other hand, their facilities 
 for commerce and for the artisan manufacture of the ancient 
 world were unrivaled. Though certainly novices to these pur- 
 suits, the newcomers inevitably followed the line of least re- 
 sistance, as the ^geans had done before them. Commerce 
 and manufacture are necessarily specialized employments, and 
 any considerable development along these lines implies depend- 
 ence upon other peoples addicted to complementary pursuits. 
 There must be somebody to buy the wares which the industrial 
 community manufactures; there must be somebody to grow 
 the food which the industrial community consumes. The 
 Greeks found this necessary complement in the inland peoples 
 along the entire extent of their vast littoral. It is interesting 
 to note that the grain ships of industrial Athens brought sup- 
 plies from the shores of the Black Sea exactly as do the grain 
 ships of industrial England to-day. In turn, they were pur- 
 veyors of finer wares to the inhabitants of these parts. This 
 specialization, dictated by the character of their home communi- 
 ties, determined the nature of their remoter settlements. They 
 were essentially trading stations, exercising commercial but not 
 political control over a comparatively extensive surrounding terri- 
 tory, a highly economical but somewhat precarious arrangement. 
 The organic union of trading post and tributary district under a 
 single administrative system was the achievement of a later age. 
 
 It is important to notice the influence of this system on the 
 development of art which we are about to consider. The all- 
 important fact is the independence of these communities, an 
 independence which involved nothing of isolation. Self -centered 
 and self-controlled, they none the less were in constant touch. 
 The wares of different communities competed in the markets 
 
46 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 of the world under jealous eyes which overlooked no improve- 
 ment or invention on the part of a rival. Unhindered by 
 patents and copyrights, competition was merciless and stopped 
 not at any sacrifice. It may be a question whether a stimulus 
 so intense can be permanently favorable to progress, whether 
 the human framework, individual or social, can continue to 
 stand the strain, but for a time at least, competition between 
 these comparatively equal communities, each strong in its local 
 pride and not overshadowed by any larger center, provided a 
 maximum of that initiative which is vital alike to industrial 
 and to aesthetic progress. 
 
 The second important fact in its relation to art is Greek 
 artisanship. This was the almost universal vocation in Greek 
 communities. The dependence of the fine arts upon the hum- 
 bler handicrafts is an often noted but seldom appreciated fact. 
 The changed conditions of production in our factory age have 
 obscured and perhaps destroyed this relation, but so long as 
 manufacture was a matter of handicraft, the training of eye 
 and brain through constant independent exercise was as sure to 
 develop the fine arts (not to speak of literature, philosophy and 
 political and religious independence) as the sunrise is to bring 
 the day. It is hardly an extravagance to say that in an artisan 
 age, the seat of liberty, intelligence and taste is in the fingers. 
 The examples of Memphis, of Tyre, of Athens, of Florence, of 
 Flanders, will occur to all thoughtful readers. Contrast the 
 art steriHty of agricultural Boeotia, of military Sparta, of para- 
 sitic Rome, of pastoral Judea and of machine-served England, 
 for confirmation of the thesis. 
 
 Never, perhaps, have these two favoring conditions of arti- 
 san occupation and stimulating competition been so happily 
 united as in the Greek people. 
 
 To these advantages must be added others of more local 
 apphcation but still important. As regards sculpture and 
 architecture, it is safe to say that Greek achievement would 
 have been far less if the marble of Paros and Pentelicus had 
 
The Worshiper and his Wooden Image 47 
 
 been replaced by the granite of Assuan. In their political 
 history, too, much as there is to regret, we cannot be too thank- 
 ful that a precious century or more of liberty was vouchsafed 
 to Greece between the collapse of one world empire and the 
 supremacy of the next, the domination of either of which would 
 have made Greek art impossible. Of these and other factors, 
 more in their proper place. 
 
 We have seen that the Greek occupation of fhe mainland 
 was completed, perhaps a thousand years before Christ. In 
 the next five hundred years the expanding movement had 
 reached the limits above referred to, Greek character and ideals 
 are fully fashioned, and the race stands on the threshold of its 
 brief but dazzling career. In the last century of this second 
 period (the sixth before Christ) Greece emerges into the full 
 light of history. We have written records of her doings, in- 
 complete, but still the best the world had yet known. We have 
 remains of temples and sculpture, sufficient to reveal not only 
 general characteristics, but even local variations. It is with a 
 certain suddenness that this prolific art of the sixth century 
 bursts upon our view. It is a far reach from the Lion Gate 
 (Fig. 11), which probably looked down on the first of the north- 
 erners, to the first Greek statue, which it antedates possibly 
 by a thousand years. Was there a connection between the two ? 
 Was there a sculptor to help the potter "knit the generations 
 each to each"? 
 
 It is difficult to trace the connection. The Lion Gate is 
 singularly isolated among ancient remains. The motive, that 
 of two rampant lions (or Uonesses) guarding the sacred emblem 
 of the pillar, is a famUiar one in JEgG&n art, and tallies with the 
 pillar cult of which we find such abundant evidence. The 
 imique thing about it is its representation in stone sculpture. 
 Had such representation been common, we should almost cer- 
 tainly have found at least fragmentary remains in greater abun- 
 dance. There is much reason to believe that sculpture in 
 stone was an art little practiced by the jEgeans. 
 
The Worshiper and his Wooden Image 49 
 
 The character of the sculpture points in the same direction. 
 The work is crudely realistic. The deviation from nature is 
 not greater than in the case of the hunting scene on the dagger 
 blade, but it is of an utterly different character. Art is wont 
 to deviate from nature in one of two ways: crudity, which 
 means insufficient skill, or convention, which means the domina- 
 tion of artist habit. The mistakes of early art may be per- 
 petuated in the conventions of later art, as was the case in 
 Eg5rpt, but the result is very different. Conventional art does 
 not lack skill. It is elegant and clever, no matter how artificial. 
 Curiously enough the dagger blade is conventional art, old art, 
 though of very early date, while the Lion Gate is crude art, 
 young art, though of a late period in ^Egean civilization. We 
 are forced to the conclusion that the Lion Gate belongs to a 
 period of revival and represents a new departure in art, one 
 neither hampered by tradition nor favored by accumulated 
 skill, but cut short in its development by the northerners. 
 This new start in art suggests the theory advanced by some 
 that there was an infusion of new blood in the days when the 
 ^gean civilization was passing into the sere and yellow leaf. 
 
 Yet it is hardly possible to see in this famous work the begin- 
 nings of true Greek sculpture. Date it as late as we may, it 
 must still antedate by centuries the earliest Greek sculptures 
 known to us, sculptures which it nevertheless immeasurably 
 surpasses. It is both too early and too good to be the beginning 
 of Greek sculpture. 
 
 That beginning must rather be sought somewhere in the gap 
 of the intervening centuries and in forms not now preserved to 
 us for the reason that the material of this earliest sculpture 
 was wood. The choice of wood as the first material of sculp- 
 ture is not only probable, but is attested by abundant evidence. 
 Wooden statues were common in Eg3rpt, as the Greek trader 
 must have known. They were common in Asia, as witnessed 
 by the fine satire of Isaiah. They were the most revered of 
 cult statues in the temples of Greece throughout the classical 
 
50 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 period and down to late Roman times. Witness the Athena 
 Polias, the Brauronian Artemis and the "image that fell down 
 from Jupiter" (that is, whose human origin was lost in anti- 
 quity) in the Ephesian temple of Artemis. Contemporary 
 allusions, if brief, are significant. One of these wooden cult 
 statues is described as little more than a log of wood, and yet 
 as having something divine about it. 
 
 Nor are we wholly dependent upon such allusions for our 
 knowledge of how such statues looked. A draped marble 
 figure from Delos (Fig. 12) undoubtedly reproduces closely the 
 form of these primitive cult statues, whose venerated presence 
 and supposed divine origin gave compelling force to their tradi- 
 tion. In this, better perhaps than in any other, we can epito- 
 mize the art of four hundred years. 
 
 The skirt of this figure is straight and parallel sided. It is 
 smooth and flat before, behind, on right and left, being thus 
 approximately squared, with slightly rounded corners. The 
 feet are incredibly short and broad, mere broad toeless stubs 
 which are visible under the hem of the very scant skirt. There 
 is a slight constriction at the waist which is approached from 
 the shoulders by a straight taper unmistakably suggestive of 
 draw-shave work. The arms, which drop straight down by the 
 side, adhere to the body except for a short space at the waist, 
 beyond which the hand again adheres. Fingers are scarcely 
 discernible, as also the curls of hair falling over the shoulders. 
 Above all, the face is featureless, apparently mutilated beyond 
 recognition. On closer examination, however, this featureless 
 face is seen to be covered with chisel marks. It is rough hewn, 
 not broken. It seems incredible that any race should have 
 contented itself with so expressionless a symbol. 
 
 If we imagine this statue to have been executed in wood rather 
 than marble, as its numerous prototypes undoubtedly were, 
 some of its peculiarities are at once explained. For instance, 
 the very short feet are accounted for by the difficulty of working 
 wood across the grain. Start with an upright log, and perpen- 
 
Fig. 12. — -Female Figure from Delos. 
 National Museum, Athens. 
 
52 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 dicular lines will be easy, but horizontal lines difficult. The 
 feet are therefore trimmed back almost to the ankle to save labor, 
 and perhaps material as well. The arms, too, are strongly sug- 
 gestive of having been made in a separate piece and mortised 
 or doweled on as in Egyptian statues we find them and as in the 
 Greek they undoubtedly were. The suggestions of draw-shave 
 work are likewise easily accounted for. 
 
 Other peculiarities are referable to the sculptor's manner of 
 working whether in wood or stone. His procedure must nec- 
 essarily be methodical. The metho.d of the early Greek 
 sculptor, like that of the Egjrptian, was simple and naive. 
 Beginning a statue like this, he smoothed one surface of his log 
 block, and sketched upon it in outline the front view of his 
 figure. Then he cut the block all round straight through, very 
 much as we might saw out with a jigsaw a figure outlined on a 
 plank. This done, he turned the figure on its side and upon the 
 side surface, now undulating, of course, he sketched the profile 
 outline of his figure and again cut it straight through, following 
 the outline. The figure thus blocked out in the square was 
 then finished by rounding off the corners and working out the 
 details. Unfinished Egyptian statues in various stages illus- 
 trate this early process. While very few unfinished Greek 
 statues have been found, the numerous finished statues, stand- 
 ing and sitting, which show a .large degree of squareness, like 
 our figure from Delos, leave us in no doubt. It is needless to 
 say that that which was square in the beginning was all too much 
 inclined to stay so. 
 
 Of a different significance is the almost total neglect of features, 
 the missing toes, the scarce distinguishable fingers and curls 
 and the astonishing blankness of the face where no features can 
 be traced unless in the region where eyes ought to be. It need 
 hardly be said that the very rudest art, in representing the 
 human figure, never forgets eyes and mouth. The explanation 
 of this seeming neglect is to be found in the collaboration 
 between sculptor and painter which characterizes ancient art. 
 
The Worshiper and his Wooden Image 53 
 
 Strictly speaking, there was no such thing as independent sculp- 
 ture. There was a composite art in which sculptor and painter 
 cooperated, dividing the work according to no fixed rule, but 
 as individual proficiency or preference might dictate. If the 
 sculptor was strong on faces and weak on draperies, the draper- 
 ies were left for the painter to indicate on surfaces left smooth 
 for the purpose, while eyes, nose and mouth would be sculptured. 
 If he was interested in draperies and felt weak on faces, the 
 reverse would be the case. Among the few examples which re- 
 main to us there is much diversity of procedure. 
 
 In the particular example before us the sculptor certainly 
 did not magnify his function. The skirt was left perfectly 
 smooth, not because skirts were so conceived, but because the 
 folds were to be painted on, perhaps with rich borders and 
 embroidered patterns, as in examples now extant from a 
 slightly later period. The face is left rough and formless, save 
 for the two slight hollows already referred to, not because this 
 was intended to suggest a human face, but because the features 
 were to be painted on as on a board or canvas. Whatever 
 may have been the result of this joint effort, we must at least 
 remember that it was something very different from what we 
 now have. The painting may well have been strongly impressive. 
 Put into this expressionless marble intense and vivid 'eyes, 
 black hair and eyebrows, red lips and tinted skin, and the early 
 worshiper would have seen in it not merely an arbitrary symbol 
 but even a strong suggestion of personality. Add brilliant 
 draperies, perhaps embroidered patterns and borders, and the 
 result may have been one not to be despised by the more subtle 
 sensibilities of a later time. 
 
 In this dim twilight of Greek art it is especially important 
 that we place ourselves in the position of the primitive wor- 
 shiper and learn to think his thoughts and feel his impulses. 
 As we measure hid achievements and his shortcomings, we are 
 prone to measure by our own standards and assume that he was 
 seeking our goal. The resemblance is not so very close, v/e say. 
 
54 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Ah, but this is no mere mimicry of things seen. It is not very 
 beautiful, we aver. But beauty was not the sculptor's aim. 
 The impulses which later governed the development of art and 
 which are familiar to us were to him subotdinate or unknown, 
 while other impulses, now half forgotten, in him were strong. 
 No mere love of mimicry or beauty sense explains these uncouth 
 creations. A religion full of mysticism and of imaginings bom 
 less of reason than of hopes and fears, found in these dim shapes 
 the effective symbols of the inscrutable cosmic forces in whose 
 grasp his fragile life is held fast. Personify them though he 
 must, they cannot be merely human. Too great similitude to 
 things human destroys their similitude to the inscrutable thing 
 they are. Would the Zeus that is most like a man be most 
 like the Thunderer ? In the helplessness of this early art there 
 was a vague suggestiveness from which the later art showed 
 itself reluctant to escape, and from which it escaped with loss. 
 Not alone in art has the mind, awed by the inscrutable powers, 
 found comfort in vagueness. 
 
 Art passed on to higher ideals and greater triumphs, but faith 
 clung to the last to these, its earliest symbols, whose forgotten 
 origin was the more easily assumed to be divine. The cultured 
 Athenian of a later day might gaze rapt upon the divine beauty 
 of an Athena Parthenos, or proclaim that no man could be 
 esteemed to die happy who had not seen Phidias' Zeus, but 
 his was the homage of art and not of faith. It was in another 
 temple close by the Parthenon, before a shapeless' wooden 
 image buried beneath votive offerings, that the faithful felt 
 the deeper reverence. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 TEMPLE BUILDERS AND PAINTERS. WHY THE GREEKS PAINTED 
 THE PARTHENON 
 
 It was in this same sixth century before Christ that the 
 Greek temple first took enduring form. There are undoubtedly 
 extant remains of earlier date, but they tell us little of the 
 humble structures which housed the rude cult statues of the 
 earlier centuries. The classic temple, however, retained so 
 completely the record of its evolution that we are at no loss to 
 reconstruct in essence these early shrines. The history of Greek 
 sculpture is so intimately bound up with that of Greek archi- 
 tecture, of which it long remained an integral part, that a brief 
 glance at the early temple is necessary to an understanding of 
 the derived art. The limited scope of the present work excludes 
 a detailed study of architecture as such, for we have elected to 
 make our acquaintance with the Greek primarily in connection 
 with his sculpture. The Greek temple, therefore, in its most 
 general character, as related to Greek life and environment, is 
 our present object of inquiry. Beyond this we shall be in- 
 terested to follow, in due season, the development of its sculp- 
 tural rather than of its architectural refinements. 
 
 UnHke the Eg3^tians, the Greeks lived in a country where 
 rain is not uncommon. As soon, therefore, as they conceived 
 the idea of housing or protecting sacred or cult objects, the 
 housing must involve both inclosure and roof, the latter of a 
 character to shed rain. The material could only be that in 
 common use, namely, wood and sun-dried brick, materials 
 which have been used continuously down to our own time for 
 humble structures in that region. A tiny building with thick 
 walls and gable roof was the obvious result. No windows were 
 
 55 
 
56 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 required or desired, the building being rather of the nature of a 
 safety deposit vault than of a human residence. This funda- 
 mental conception never changed, and with rare exceptions, 
 windows were never introduced. The structure was primarily 
 utiUtarian. If aesthetic effect was aimed at, it was sought 
 through decoration rather than through construction. 
 
 These early builders encountered problems some of which 
 it is important to notice, for they left their impress upon the 
 elegant structures of the classical period, even after construc- 
 tion had quite changed. The walls, we have noted, were made 
 of sun-dried bricks, that is, mere dried mud. Such walls are 
 really very good. If protected, they last indefinitely, and when 
 neatly plastered and whitewashed they are quite presentable. 
 They are very liable to get bruised, however, at the corners 
 and entrances for a yard or so above the base. It became the 
 habit, therefore, to veneer the lower part of the walls and the 
 door openings with wooden planks. Curiously enough, when 
 they ceased using bricks and began to build in stone, they con- 
 tinued for a while to veneer the lower part of the walls, not 
 with wood, but with thin slabs of stone, sometimes even miter- 
 ing the corners as they had done with wood. This increased 
 rather than diminished the Uability of the wall to injury, but 
 the broad slabs of veneer seemed necessary to good form. Ve- 
 neered door openings are found even in the Propylaea at Athens. 
 
 These mud walls, too, were too soft to support heavy weights 
 unless distributed over a broad surface. It must be remem- 
 bered that all such early structures were heavy and clumsy. 
 To protect these crumbly walls from the heavy crossbeams and 
 rafters, a beam was laid lengthwise on the top. This beam it 
 has pleased the technician to call, in Graeco-Latin parlance, 
 the architrave, that is, the master beam. Bearing in mind the 
 great weight of these early timber structures with their heavy 
 roofing materials, it will be clear that if the rafter beams are 
 merely attached to the master beam on either side, the weight 
 of the whole will cause the roof to sag and spread. The roof 
 
Temple Builders and Painters 57 
 
 will eventually fall in and the walls perhaps be crowded out. 
 So the walls must be tied together by crossbeams, perhaps 
 one for each rafter, and the lower ends of the rafters must rest 
 on these crossbeams and be fastened to them. Then no spread- 
 ing will be possible. This, therefore, was done. 
 
 If now we step outside the building, we shall see the ends of 
 these big crossbeams, and between them there will be open 
 spaces, for the wall, of course, goes no higher than the archi- 
 trave. Doubtless these openings were left really open in some 
 of the early temples, the rain being kept out by the overhanging 
 eaves. Later they were probably stopped by a piece of plank. 
 In these beam ends we easily recognize the triglyphs or 'thrice 
 cloven * of the classic temple, so called because later divided for 
 subtle aesthetic reasons into three parts by perpendicular 
 grooves, an echo of the fluted columns of the elaborated Doric 
 temple. In the intervening spaces which assume the character 
 of sunken panels, we recognize the later metopes, the ' openings 
 between' which offered the Greek sculptor one of his most 
 valuable opportunities. 
 
 It is obvious that either end of the building would present 
 above a great triangle made up of crossbeams and rafters, and 
 that somehow this opening in this triangle must be stopped 
 against the weather. This left a gable, or pediment, as usage 
 has unaccountably decided to call it. This place was blank and 
 conspicuous. It could not fail to invite the decorator in the 
 days of more elaborate building, and the problem of the pedi- 
 ment became both the most important and the most difficult 
 in the history of Greek sculpture. 
 
 We need not follow farther such details of temple structure 
 as the ingenious fastening of beams with intervening planks 
 and wooden pins and the resulting classic ornaments, the guttae 
 and mutules. We must now note briefly the development of 
 temple structure in another direction. 
 
 The primary function of the temple, to protect the sacred 
 objects, required only the simple structure we have described. 
 
S8 
 
 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Analogies, however, and secondary functions had their influence. - 
 Sunshine as well as rain had to be reckoned with, and priest 
 and worshipers had very human needs. Hence a porch in 
 front becomes a necessity, not the flimsy wooden shelter of this 
 day of sawmills and timber economy, but a structure of clumsy- 
 massiveness like the rest. The walls and roof were simply 
 extended forward a few feet and the great crossbeam of the gable 
 was supported by a couple of wooden pillars, merely selected 
 and slightly dressed tree trunks. Priest and devotee could now 
 enjoy air and shade, the two indispensable conditions of com- 
 fort in a summer land. This early form, known as distyle in 
 
 T 
 1 
 
 Fig. 13. — Distyle in Antis. 
 
 Fig. 14. — Prostyle. 
 
 antis or 'two columns between the projections,' long secured" 
 the requirements of Greek worship (Fig. 13). 
 
 Another form, perhaps originating in another locality, was a 
 trifle more elaborate. In this the porch was formed without 
 prolonging the walls much, if any, the overhanging gable being 
 supported by columns at the corners as well as in the middle. 
 This gave more air if less shade, and may have been preferred 
 on grounds of appearance. Such a temple is a prostyle, that is, 
 a temple with a 'colonnade in front' (Fig. 14). 
 
 With increase of offerings and elaboration of ritual, these 
 temples became encumbered with votive offerings and para- 
 phernalia. One of the first improvements was, therefore, to 
 make a back room in which these valuables might be stored. . 
 This of course required a longer temple, and might even require 
 a back door. In any case, as the temple looked toward the east, 
 
Temple Builders and Painters 
 
 59 
 
 a morning as well as an afternoon porch was obviously desirable. 
 Hence the double-ended temple which may be of either sort 
 above described, but is more usually of the colonnaded variety. 
 It thus becomes an amphiproslyle, or 'double prostyle' (Fig. 15). 
 Thus far we have considered only convenience and utility, 
 beyond doubt the determining considerations in the earlier day. 
 But questions of appearance, never quite absent from the build- 
 er's thought, became increasingly prominent. It was quite 
 as much appearance as utility which induced some ambitious 
 buUder to extend the colonnaded porch along the sides, thus 
 producing the peristyle, or temple with a ' colonnade all around ' 
 
 1 — -^ — \ \ 1- 
 
 1 1 1 1 III 
 
 
 ^Mm 
 
 p^gjiBSglj 
 
 • 
 
 ' ® - 
 
 r 
 
 ' 1 
 
 -Aim 
 
 U^Jf^sfwil 
 
 1 ' 1 ^ . ' 1 
 
 -^ 
 
 1 
 
 fSWWf^^f^ 
 
 1 
 
 •■ ]• 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 E% 
 
 ,,.. « 
 
 M 
 
 I^MSLAWAUii^kii 
 
 Iffw 
 
 ^Mi 
 
 Fig. 1.5. — Amphiprostyle. 
 
 Fig. 16. — Peristyle. 
 
 (Fig. 16). This full realization of the temple ideal was attained 
 even before they began to build in stone, for a peristyle temple 
 with wooden columns is known to have existed in Olympia, 
 though its wooden columns were one by one replaced by stone. 
 
 This change of course required a considerable broadening of 
 the roof witli a corresponding enlargement of the gables, which 
 now required six columns for their support, a number seldom 
 altered in later structures. The inner structure or cella under- 
 went no fundamental change, and in certain cases was actually 
 the same as that employed in an earlier amphiprostyle temple, 
 the walls being merely raised a little to be in proportion with the 
 wider peristyle. 
 
 The added side colonnades undoubtedly contributed to the 
 convenience as well as to the beauty of the temple, but other 
 changes served only the latter purpose. The crossbeams, it 
 
6o 
 
 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 will be remembered, showed their exposed ends along the sides 
 of the building, alternating with the metopes or intermediate 
 panels. They of course would not show on the ends of the build- 
 ing. As the colonnade was now extended imiformly round the 
 building, it became quite inevitable that the architrave, triglyphs 
 and metopes should also encircle the building (Fig. 17). Now 
 that the temple was built in stone, and the triglyphs were no 
 
 longer real beam 
 ends, but only blocks 
 of stone, there was 
 no difficulty in do- 
 ing this, and our con- 
 sciousness of struc- 
 ture is not so strong 
 as to be troubled by 
 this decorative in- 
 consistency. 
 
 As thus modified 
 the Greek temple is 
 complete. There are 
 indefinite possibili- 
 ties of refinement in 
 the proportions, the finish and the decorations ; different orders 
 of columns may be evolved and amazing subtleties of propor- 
 tion and line introduced into columns, capitals, etc., but no new 
 type is evolved. It was the nature of Greek art to refine with 
 infinite patience a simple theme, rather than to seek novelty in 
 constant change. 
 
 Having thus noted briefly the origin and development of the 
 Greek temple, we are prepared to consider its relation to our 
 more central theme of sculpture. We have seen that the temple 
 invited decoration as regards the metopes and pediments es- 
 pecially, while the cult statue of course called for the sculptor's 
 effort. To these opportunities may be added the frieze or dec- 
 orative band running around the upper part of the cella wall, 
 
 Fig. 
 
 17. — Temple at M^ina,. 
 Reconstruction. 
 
Temple Builders and Painters 6i 
 
 either within or without. The frieze is less obviously required 
 by the structure and, but for a historic accident, might have 
 played little part in Greek temple sculpture. Thanks to that 
 accident, however, it becomes in a single temple a matter of ex- 
 ceptional importance. 
 
 Of these various decorative demands, the pediment was ob- 
 viously the most important. The space was conspicuous and 
 blank. Decoration here is not only exceptionally needed, but 
 if successful, exceptionally effective. The decoration, prob- 
 ably in painting at first, but later in sculpture, might appro- 
 priately represent here subjects of the keenest interest (for 
 which, however, the cult sculpture furnished no opportunity), 
 folklore and story, more or less associated with religion, but 
 bound by no very strict rules of relevancy or character. 
 
 We are fortunate in possessing in the Acropolis Museum at 
 Athens the fragmentary remains of a number of pediments be- 
 longing to structures of the early sixth century or before, which 
 were destroyed by Xerxes in 480 B.C. The earliest and smallest 
 of these (Fig. 18) represents Heracles killing the hydra, a many- 
 headed monster the killing of which taxed the hero's ingenuity. 
 The right half of the triangle is occupied by the hydra, whose 
 reptilian body, rippling off in convenient diminuendo, admirably 
 fills the tapering space. From the central mass of the mon- 
 ster's body branch out the many long-necked heads which dart 
 their serpent tongues at the approaching hero. In the center of 
 the space stands Heracles, making a savage attack upon his 
 ignoble antagonist, while at the left stand his horses and chariot, 
 whose mounting charioteer shows an obvious inclination to 
 move off. Finally, at the extreme left, filling the other tip of 
 the triangle, a large crab comes to the aid of the hydra. 
 
 Nothing could well be more rude than this sculpture. The 
 relief is all of uniform elevation and looks as though it might 
 have been sawed out of an inch board and nailed on, with 
 slight rounding of the corners. Where the object represented 
 is too slender to permit this uniform elevation, relief is boldly 
 
62 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 abandoned, as in the case of the darting serpent tongues which 
 are represented by grooves instead of ridges, the sculptor relying 
 as usual upon the painter for fuller expression. It is needless 
 to say that anatomical knowledge is still rudimentary. 
 
 Yet there is something of real power in this helpless thing. 
 The intrepidity of Heracles is unmistakably suggested by his 
 attitude, which is still discernible in the fragmentary remains. 
 The different temper of the charioteer is equally clear. Dec- 
 oratively, too, the work has its merits. The hydra fits ad- 
 mirably into the space which the artist is called upon to fill, 
 and the coiled body and branching heads are not unplausibly 
 represented. The crab fills his corner acceptably. Only the 
 horses prove embarrassing. The action plainly requires them 
 to be headed that way, but they would fit better if turned round. 
 There have been decorators who would have hitched them 
 nose to the chariot, if necessary to make them fit. Absolute 
 fidelity to the action is a thing to remember in these early 
 works. 
 
 Other pediments in this collection, though hardly attaining 
 to beauty, show marked development. Relief seems to have 
 been early abandoned for sculpture in the round, for which the 
 deep sunk triangle of the pediment offered admirable oppor- 
 tunity. One of these larger groups represented two lions killing 
 a bull (Fig. 19). The bull is thrown rather unplausibly to the 
 ground, while approaching on either side, the two lions bury 
 their claws in his body. The group is very imperfectly pre- 
 served, but shows elements of real power. The figure of the 
 bull is represented with not a little understanding, and we can 
 almost hear the death bellow as with opened mouth and dis- 
 tended nostrils he writhes in death agony. It is unfortunate 
 that the figures of the lions have all but completely perished. 
 It is plain, however, that the group with the two lions rearing in 
 the center above the prostrate body of the bull, their tails ex- 
 tending to the left and right, was well adapted to the exigencies 
 of the difficult space. 
 
64 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Still another of the larger pediments represents in its two 
 ends two different subjects of analogous character. On the left 
 Heracles wrestles with Triton, the "Old Man of the Sea," while 
 to the right the space is occupied by the Typhon (Fig. 20), a 
 monster with serpent bodies, wings and three human heads. 
 On both sides the space is admirably filled with the accommodat- 
 ing tails which it would seem the artist regarded as indispensable 
 to his purpose. 
 
 Fragmentary as are these sculptures, they retain in an un- 
 usual degree one important characteristic with regard to which 
 evidence is all too scanty, namely color. It is well known that 
 the Greeks were accustomed to color their marble in both sculp- 
 ture and architecture. Perhaps nothing in Greek practice is 
 so alien to our sympathies as this. Other features of Greek art 
 may leave us cold and unresponsive, but the idea of painting 
 finely finished marble like the Hermes of Olympia or the en- 
 tablature of the Parthenon arouses in any normal modern mind 
 something akin to aversion. Those who stand in awe of Greek 
 art may hesitate to confess this aversion, or, confessing it, may 
 attribute it to their own limitations. The Greeks were such 
 masters in every art which they practiced that we may justly 
 hesitate before assuming that any Greek practice was ill advised. 
 Starting with this strong ptesumption in favor of Greek insight, 
 it has been naturally assumed that the coloring of Greek marble 
 rested on some permanent and universal aesthetic principle, and 
 that our aversion to the practice is due to the lesser skill of our 
 artists and the lack of appreciation on the part of the modern 
 public. Diligent search has therefore been made for this aesthetic 
 principle which will enable us not only to understand, but per- 
 haps to emulate Greek art. 
 
 The commonest explanation is that white marble is too glaring, 
 especially in a very sunny climate like that of Greece, and that 
 color was used to lessen this glare. More subtle is the sugges- 
 tion that color enhances the modeling of sculpture, a theory 
 which is said to have been confirmed by modern experiments 
 
Temple Builders and Painters 65 
 
 in the coloring of casts of classic statues.' But both of these 
 suggestions seem to prove too much. It is now conceded that 
 the great shafts of the Parthenon columns and the walls of the 
 cella were never painted, only the entablature and adjacent parts. 
 In sculpture, too, while draperies, hair and eyes are colored, 
 there is no evidence that the nude was colored in the great days 
 of Greek sculpture. Most of the glare must therefore have 
 remained, and the effect rather increased by the contrast of 
 colored and imcolored parts. It is clear, too, that if color was 
 used to enhance the effect of modeling, it was precisely the nude 
 which needed the color, and not the draperies, which could be 
 given any amount of form relief and shadow contrast. Nor 
 are we any more reconciled to the coloring of Greek statues and 
 temples when we learn that only certain portions were colored. 
 We are more easily reconciled to the primitive temple or statue 
 colored all over, than to the Parthenon or the Hermes with 
 their contrast of colored and uncolored parts. 
 
 It should not disturb us to discover that here as in many other 
 connections, Greek art was not based on abstract aesthetic 
 principles unrelated to time and place. The very significance 
 of Greek art is to be found in its fidelity to contemporary life. 
 Just as the Greek people, the Greek state, the Greek religion 
 were all parts of a historic evolution and retained to the last 
 abundant traces of earlier conditions, so with Greek art. We 
 must seek at every point for historic rather than for abstract 
 explanations of Greek procedure, both because such explanations 
 are the true ones and because they furnish the only true prin- 
 ciple for our own guidance in art, the true Greek principle, 
 fidelity to contemporary life. And just as life at any time is 
 made up largely of inheritances from the past, of traditions more 
 lovingly than intelligently cherished, so art must be full of these 
 
 1 It is unfortunate that the examples chiefly relied upon for this confirmation, 
 colored for the Boston Museum by the greatest living master of color in this con- 
 nection, should have been withdrawn from exhibition on the ground that while 
 demonstrating the enhanced effect of modeling due to color, they were "decidedly 
 unpleasant." 
 F 
 
66 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 inheritances, of cherished traditions whose origin is dead and 
 forgotten, and which men seek to explain by new reasons and to 
 reconcile to new conditions by subtle and unconscious changes. 
 The bow by which we show courtesy to a lady was once the sign 
 of submission to a conqueror. The jeweled cross which now 
 decorates a lady's throat recalls a terrible martyrdom. The 
 flowers which affection lays upon the coflSn are the survival of 
 the funeral banquet once offered to the dead. These forms have 
 slowly changed ; their content and meaning have changed still 
 more ; they are living forces in the life of our day ; but had it 
 not been for these past conditions which are both gone and for- 
 gotten, we should not have these forms, but others, we cannot 
 tell what. How absurd it would be to explain the wearing of 
 the cross by a study of its inherent decorative character, or the 
 bow by discussing its physical appropriateness as a sign of cour- 
 tesy ! It is enough that custom and gradual change have 
 adapted them to their present quite unanticipated use, without 
 detriment to other interests. Sometimes even this adaptation 
 is imperfect, and no small part of the task of progress lies in 
 weaning men from traditions which with all their modifications 
 are not wholly reconcilable with vital interests. Witness the 
 common communion cup, the burial of the dead, and number- 
 less practices in folk medicine against which modern science 
 inveighs. 
 
 Nowhere is this great principle of human development, this 
 retention of the past under modified form, perhaps even in 
 objectionable form, for present but altered uses, more normal 
 than in art. When we inquire, therefore, about any art form 
 or practice among the Greeks or elsewhere, we must usually 
 expect to find a historic rather than a purely functional reason. 
 We may expect to find that the process or form has changed 
 greatly and that new explanations and new functions have been 
 devised for it, but both the functions and the explanations may 
 be unsatisfactory, a compromise of present with past which is 
 purely a matter of transition. 
 
Temple Builders and Painters 67 
 
 Why did the Greeks color their marbles? Was it for per- 
 manent aesthetic reasons of universal validity, or was it for his- 
 toric reasons which passed with time, leaving a tradition to be 
 adapted or eliminated as the event might justify ? 
 
 We must seek the primary explanation of this practice in the 
 coloring of these earUest Greek sculptures, which fortunately 
 retain abundant traces of the original painting. What is this 
 color like ? 
 
 It is clear at a glance that color is not used to help out the 
 sculptor, as in the earlier cult statues. No part is left unsculp- 
 tured, though color contrast of course often heightens sculp- 
 tural effect. Nor is there any attempt to imitate nature's 
 colors. In the earliest pediment, the killing of the hydra, 
 Heracles and the charioteer are painted rose pink, with black 
 hair and beard. The horses are green (or blue ?) while the hydra 
 and the crab accommodate themselves to the same limited color 
 scheme. The coloring of the later pediments is even more 
 startling. The Typhon has blue hair and beard, green eyes, 
 black eyebrows and red body, while the reptilian tail is painted, 
 barber-pole like, in alternate stripes of red and blue, and the 
 feathers of the wings show a like alternation. In the group of 
 the lions and the bull, the lions are red and the bull blue or green 
 with black muzzle and red nostrils and inside of ears. Save 
 for the red streaks of blood on the bull there is hardly a hint 
 of nature's color, and this exception is probably to be explained 
 by the fact that blood was of so very satisfactory a color that 
 there«was no reason for changing it. These colors are rank 
 and barbaric, just such as savages now delight in. There is 
 very little variety and no blending or toning of color. Inten- 
 sity and stimulating vigor seem to have been sought rather than 
 subtlety or harmony of combination. 
 
 The reason for this coloring will be plain if we recall the func- 
 tion of these sculptures. They were temple pediments and as 
 such were parts of temples. These temples, though built of 
 stone, were preceded by simpler ones built of wood and mud 
 
68 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 brick. What were the decorations upon these early temples ? 
 Not sculpture surely, for neither material nor skill at the out- 
 set permitted this form of art expression, but color, the decora- 
 tion in which primitive man first delights. Spencer tells us 
 that it is perfectly good form for a Brazilian Indian to appear 
 on festal occasions entirely naked, but that if he omits his face 
 paint he loses his standing in the community. It is significant 
 that our earliest examples of Egyptian art are palettes for pre- 
 paring face paint. We may be sure, therefore, that bright 
 pigments played a large part in early Greek decoration. Their 
 temples were doubtless early decorated with gay colors, used 
 with vigor rather than with discrimination, the effect being 
 heightened by bold contrasts. Beams and rafters perhaps 
 were blue, walls red, and pillars green, just as now we paint 
 houses in contrast, the window and door frames one shade, the 
 clapboards another and the shutters still another, though our 
 choice of color is more conservative. With the change from 
 wood to stone there was no thought of dropping color decora- 
 tion. The stones first used were poor and porous, having no 
 beauty of texture to deter the painter, but had that beauty 
 been ever so great, the love of color would have triumphed. 
 
 Finally, sculptural decoration begins, not in the form of a 
 Parthenon pediment, but as a feeble design little more than 
 scratched upon the surface. Are we to imagine our new dec- 
 orator as at odds with the painter, conscious that his art is one 
 that expresses itself through form, and brooking no interference 
 from color ? Not at all. He loved color, Hke his fellows, and 
 ' saw no reason why sculptured temples should not be painted 
 like any other. Even had he suspected an incompatibility, his 
 objection must have been overruled by the universal love of 
 color and by long tradition. 
 
 So the temple was painted, as temples always had been, sculp- 
 tured parts and architectural parts from the same paint pots, 
 for there were no others. Part was set off against part by con- 
 trasts of color just as before, beard being blue and body red, 
 
Temple Builders and Painters 69 
 
 just as rafters had been blue and walls red before. This is 
 why the Greeks colored their sculpture. 
 
 Our primitive coloring being thus accounted for, the further 
 history of color in sculpture may be summarized in two words 
 — progressive elimination. Almost from the first there is mani- 
 fest a certain restiveness under this coloring of sculpture. Not 
 that they object to color as such ; far from it. But they are 
 dissatisfied with the results attained and continually change, 
 always with this result, that while form is continually developed, 
 color is as constantly subdued and restricted. The bright hues 
 give place to more subdued colors which might better be de- 
 scribed as tints. The color area is restricted. The nude, as 
 we have seen, is not colored in the best classic period, and finally, 
 in works of the Roman period, when Greek sculpture, despite 
 its spiritual debasement, has pursued its evolution to the logical 
 outcome, color has practically disappeared. 
 
 Our conclusion is, therefore, that Greek aesthetic instincts 
 were exactly the same as those of the Renaissance and of our 
 own day on this point. Coarse materials and coarser taste 
 impelled the primitive Greek to paint his temples. Sculpture, 
 budding out from architecture, carried with it the inevitable 
 incrustation of color. Growing refinement and taste made 
 gradual headway against the powerful color tradition and 
 ultimately overcame it. It is to the Greek that we owe our 
 instinctive protest against his earlier practice. 
 
 In the long process of elimination, however, taste effected 
 many compromises which were at times so felicitous that they 
 seemed almost like a reconciliation. Color harmonies were 
 studied until they became music to the eye, and their absence 
 would have seemed a pity. Tints were subdued until they 
 ceased to be obtrusive, and accidentally relieved the eye of the 
 glare which the later adopted marble occasioned, though neither 
 the glare nor the reUef were anticipated when the painting began. 
 Above all, the technical process itself was perfected until it 
 seemed a thing too perfect to be sacrificed. It shocks us to 
 
7© The Message of Greek Art 
 
 think of sculpture, finished with the ineffable touch of Praxiteles, 
 being painted. We picture to ourselves the coarsened surface, 
 the brush marks, the inevitable sacrifice of a superlative charm 
 sought with infinite care. But if we had seen the painting of 
 Nicias, whose coloring Praxiteles seems to have rated hardly 
 less important than his own work as contributions to the finished 
 result, we should have felt none of these misgivings. The art 
 is lost and is little explained by the few fugitive allusions in 
 classical writers. There is reason to believe, however, that the 
 pigments, chosen with infinite care as regards harmony and tint, 
 were applied with some such vehicle as melted wax, which was 
 then burned out, leaving the pigment, as it were, incorporated 
 in the very substance of the marble, which thus regained its 
 exquisite finish. That a process perfected with such consum- 
 mate art should have long endured against the protest of the 
 deeper aesthetic sense, seeming not only admissible but even in- 
 dispensable, need not surprise us. It nevertheless gave way 
 before the resistless exactions of Greek mind and taste. The 
 coloring of Greek marbles was adventitious, a historic accident, 
 subdued, refined, utilized during the period of its inevitable 
 presence, but progressively eliminated, never to be resumed. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 ART AND THE TYRANTS. PISISTRATDS AND HIS NEW PROGRAM 
 FOR ATHENS. 560-510 B.C. 
 
 History is comparatively silent with regard to Athens before 
 the sixth century. The city is scarce known to Homer and it 
 plays no important part in the history of this early period. Yet 
 the community was a very old one, as is proved by the JEgean 
 walls on the Acropolis and by Athenian traditions which, con- 
 trary to the rule in Greece, assert that the Athenians sprang 
 from the soil, that is, that they were not immigrants. Yet it 
 is probable that Athens had been influenced like the rest of 
 Greece by the invasion of the northerners. The infusion of 
 new blood was merely effected more peaceably and with less of 
 dramatic incident, and the assimilation of the new element 
 was correspondingly more complete. 
 
 There is reason to believe, however, that the uneventful life 
 of this metamorphosed ^gean community was disturbed com- 
 paratively late in the period of the migrations by a back eddy 
 in the great current, an invasion from Ionia, or Greek Asia, 
 which consolidated a number of conquered communities into a 
 comparatively powerful kingdom. To these conquerors we 
 owe the early constitution of Athens. The leader of the in- 
 vaders of course became king and his chief followers nobles, with 
 rights superior to those of the conquered population, precisely 
 as in the Norman conquest of England. This aristocracy 
 monopolized political rights and tended toward a monopoly of 
 land and wealth as well. The wealth of the few must have been 
 considerable, being based primarily on landed monopoly 
 and the essential serfdom of the tillers of the soil. Industry 
 
 71 
 
72 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 and commerce were not unknown, but they had not become the 
 dominant interest as in a later time. 
 
 In the last days of the seventh century we catch our first real 
 glimpse of Athens. Her state is not happy. The power is 
 in the hands of the nobles, as is sure to be the case in an aris^ 
 tocratic state which is small and in which the nobles have a 
 chance to put their heads together. But they have abused 
 their power and there is widespread distress and discontent. 
 Cylon, a young noble, puts himself at the head of the mal- 
 contents, endeavoring to become ruler, but is defeated and 
 treacherously slain. Discontent continues, however, and its 
 unrecorded struggles soon extort concessions. Draco, another 
 noble, is appointed to draw up laws for Athens, an important 
 check upon the hitherto arbitrary power of the aristocracy. 
 The severity of his regulations, which punished even idleness 
 with death, sufiiciently indicates the disorder of the times and the 
 presence of vagabondage as an intolerable nuisance. Some- 
 thing more than repression is required, however, and soon 
 another noble, this time the wise Solon, is appointed with dic- 
 tatorial powers as legislator, to cure the ills of the state. ' Few 
 legislators have so well deserved their reputation for wisdom as 
 Solon. Palliative measures like the heavy scaling of debts 
 and the repression of disorder were included in his legislation, 
 but they were wholly subordinate. Constructive legislation, 
 aboUshing or curtailing old-time privileges, aimed at the pre- 
 vention of the conditions which had been found intolerable. 
 This is not the place to recount the remarkable reforms of Solon, 
 but it is indispensable that the student of art should bear them 
 in mind if he is interested in the conditions which favor the 
 development of art. Sufiice it here to recall that Solon en- 
 franchised the serfs, facilitated small holdings of land, admitted 
 all citizens to poUtical rights on a reasonable classified basis, 
 established courts of justice and rules of procedure subject to 
 popular control, infused a popular element into the old aris- 
 tocratic court of the Areopagus, while counterbalancing its 
 
Art and the Tyrants 73 
 
 influence by new and more popular bodies. In a word, he 
 created an ordered state, tending strongly toward democracy, 
 but wisely recognizing existing classes as forces to be reckoned 
 with. Modern England, perhaps the most effectively demo- 
 cratic country in the world, is an instance of like practical 
 compromise. 
 
 For our purpose, however, the most important features in 
 Solon's legislation were his enactments in favor of industry and 
 commerce. His laws encouraged the settlement of aliens en- 
 gaged in manufacture and trade, while the adoption of a new 
 standard of weights and measures — the one used by the lonians 
 — facilitated the development of commerce with Ionia, from 
 intercourse with which he wisely foresaw that Athens was to 
 derive so great benefit. It was to this new policy, which trans- 
 formed Athens from an agricultural into an industrial state, that 
 Athens owed her large contact with the Greek world, her wealth, 
 her democracy and ultimately her culture and her art. 
 
 The triumph of Solon's commercial and industrial policy, 
 however, was accomplished only by the temporary failure of 
 his constitutional legislation. When he had left Athens, lest 
 his leadership should degenerate into a tyranny, the dissatisfied 
 aristocracy promptly made what trouble they could, in which 
 they were doubtless ably seconded by extremists from the newly 
 enfranchised classes. The few glimpses which we get of Athens 
 during the next thirty years indicate clearly that the new ar- 
 rangements were but partially accepted by the Athenians and 
 that much disorder resulted. Solon had supplied guidance, but 
 not authority. 
 
 In the year 560 S.c. authority came in the person of Pisis- 
 tratus, a wealthy citizen of Athens and a friend and relative 
 of Solon, who by a daring ruse seized the Acropolis and with it 
 the supreme authority in Athens, which remained in his faniily, 
 save for two brief intervals, for just fifty years. With all his 
 ability and cleverness such an adventure could not have suc- 
 ceeded unless backed up by an influential element in the state. 
 
74 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Like Julius Caesar, Pisistratus espoused the cause of the poorest 
 classes, and was a popular idol before he seized the power. But 
 he was also of noble, even of royal family, with very powerful 
 alliances through kinship and marriage and thus assured of a 
 certain support in aristocratic quarters, while experience of 
 his humane and exceedingly able rule rapidly won the favor of 
 the sorely harassed business interests of the community. 
 Though twice expelled, the second time for a number of years, 
 he was able to return, was even recalled, ior he had become 
 valuable, not to say indispensable, to the little state whose 
 growing industries now craved order above everything. 
 
 The reputation of Pisistratus has suffered in later times from 
 the strong prejudice against autocracy and the assumption of 
 power by an individual at the expense of popular liberty. To 
 this crime, whatever its magnitude, he must plead guilty, but to 
 no other. Friend and foe alike describe him as humane, able 
 and farsighted, an unquestioned leader in the great march of 
 civilization. He controlled the revenues of the state but did 
 not appropriate them. He ruled Athens, but through constitu- 
 tional forms and with an eye single to her well-being. He was 
 the friend of all classes and the promoter of all interests. During 
 his years of exile he had seen much of the larger Greek world, 
 and he returned to Athens with a vision of her possibilities which 
 would have done honor to a Pericles. Solon's policy of Ionian 
 intercourse was ardently espoused and became a policy of 
 Ionian leadership for Athens. Athenian prestige was maintained 
 not only by peaceable expansion, but by successful wars against 
 Megara and JEghxa.. Colonies were planted at Sigeum and in 
 the Chersonese, thus dominating the Hellespont, the most im- 
 portant waterway in the ancient world. Delos, the great Ionian 
 shrine and natural center of Ionian allegiance, was purified 
 and put under the obligation of powerful patronage. The 
 scattered poems of Homer were collected, edited and made the 
 basis of a national literature. Pisistratus was an imperialist 
 of a very high order. His dream for Athens was a large and 
 
Art and the Tyrants 75 
 
 noble one, but it was to be accomplished by the use of the higher 
 weapons. In a larger measure than history elsewhere records, 
 his effort was successful. 
 
 It must not be supposed, however, that his rule was without 
 ita unfortunate incidents. There are those who refuse to be 
 made prosperous through overlordship of a master mind, and 
 Athens had not a few who preferred exile to fortune thus con- 
 ferred. Such a one was Miltiades, uncle of the victor of Mara- 
 thon, who accepted the chieftaincy of a barbarian tribe rather 
 than subjection to a fellow citizen. These withdrawals of strong 
 personaUty probably visibly modified the temper of Athenian 
 citizenship. Furthermore, those who remained did so with a 
 distinct loss of independence. It is much to the honor of 
 Pisistratus that he minimized this loss, but however tolerant 
 he might be of individual initiative in other lines, political in- 
 dependence Was necessarily sacrificed. In a state where govern- 
 ment action directly affected business and social relations of 
 every kind, inability to influence or even to criticize that action 
 laid a heavy hand on individuality and on liberty of action and 
 thought. The situation tended strongly to develop the courtier 
 and the toady and to lay emphasis upon the externals of life 
 rather than upon its fundamentals. These tendencies are 
 strikingly manifest in the art of the period. 
 
 In a sense, however, the conditions were exceedingly favorable 
 to art development. Like all wise rulers, Pisistratus realized 
 that pent-up energy must find a vent or become dangerous. 
 To give the Athenian energy a vent in other than political 
 activities was therefore his settled pohcy, a policy pursued with 
 consummate wisdom. He fostered agriculture and industries 
 in remote localities and by establishing country courts and 
 other administrative agencies kept people from crowding into 
 the city and so lessened its turbulence. Among the wealthy 
 families of the city who were his natural rivals, he fostered the 
 love of letters, of art, of anything except politics. The more 
 completely their energies could be absorbed in these interests, 
 
76 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 the less likely they were to prove politically dangerous. The 
 situation and the policy closely resembled that in Florence 
 under the Medici. There is no reason to assume, however, that 
 this patronage of art and letters was insincere. All that we 
 know of Pisistratus warrants a contrary conclusion. Indeed, 
 it may be doubted whether such a policy can ever succeed unless 
 sincere and intelligent. If begun as policy, it is sure to be con- 
 tinued as a passion if the patron is born to the part. 
 
 Such a patron was Pisistratus. The generosity which had won 
 him the hearts of the people now found larger scope in works of 
 public beneficence. The village spring from whose scanty 
 flow the women of Athens filled their jars was now replenished 
 by an aqueduct, a part of which is still in service. This aque- 
 duct terminated in an ornamental reservoir or basin, the famous 
 'nine-spouter' of classic record. The massive ^gean wall 
 of the Acropolis was embellished with a new gateway of unheard- 
 of elegance. Above all, the great temple of Athena, the so-called 
 Hekatompedon or 'hundred footer,' which had hitherto been 
 of the simplest double porch variety and built in coarse lime- 
 stone, was surrounded by a new colonnade, thus greatly en- 
 larging it, and the enlarged pediments were now embellished 
 with sculptures in marble. In enlarging this temple it became 
 necessary to raise the walls by about a yard to maintain a nor- 
 mal proportion between the height and width of the new build- 
 ing. This, too, was carried out in marble, rather incongruously, 
 perhaps, the rest of the wall being in limestone, and to this is 
 perhaps due the introduction of a decorated frieze, which had 
 found no place in earlier Doric temples (Fig. 21). Thus was 
 established the precedent which was to have such splendid 
 results in the great temple of the century following. 
 
 This is but a partial list of Pisistratus' benefactions, many of 
 which are doubtless unrecorded. How far he personally de- 
 frayed the expense of these improvements we cannot tell, but 
 the probability is that he did so in large part. Nor is it a small 
 service that he incited and directed public action in the same 
 
Fig. 21. — Figure mounting a Chariot. 
 Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
yS The Message of Greek Art 
 
 direction. In all that he undertook his policy was distinctly 
 broadminded and suited to the needs of a future which none but 
 he foresaw. His example was no doubt followed by others. 
 Certain it is that Athens enjoyed a period of unexampled pros- 
 perity and growth, and acquired a habit of mind which was to 
 stand her in good stead in the days that were to come. Art 
 and letters flourished as never before and hardly since in his- 
 tory. Pisistratus might indeed say of Athens as Augustus 
 said of Rome, that he "found a city of brick and left it a city of 
 marble." 
 
 We are fortunate in possessing an unusually complete record 
 of the art of this period. The Acropolis, which had been slowly 
 cleared of its crowded dwellings and converted into a sanctuary, 
 embellished with statues and shrines, was destroyed in 480 B.C. 
 by the Persians and refortified, cleared and leveled by the 
 Athenians on their return in the autumn of the same year. 
 In the extensive filling and leveling then undertaken the statues 
 which had been overthrown and broken were buried and thus 
 preserved to us, as in the normal course of events they would 
 never have been. It is a curious fact that we are much better 
 supplied with data for the study of Attic art of the sixth cen- 
 tury than for that of the fifth or the fourth. These early works 
 are now the chief treasure of the remarkable little Acropolis 
 Museum. 
 
 We may perhaps profitably distinguish between the more 
 important temple sculptures and the private statues which dis- 
 close a somewhat different ideal and serve a humbler purpose. 
 Chief among the former is the marble pediment group which 
 decorated the old temple whose enlargement and embellishment 
 has been referred to (Fig. 22). It represents the battle between 
 the gods and giants, a theme of which Greek art never tired, 
 which embodied the struggle between civilization and barba- 
 rism or the struggle between Cosmos and Chaos, as Carlyle so 
 aptly calls it. Our group represents Athena in victorious com- 
 bat with two giants, both of whom have fallen before her and 
 
Fig. 22. — Athena and a Giant. Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
8o The Message of Greek Art 
 
 support themselves on one elbow. There is nothing very subtle 
 in this motive, though it is clear that such a group is tolerably 
 well suited to the exigencies of the pediment space. The sculp- 
 tor is conscientious and sincere, but not very skillful. The 
 figures are heavy and stiff and the action far from expressive. 
 The fallen giants manifest the almost universal primitive tend- 
 elicy to represent feet, legs and face in profile and shoulders 
 in front view, quite an impossible combination, but the natural 
 result of early and one-sided observation. Facial expression 
 is still far off, while metal diadems and painted draperies, of 
 which there are plain traces, show a dependence on other than 
 sculptural features. 
 
 But while recognizing the limitations of this early sculpture 
 we must not fail to note one great advance, an advance so 
 remarkable that it has scarcely a precedent or equal in the his- 
 tory of art. It will be remembered that in most of the early 
 pediments the artist has made use of hybrid forms or monsters 
 to fill the tips of his pediment triangles. From the time of the 
 hydra down, a tail of some sort, usually reptilian, had been 
 requisitioned for this difficult service, until it might well seem 
 a necessity of these pediment compositions. Primitive myth 
 supplied these monsters in plenty, as it had done for the Egyp- 
 tians, and as it does perhaps for all peoples at a certain stage 
 of their development. To this necessity of early thought com- 
 mon to all peoples was here added an exigency of art which was 
 felt by the Greeks alone. Yet other peoples kept these mon- 
 strous forms which their art did not require, while the Greeks 
 banished them when art had found them all but indispensable. 
 The very theme here represented, the battle of the gods and 
 giants, had formerly been replete with monstrous forms, for 
 the earliest conception of the giants, embodiments of chaos 
 and barbarism, had assigned to them serpentine limbs, animal 
 heads, etc., forms to recur later in the decadence of Greek art. 
 But here, at the threshold of Greek art, these convenient forms 
 are banished. They are repugnant to the sanity of Greek 
 
Art and the Tyrants 8i 
 
 thought, however handy for the artist. Contrast this decision 
 ■with the development in Egypt which steadily multiplied mon- 
 strous forms, not for artistic but for intellectual reasons. What 
 a tribute to the wholesomeness of the Greek mind ! Yet out 
 of this uncouth repertory of early myth, Greek art rescued three 
 hybrids which were worthy of preservation, the winged horse 
 Pegasus, the centaur and the winged female figure. We have 
 but to recall the history of these forms and especially of the 
 last to marvel at the discrimination thus early manifested. 
 
 This wholesome limitation of art to dignified and worthy 
 themes made serious trouble for the pediment sculptor. The 
 triangle was low and the long angles at the tips very acute. 
 Men, on the other hand, are high and narrow under ordinary 
 conditions and fit in such a space very badly. The device of 
 having them lie down and lean on one elbow to secure the 
 proper angle, however varied the pretext, was sure to become 
 monotonous, and intermediate attitudes were difi&cult. Our 
 new pediment group is in many ways not so good as that of the 
 Typhon (Fig. 20), but it is the awkward beginning of a far 
 nobler ideal in art. 
 
 It is when we turn to the private statues that we discover the 
 more characteristic traits of the art of this period. 
 
 Male statues, strange to say, are rare, and our few examples 
 show extreme contrasts. The so-called SabourofE head (Fig. 
 23), which critics assign to this period, is strangely suggestive. 
 Its austere simplicity and crude technique reveal but imperfectly 
 the virility and character which prolonged acquaintance is 
 sure to disclose. We do not know who is here represented, but 
 we cannot resist the temptation to see in it one of those uncom- 
 promising personaUties who at this time preferred exile to sub- 
 jection. Certainly nothing could be less consonant with the 
 art of this period. 
 
 The Rampin head (Fig. 24) is an extreme opposite in ideal 
 and type. It would be unfair to call it representative of the 
 period, for it exaggerates the defects of the age, but it suggests 
 
Art and the Tyrants 83 
 
 with no intention of caricature the court dandy of the time, the 
 complacent pettiness that basks in the sunhght of royal favor. 
 
 One full-length figure, the Calf Bearer (Fig. 25), which belongs 
 to the early days of this regime, is of interest as being perhaps 
 the first Athenian statue ever executed in marble. It shows 
 throughout the characteristic forms of the earlier soft-stone 
 sculpture, the timid little biscuit-shaped masses of hair, the 
 smooth 'jug-handle' beard (now broken off), the draperies, 
 wholly without folds unless painted, smoothly adhering to 
 the body. These forms, so suggestive of concession to a soft 
 and friable material, indicate that the sculptor is used to soft 
 stone and has no idea of the very different forms which his new 
 marble will permit. On the other hand, the marble is from 
 Hymettus, extremely hard and ill suited to sculpture, the only 
 example we have of its use. It is probable that the use of marble 
 by other communities impelled the Athenians to look for similar 
 material in their nearest mountain, a single experiment with 
 which probably sufficed to send them to Paros for future mate- 
 rial. The work is of truly Pisistratic elegance, especially in de- 
 tails such as the tiny tassels which tip the adhering garments. 
 
 By far the greater number of the statues of the period are 
 draped female figures. For the most part the draperies are of 
 great elegance, with elaborate folds and painted decorations. 
 With few exceptions the left hand holds up the drapery, merely 
 to allow the sculptor to work in long curving folds, elegant and 
 decorative, but to the last degree unplausible. Minute distinc- 
 tion is made between over- and undergarments, and texture, 
 weave and stitch are laboriously indicated in surface detail. The 
 right hand holds an object or symbol, the right forearm (now 
 usually missing) being made of a separate piece and mortised in. 
 Hair is elaborated with unprecedented detail. Features, on 
 the other hand, though wrought with great care, are seldom 
 expressive of personality or sentiment. Few periods of art 
 present greater uniformity of type, in spite of carefully sought 
 variety (Figs. 26 to 29). 
 
Fig. 25. — Calf Bearer. Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and the Tyrants 85 
 
 Two characteristics of these statues deserve careful attention. 
 The first is the systematic variation in costume and coiffure. 
 One figure wears an elaborate garment resembling a sweater; 
 another, a tight-fitting short upper garment of the Eton jacket 
 variety. Most frequent is the many-folded overgarment 
 which goes over one shoulder and under the other, apparently 
 hung from a shoulder strap over which falls the upper edge in 
 ruflBe fashion, offering a superb opportunity for the fussy detail 
 in which the sculptors of the time delighted. Sometimes this 
 garment hangs from both shoulders like a fine scarf. 
 
 The coiffures show like variety. One has her hair done with 
 a large roll in front, evidently over a 'rat.' Another has the 
 front hair cut short and done in a series of 'bandolines.' The 
 hair of another is carefully parted and 'waved' over the fore- 
 head, while long strands or tiny braids are wound up to form 
 curious rosettes over each ear. Nearly all have the long side 
 and back hair done in curls which hang, part behind and part in 
 front, over each shoulder. 
 
 It is clear that an altogether unusual attention is here de- 
 voted to costume and coiffure, and that the forms represented 
 are those dictated by contemporary fashion. Art is subject to 
 fashion. It is of the utmost importance that we appreciate 
 what that means. 
 
 The essence of fashion is perpetual change, enforced by social 
 pressure. It has been aptly characterized as "conspicuous 
 waste," its .purpose being to demonstrate' economic ability. 
 Your hat of last season may be most becoming, but you must 
 have a different one this season whether becoming or not, lest 
 people suspect that you cannot afford a new one. Beauty, no 
 matter how important in itself, is a secondary consideration. 
 The new hat may be beautiful, but it must be different. 
 
 On the whole the odds are against its being beautiful. Beauty 
 is largely a matter of adaptation to function, and as function 
 changes but little from year to year, the search for beauty tends 
 to bring us to a comparatively uniform or constant type. To 
 
Fig. 26. — Female Figure. Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and the Tyrants 87 
 
 get sudden and marked contrasts such as fashion requires we 
 must usually depart from the normal, now on one side, now on 
 the other. We are usually so anxious to be in style that a form 
 which is recognized as 'the thing' may seem for the moment 
 to be beautiful, but alas for these forms when they are once 
 out of style. Then their true character is apparent. A study 
 of old family photographs is instructive. 
 
 There are thus two obvious reasons why painting and sculp- 
 ture should take no account of fashion. First, because art 
 aims at beauty and fashion aims at something very different; 
 and second, because fashion demands constant change and pic- 
 tures and statues cannot change. Art must emancipate it- 
 self from fashion if it is to accomplish its purpose. Only twice 
 in the history of art has this emancipation been fully effected, 
 once by Athens and once by Florence. A Venetian painter 
 could represent the meeting of Alexander and the family of 
 Darius with all the characters dressed in the height of Venetian 
 fashion. A Roman sculptor would even represent a lady with 
 an exaggerated coiffure, the latter made detachable like a hood, 
 so that it could be replaced when the fashion changed and the 
 grandmother thus kept up to date. Greek art was never guilty 
 of such atrocities, but in the sixth century it had not yet learned 
 that it must shun the transient caprices of fashion. The simple 
 'Psyche knot' for the hair and the simple draperies, which, we 
 unwarrantably infer from later art that Greek women really 
 wore, had yet to be devised by the great artists of Athens. 
 
 Another striking characteristic of these statues is their color- 
 ing of which abundant traces remain. Great changes have 
 taken place since the days of the blue-bearded Typhon, to say 
 nothing of that earlier time when the painter painted in eyes 
 and other details which the sculptor felt unable to carve. The 
 sculptor has quite graduated from this early helplessness, and 
 is not a Uttle fond of displaying his skill in carving the most 
 minute and difficult forms. Nor is color any longer a mere ap- 
 plication of house painting to sculpture. Delicate tints have 
 
Fig. 27. — Female Figure. Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and the Tyrants 89 
 
 taken the place of coarse colors, and antagonistic elements seem 
 almost reconciled. Each part, face, hair, eyes, garments, is 
 distinguished by its particular tint, but — be it carefully noted 
 — not by a realistic or natural tint. Greek sculpture at its 
 worst never degenerated into Mme. Tussaud's Waxworks. 
 
 But color has developed along a new line at first quite un- 
 dreamed of, namely, the representation of pattern embroidery. 
 The elaboration arrived at is astonishing. Figure 29 shows us a 
 woman whose elaborate draperies are decorated with at least 
 three styles of embroidered border varying from three eighths 
 of an inch to an inch and a quarter in width. The pattern is 
 intricate and executed in several colors, even the stitch being 
 clearly indicated. In other cases the body of the garment is 
 decorated with embroidered patterns in color like brocade. 
 
 It is impossible to deny to these elaborate and elegant creations 
 of sculptor and painter a certain beauty. The uncouthness of 
 the early days is gone. Artisanship is of unsurpassed elegance 
 and sMll. But it is equally impossible to see in them art of a 
 high type. Draperies are elegant but artificial. Coiffures are 
 elaborate but absurdly conspicuous. Meanwhile, attitudes are 
 formal and mechanical and facial expression meaningless, when 
 not simpering and inappropriate. Doubtless we must not 
 expect too much at so early a period in the way of personality 
 and character delineation, but when all allowance is made for 
 the artist's imperfect skill and the difficulties of this higher 
 theme, it is impossible to avoid the conclusion that art is not 
 really facing these diflSculties or aiming at these highest results. 
 Its emphasis is wrongly placed and its ideals are as yet iin- 
 worthy. Art is too much concerned with "fuss and feathers" 
 and too little with fundamentals. It is not that art is crude 
 but that it is superficial, not that it tells us so little about per- 
 sonality but that it tells us so much about clothes, distracting 
 attention from the great things by the extravagant perfection 
 with which it renders little things. Nothing could well be more 
 mischievous than this pattern painting, with its minute atten- 
 
Fig. 28. — Female Figure. Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and the Tyrants 91 
 
 tion to design, and even to embroiderer's stitch. Lost in the 
 mazes of admiration over this preposterous cleverness, all 
 thought as to the great meaning of things human is swamped, 
 and the noblest of the arts degenerates into pretty bric-a-brac, 
 in which elegance takes the place both of beauty and truth. 
 
 Why this superficial elegance at this time ? 
 
 Because life was so at this time. Pisistratus had not willed 
 it so, but it followed inevitably from what he had done. True 
 liberty had disappeared and personality had been shackled and 
 repressed. Athens was making great progress in wealth, in 
 luxury, in refinement, in everything except manhood, and art 
 records, as always, her true status. 
 
 Let us go to a court reception to-day at the palace of the great 
 Athenian. Our way takes us through the crooked and narrow 
 streets of the earlier city where its unprepossessing houses lie 
 huddled against the western slope of the Acropolis, looking 
 toward the blue bay of Phalerum along whose sandy beach are 
 drawn up countless ships from Ionia, and Italy and Egypt. 
 Traffic is busy along the highway which connects the harbor 
 and the city, passing the clay pits and the famous pottery works 
 already crowded by the growing city. We pass the new foun- 
 tain where girls are filling their jars at the convenient nine 
 spouts as we wind our way up to the Acropolis, approaching by 
 a zigzag route quite different from the stately entrance of a 
 later day. The venerable ^gean wall frowns high above us, 
 but a modern cut-stone entrance with pillars before and behind 
 has displaced the massive gateway of earlier times, and for a 
 distance on either side slabs of polished marble conceal the rough 
 boulders of the Cyclopean wall beneath their thin veneer. 
 
 Within the grim citadel change is busy and transformation 
 well advanced. Narrow and crooked streets have been cleared 
 away and unsightly houses are in process of demolition. Primi- 
 tive shrines, not so easily disposed of, stand in awkward 
 isolation, awaiting the transforming synthesis of a later age. 
 The great temple of Athena, however, now showing for the 
 
Fig. 29. — Female Figure. Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and the Tyrants 93 
 
 first time to the Athenians the beauty of the great encircUng 
 colonnade, engages all attention by its majestic lines, its softened 
 colors and the ambitious figures of its great pediment. 
 
 For the most part, gods have displaced mortals as dwellers 
 on the Acropolis, but Pisistratus remains. His palace, doubt- 
 less not offensively magnificent, is the goal of the many who, like 
 us, are bidden as his guests. The guests who stream through 
 the new gateway, past the motionless sentinels whose all-seeing 
 impassivity is the ominous symbol of gracious tyranny, are 
 brilliantly clad in Oriental stuffs and laden with jewels. Men 
 vie with women in the splendor of their attire and the elaborate- 
 ness with which their long hair, of hue surpassing nature, re- 
 flects the coiffeur's art. Emulating and imitating these are the 
 statues that we pass, reminding the divinities in the several 
 shrines of their important votaries, or decorating the palace 
 where the great man welcomes with unaffected graciousness 
 Athenian and alien alike. All speaks of refinement and culture, 
 nay more, of freedom and good will. There is good breeding 
 with its inevitable schooling in orderly procedure, but there is 
 no oppressive restraint. Conversation is free and affable. 
 There is discussion of the new Homer, the new temple, the 
 latest poem and the newest statue, the chorus of approval being 
 broken only by ripples of playful dissent. The host meets his 
 guests on equal terms and accepts in good part the sallies of 
 wit which are aimed at him. Little knots of guests form here 
 and there, ourselves in one of them. As strangers we are in- 
 teresting as well as interested. Our inquiries about the new 
 buildings, the public improvements, the statues, the poems and 
 so forth, elicit lively and willing response. But alas, we are 
 strangers, and curiosity passes the limits of discretion. What 
 about Miltiades ? Why have changes been made in the laws of 
 Solon? There is a sudden chill in the atmosphere, an embar- 
 rassed silence, a precipitate attempt to change the subject, a 
 furtive glance to see if the statuelike servant was listening. 
 A few more words, and our group accidentally dissolves, leaving 
 
Fig. 30. — Female Figure, probably by Antenor. 
 Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and the Tyrants 95 
 
 us but one and he the most taciturn of our Athenian acquaint- 
 ances. He is a sculptor, this Antenor, he tells us, and as he 
 strangely stays by us, we leave with him. We ask him about the 
 statues that have interested us. The gay company that we 
 have met has already made them seem more natural. To our 
 inquiry why there is not more interest in the athlete, as at Argos, 
 or in the statesman, the hero, Antenor replies with a shrug of 
 the shoulders. We understand. There is no narrow bigotry 
 in the palace, but hero statues and hero worship are not favored, 
 or at the best only Homeric heroes. Such subjects are re- 
 garded as dangerous, and apt to raise controverted questions 
 foreign to the true nature of art. Antenor seems not over en- 
 thusiastic about the elegant sculptures of the time, even about 
 his own. For the large statue which we noticed as we came, 
 he tells us is his work (Fig. 30). We had already noticed that 
 it was larger than the rest, more dignified and austere. While 
 it has the same draperies, the same hair and curls, the same 
 general type in short, the face is not simpering and a spirit diffi- 
 cult to define distinguishes it from the rest, something a trifle 
 tonic after this surfeit of elegance, which leaves us with a faint 
 expectant interest in Antenor. Altogether our visit to the 
 Acropolis has been illuminating, and has revealed in the art 
 which puzzled us at first an appropriateness which reconciles 
 us if it does not wholly command our admiration. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 ART AND DEMOCRACY. THE DEMOCRATIC REACTION AND VICTORY 
 OVER PERSIA. 510-450 B.C. 
 
 The brilliant rule of Pisistratus came to an abrupt end. He 
 died in 527 B.C., thirty-three years after he had first seized the 
 government in Athens. He was doubtless sincerely mourned by 
 the majority of the Athenians. He left two sons, Hippias and 
 Hipparchus, who seem to have tried sincerely and with fair 
 success to continue his mild and beneficent rule. All went well 
 for a space of some thirteen years, when one of the brothers was 
 murdered and the life of the other attempted as the result of 
 a private feud. Up to this time there seems to have been little 
 disposition on the part of the Athenians to recover their liber- 
 ties. A government that really maintains order and protects 
 life and property is apt to claim the support of the majority of 
 serious citizens, even if its burdens are heavier thaii those im- 
 posed by Pisistratus. Decidedly, Pisistratus was a success in 
 the task which he had undertaken, and his sons received the sup- 
 port of all but the irreconcilable idealists. 
 
 The murder of Hipparchus, however, in 514 B.C. completely 
 changed all this. It is but charitable to assume that Hippias' 
 narrow escape shattered his nerve and left him a prey to terrors 
 which he could not banish. In any case he changed from a 
 mild ruler to a bloodthirsty tyrant, the prey of suspicions from 
 which his truest friends were not safe. This change rapidly 
 alienated the Athenians and revived, as nothing else could have 
 done, the memory of their lost liberties. In 510 B.C., after four 
 years of misrule, Hippias was expelled and the rule of the Pisis- 
 tratidae ended. He fled to the court of Persia, where his efforts 
 to reinstate himself in power at Athens resulted in the two great 
 
 96 
 
Fig. 31. — Hestia Giustiniani. Torlonia Museum, Rome. 
 
gS The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Persian invasions and gave occasion for the two glorious vic- 
 tories of Marathon and Salamis, and incidentally to the mar- 
 velous development which was the result of their stimulus. 
 
 It is important to recall the changed character of Pisistratic 
 rule during these last four years, as explaining the far-reaching 
 reaction which now took place in Athens. The reaction afiected 
 not merely the government, but the entire fabric of Athenian 
 hfe. Just as everything had felt the impress of Pisistratus and 
 his all-embracing policy, so now everything felt the influence of 
 the reaction. Athenian ideals for a generation may almost be 
 defined in terms the opposite of those just used. The elegance 
 and luxury of Athenian life now gave way to a more than Jeffer- 
 sonian simplicity. The voluptuous ideals of Asia are dis- 
 placed by the simpler habits of the more Hellenic states. 
 Democracy returns with a vengeance and is entrenched by the 
 constitution of Clisthenes. Athens owed much to the bloody 
 rule of Hippias, for failing that she might have been much less 
 certain of her own mind. 
 
 Art, true to its great function of the interpretation of hfe, at 
 once feels the change. The draped female figures which have 
 engaged our attention are much less frequent in this period of 
 democratic reaction, and those that we possess are of a very 
 different character. The reader will do well to pause at this 
 point and glance at a series of draped figures of this period, the 
 Hestia (Fig, 31) and the draped figures from the Olympia pedi- 
 ment (Fig. 52) and metope (Fig. 32), comparing them with 
 those with which the last chapter has made us famihar. The 
 draperies are no longer caught up in the left hand, but fall 
 straight downward in few and simple folds. There are no 
 ruffles or traces of embroidered patterns. The arrangement of 
 the hair is the simplest imaginable, free alike from carelessness 
 and elaboration. The attitudes are simple, but expressive and 
 sincere. Above all, the face has acquired new character, not 
 subtle and sentimental, but grave and dignified. The funda- 
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 Museum, Olympia. 
 
loo The Message of Greek Art 
 
 line, as it were, but they are undisguised by accidents and ele- 
 gant irrelevancies. The difference between these two periods 
 is the widest possible. The one period is elegant, fussy, man- 
 nered and superficial. The other is simple, unsophisticated, 
 lacking in subtlety, vivacity and manifold adaptation, but honest 
 and significant. In some ways art seems to have lost ground, 
 as when we have taken the wrong road and are obliged to go back 
 on our tracks to get in the right path again. But in the main 
 issue there is great advance. Art is headed right and has adopted 
 'dignified and worthy ideals. Is it possibly some inkling of this 
 higher spirit which redeems for us the statue by Antenor ? 
 
 It is the development of the male figure, however, which 
 chiefly characterizes the art of this time. With few exceptions 
 the male figure is represented in the nude from the earliest period 
 to the end of Greek art. So far-reaching has been the influence 
 of Greek tradition that this extraordinary practice has been less 
 challenged by later ages than its importance deserves. Its 
 acceptance under the overawing sanction of Greek art and in 
 oversight of differences of condition has resulted in a perfect 
 tissue of sophistry, which we must clear away if we are to under- 
 stand this important characteristic of Greek art. 
 
 It is noteworthy that nude art is practically unknown before 
 the time of the Greeks. Nude figures, to be sure, are not un- 
 common in the art of the Egyptians, but they are of a very sub- 
 ordinate character, mere S5nnbols of human beings designed 
 for menial service. Major figures of gods and men are invari- 
 ably draped, however scantily according to our northern stand- 
 ards. Yet there is abundant evidence that the Eg5rptians were 
 naively unconscious in these relations, and that the obstacles 
 to the free use and enjoyment of the nude in the interest of art 
 could have been more easily overcome here than by most an- 
 cient peoples. Nor will those who are familiar with Egyptian 
 art claim that it was lack of aesthetic appreciation which pre- 
 vented the Egyptains from availing themselves of this supposed 
 aesthetic resource. The artist of Abydos who could represent a 
 
Art and Democracy loi 
 
 goddess giving the breast to Pharaoh in reliefs which have been 
 pronounced the most beautiful that ever came from the hand of 
 man, was neither too sensitive nor too unappreciative to have 
 used the nude had he found advantage in so doing. Assyrian 
 and other pre-Greek art is similarly if less significantly limited 
 to the draped figure. 
 
 From the earliest times the Greek artist represented the male 
 figure in the nude, but only the male figure. The female nude 
 seems to have been unknown until the fourth century, and its 
 introduction at that time seems to have evoked much protest. 
 Only in the period of distinct decadence, artistic and social, did 
 it acquire vogue, and it never became the rule. Under the 
 Romans the nude became confessedly depraved, to be pro- 
 hibited by Christianity and only slowly revivAi during the 
 Renaissance under the influence of classic tradition. Since that 
 time it has remained as an exotic in modern art. Artist and 
 connoisseur are ahke conscious of a protest in the minds of the 
 unsophisticated, though the protest is often cowed into silence. 
 To live down this sensitiveness is tacitly accepted as one of 
 the ordeals of initiation into the inner circle of art's elect. 
 
 This use of the nude, like the coloring of Greek marbles and 
 other Greek practices, is usually explained on grounds of ab- 
 stract aesthetic principle. The human body is the central 
 theme in sculpture, as it is intrinsically the most beautiful ob- 
 ject in nature. To perfectly represent the human body is the 
 greatest achievement in art. The appreciation of these funda- 
 mental principles attests the aesthetic character of the Greeks 
 and accounts for the supremacy of their art. Even the very 
 unconventional Mr. Ruskin lends his support to this conven- 
 tional dictum of the modern studio. 
 
 It is not a challenge of the supremacy of the Greek to say that 
 all such explanations are fallacious and that conclusions drawn 
 from such reasoning, if correct, are so only by virtue of accidental 
 coincidence. Neither the human body nor any other object is 
 intrinsically the most beautiful object in nature, nor is the cor- 
 

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 Pig. 33. — Apollo of Orchomenos. National Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and Democracy 103 
 
 rect representation of any such object a high achievement in 
 art. All such arguments prove too much. If the human body 
 is so intrinsically beautiful, why did the Greeks admire a nude 
 Apollo and shudder at a nude Aphrodite? Is only the male 
 body beautiful ? All human opinion is to the contrary. Why, 
 too, did Phidias, the greatest of Greek artists, abjure almost 
 entirely the nude figure ? 
 
 And why is the contemplation of this alleged supreme beauty 
 so painful a pleasure to minds which are apparently normal in 
 our own day? Why should art require for its enjoyment an 
 artificial environment of tastes and ideas so largely at variance 
 with those which experience dictates for life ? 
 
 The studio reply is prompt and emphatic, that a knowledge of 
 the nude is indispensable to a knowledge of the draped figure. 
 The modern sculptor, in modeling a draped figure, models it 
 first in the nude, then paints it red and adds the drapery. In 
 the numberless trimmings and scrapings involved in this pro- 
 cess, if he strikes red paint, he knows that he is doing violence 
 to the fundamentals and corrects his work accordingly. Evi- 
 dently this process requires careful training in the life class and 
 a study of the nude model_ which is pei^ctly in^cupus to the 
 sane-minded student. w..^"*'^ yiZIiA>-*^^5v "^7___^ 
 
 But the necessity of a knowledge of the nude pj^ves nothing 
 at all as to its importance p6r se as a thp-mpm a^x\ Mirhel- 
 angelo declared that a kno^fidge-ef-^hs-SEeletMi was indispen- 
 sable to a knowledge"Srme human figure and himself studied 
 in the dissecting room to secure that knowledge. But he did 
 not draw the conclusion that the skeleton was therefore the 
 supreme theme in art. 
 
 It would be most unfortunate if art were subject to narrow 
 considerations of prudery and moral censorship. It may and 
 must claim a broad liberty in the interpretation of its great 
 themes, relying upon the whiteness of its marble, the remote- 
 ness of its suggestions and the otherworldliness of its environ- 
 ment to secure for its creations the immunity which art's purposes 
 
Fig. 34. — Apollo of Thera. National Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and Democracy 105 
 
 require. But it is an even greater mistake to assume that art 
 has no connection with life, that protective instincts have no 
 standing in her court, and that her supreme opportunity is to 
 be found in the exploitation of studio privilege. Certainly the 
 Greeks made no such mistake. 
 
 It is a truism of history that Greek nude art was a develop- 
 ment from Greek athletics. From a very early date athletic 
 sports had a prominent place in Greek life, serving not merely 
 as an entertainment but as a discipline for war and the great 
 functions of life. The games of Olympia, whose origin is lost 
 in antiquity, certainly far antedated our earliest extant examples 
 of Greek art. Their influence may therefore be assumed in 
 these earliest examples, and that increasingly throughout the 
 period of Greek independence. In our search for the historical 
 origin of this peculiar phase of Greek art, it behooves us to recall 
 the important characteristics of these games. The two facts 
 with which we are confronted are first, that the athletes were 
 naked, and second, that the spectators were exclusively males. 
 At Olympia a seat is said to have been reserved for the priestess 
 of Demeter, but it is safe to assume that the representative 
 of this austere ethical cult usually left her seat untenanted. 
 We are confronted, therefore, first of all by the important fact 
 that sex consciousness was eliminated. Such a spectacle was 
 as harmless as a horse race in its appeal to the spectator. On 
 the other hand, nakedness was an immense advantage in the 
 appreciation of the finer points of the game. Every motion, 
 every pose, every hardening of muscle was perfectly visible, and 
 the trained eye became conscious even of the subtlest psychic 
 currents that complicated this wonderful struggle. Slowly 
 every feature of the body became meaningful, eloquent alike in 
 action and repose. Finally, it must be remembered that the 
 refinement of these games tended to produce not only perfect 
 observation but the perfect human figure. Never before or 
 since has the world known any such combination of selection and 
 training to produce the perfect man. 
 
Fig. 35. — AjioUo of Melos. National Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and Democracy 107 
 
 Picture to yourself one of these ancient 'fans' who, from 
 boyhood to old age, has watched these contests from his seat 
 in the stadium, himself enlightened by many an experience and 
 not unworthy achievement. As the athletes troop in before 
 the vast throng his quick eye grasps every detail, every subtlety 
 of line, every motion, every sign of alertness and intelligence. 
 Each athlete one picked from a thousand, his eye revels in their 
 perfect form and estimates at a glance their possibilities. The 
 vial of oil is handed to each, and with slow obeisance to the 
 cheering throng, each lifts high the vial with studied grace and 
 with the other hand catches its golden stream and rubs his 
 comely form, slow turning, till it glistens in the sun. Every 
 motion is a studied revelation and is watched with breathless 
 interest. There are the stately preUminaries, then the mighty 
 cast of the discus, the agile hurling of the javelin, the lightning 
 dash of the foot race and the final grapple of the wrestlers. 
 The dullest imagination catches the enthusiasm of this scene 
 which the best trained eye of to-day would gaze upon with but 
 unintelligent curiosity. With what sentiments must our old- 
 time enthusiast, thus trained through all the years, have gazed 
 at last upon the perfect form — not a hair too much or too little, 
 a mind perfectly controlling the mechanism of a body perfect 
 in all its parts. Methinks the lump would have been in our 
 observer's throat just then and utterance would have been 
 choked in emotion. 
 
 It would be contrary to all experience, to all reason, if such an 
 enthusiasm, such an appreciation, did not reflect itself in art. 
 Nude art was the natural and] necessary expression of a national 
 passion. The intensity of thii^passion, in itself pure and whole- 
 some, was such as to burn al^; noxious elements away. So far 
 from being a panderer to baseness, it was the most effective 
 bulwark against it. The spectator might be Ucentious and de- 
 bauched, but the athlete never. Nude art, therefore, symbolized 
 perfect manhood triumphant over weakness and vice. 
 
 During all this glorious period, as has been said, the female 
 
Apollo Strangford. British Museum, London. 
 
Art and Democracy 109 
 
 nude was unknown. The reason was precisely that which makes 
 the modern mind hesitant. When in the fourth century venture- 
 some art takes up the forbidden theme, the universal protective 
 instinct asserts itself in quick protest. But Greek instincts 
 are already perturbed, and art slides rapidly down the incline 
 of Asiatic and Roman patronage. The spectator of gladiatorial 
 sports saw little in the finesse of Greek athletics or in their 
 counterpart in Greek art. On the other hand, it was quite in- 
 comprehensible to him that the charms of the nude female 
 figure should have been so little appreciated. The Roman, 
 therefore, sought this art for precisely the reason which led the 
 Greek to reject it. Let us draw the curtain before the orgies of 
 Roman nude art. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to point out that theories as to the in- 
 trinsic and eternal beauty of the nude and its permanent su- 
 premacy as an artistic theme find no warrant in Greek art. The 
 human body is doubtless a very fundamental and permanent 
 interest of human Ufe, but as an object of aesthetic contempla- 
 tion its importance depends entirely on circumstances. Greek 
 life made the male body a legitimate center of intelligent ob- 
 servation and emotional appreciation, and as such endowed it 
 with very great interest for art. Modern life does nothing of 
 the sort. The most beautiful body to-day evokes but the fee- 
 blest admiration outside of studio circles. Even a studio train- 
 ing gives but a caricature of the old Greek appreciation. The 
 modern model is not the embodiment of human perfection which 
 greeted the spectator in the stadium, but an indifferent human 
 accident used to develop copying skill. The admiration which 
 such a training evokes is not an appreciation of ideal beauty, but 
 an admiration for technical skill. This skill must be developed, 
 and the nude model must be employed to that end, but the 
 sooner the artist learns that the copying of human common- 
 places, no matter how cleverly done, is not art, the better. The 
 partisan of these misplaced studies, discovering that they evoke 
 little enthusiasm, too often falls into the abysmal error that art 
 
no The Message of Greek Art 
 
 is only for the studio initiate, and that "this people which know- 
 eth not the law is accursed." This circle of the self -ostracized 
 elect cannot be too emphatically reminded that their nude is 
 not the Greek nude, that their enthusiasm is not a Greek en- 
 thusiasm, and their ideal not a Greek ideal. It is hardly too 
 much to say that the nude in contemporary art is an ob- 
 solete theme feebly enlivened by furtive appeals to doubtful 
 passion. 
 
 We have noted the significant fact that the male nude rarely 
 occurs in the art of Athens during the Pisistratic period. It 
 was, however, common in other parts of Greece from the earliest 
 period. A long series of such statues collected from various 
 localities now fill one of the larger rooms in the National Museum 
 at Athens, while other museums in Europe furnish additional 
 examples. These figures are traditionally known as ApoUos, 
 and such may have been their intention. If, as others believe, 
 the intent was to represent athletes, the result must in any case 
 have been much the same. The earliest examples are exceed- 
 ingly crude (Figs. 33-36). The feet are placed side by side or 
 one a Uttle in advance of the other, parallel and flat upon the 
 ground. The arms hang straight at the sides ; the face looks 
 straight forward. Limbs and figure give an indescribable 
 impression of rigidity and tension. Anatomy, though some- 
 times ostentatiously displayed, is crude and inaccurate. There 
 is neither action nor well-considered expression. At the worst 
 the face is utterly lifeless, scarce human even. At the best this 
 lifenessness has been relieved by an insipid grin, the uniform 
 though often painfully inappropriate symbol of animation. 
 
 Slowly, however, improvement is noted. There is better 
 finish, better expression, more relaxation in the figure. The rear 
 foot is lifted and poised more lightly on the toes, the knee and 
 elbows lose their rigidity and are bent. The head is poised 
 more naturally, tipped a little, turned to one side. These im- 
 provements are not startling. Some of them, too, are only 
 matters of inference, intermediate forms having been lost. 
 
Fig. 37. — Apollo of Tenea. Glyptothek, Munich. 
 
112 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Perhaps the Apollo of Tenea (Fig. 37) may mark the level of 
 attainment at the advent of Pisistratus. 
 
 Athens seems to have contributed but little during the next 
 half century to the development of this important theme, though 
 we are perhaps in danger of inferring too much from negative 
 evidence. Some exquisite examples of nude sculpture usually 
 assigned to the later period may possibly be of earlier, that is, of 
 Pisistratic origin, notably the fine head of a youth and the nude 
 figure in Figures 38 and 39. It seems likely, however, that the 
 peculiar taste of the time found the draped figures which we 
 considered in the preceding chapter much more congenial, and 
 that in the development of nude art Athens did Uttle more than 
 keep in touch with the progress of other communities, notably,. 
 Argos, where there is reason to believe that quite other ideals 
 were cherished. Certain it is that with the advent of the new 
 order the neglected theme found favor, and developed skill 
 stood ready at its bidding. 
 
 The keynote of the new period was struck by the Athenian 
 Assembly in its decision to erect a monument to commemorate 
 its great deliverance. It is significant that Athens felt moved 
 to express its enthusiasm at this time through the medium of 
 sculpture. It had plainly become the national art. The proj- 
 ect, however, had its difficulties. The monument must rep- 
 resent somebody and there was a dearth of obvious claimants. 
 The easy impersonation of abstractions so familiar in later art 
 was something for which our materialistic mercantile Athens 
 was not yet ready. The deliverance not having been wrought 
 by a real hero, the Athenians had recourse to the two most 
 conspicuous actors in the great drama, Harmodius and Aris- 
 togiton, wholly unworthy characters whose act had been 
 prompted by a base private grudge rather than by patriotic 
 impulses. To these "Tyrannicides" the Assembly decreed an 
 honor statue to be executed in bronze and erected in the market 
 place. The sculptor chosen was Antenor. 
 .The statue, erected no doubt almost immediately after the 
 
Fig. 38. — Head of a Youth. Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
Figure of a Youth. Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
Art and Democracy 115 
 
 expulsion of Hippias in 510 e.g., stood in the market place for 
 about thirty years, until Athens was captured in 480 B.C. by 
 Xerxes under the guidance of the aged but implacable Hippias. 
 It was then carried off by Xerxes as a trophy to his capital. 
 Upon the return of the Athenians after the victory of Salamis, 
 one of their first concerns was to restore this monument of their 
 dearly bought liberties. Antenor being presumably dead at 
 this time, two other sculptors, Critias and Nesiotes, were en- 
 trusted with the work and again the Tyrannicides occupied their 
 place of honor in the market place. Matters remained thus 
 for about a century and a half, when Alexander conquered Per- 
 sia and returned the earlier statue to Athens. From this time 
 forth the two groups stood side by side until they met their un- 
 recorded fate at the hand of the barbarians. 
 
 The Museum of Naples contains a well-executed Roman copy 
 of one of these groups (Fig. 40). Opinions differ as to which one 
 is represented, and it is perhaps safe to say that neither is very 
 accurately reproduced in this suspiciously modern work. The 
 original intent of the sculptor is further obscured by the fact 
 that one of the original heads is lost and has been replaced by 
 another of some two centuries later date which had lost its body. 
 The archaic style of the other head, however, which is an ad- 
 mirable physiological rather than psychological study, is true 
 to the spirit of the period, and argues for the fidelity of the 
 whole. If this work even approximately represents the art of 
 Antenor or his successors, it certainly speaks volumes for their 
 progress. Not only is the nude figure splendidly fashioned, but 
 the tremendous reality of the action is worthy of all praise. 
 
 Midway between the expulsion of Hippias and the building 
 of the Parthenon, our epoch is divided by the most memorable 
 event in the military history of Greece, the battle of Salamis, 
 incident to which was the destruction of Athens, an important 
 event in the history of her art. On either side of this great event 
 stretches a generation of significant progress but of interrupted 
 and troubled activity. Each of these periods has bequeathed 
 
Fio. 40. — Harmodius and Aristogiton. 
 National Museum, Naples. 
 
Art and Democracy 117 
 
 us one great monument which admirably illustrated the status 
 of art in its age. These are the Temple of Aphaea at .(Egina, 
 and the Temple of Zeus at Olympia. 
 
 The Temple of ^Egina is a small but beautiful Doric perip- 
 teros commanding an incomparable view from the summit of 
 the rocky island which was the forerunner of Athens in com- 
 merce and culture. Its date is uncertain, but must have been 
 some years before the Persian wars. The pediment sculptures, 
 early collected for the Museum in Munich and restored by 
 Thorwaldsen (Fig. 51), mark a conspicuous advance over the 
 Athena pediment of Pisistratus, in rivalry with which they were 
 perhaps executed. The arrangement of this and other pedi- 
 ments, a problem of the greatest importance, is reserved for 
 later consideration. We are concerned here to note the charac- 
 ter of the individual figures. It is a battle, and with the ex- 
 ception of Athena in the center, the group consists of fighting, 
 wounded and dying soldiers. These figures show surprising 
 excellence in anatomy and great vigor of action, but there is no 
 adaptation of facial expression to the exigencies of the theme, and 
 no feeling for the higher poetical requirements of art. All the 
 faces have the insipid grin already referred to, which, from its 
 prominence in this example, is often called the ".(Eginetan 
 smile." Athena stands in the midst of the fray and grins; 
 two heroes fight over the body of Patroclus, and Patroclus and 
 heroes grin. Bowman and spearman kneel behind, and all grin. 
 Mortally wounded soldiers breathe their last in the corners of 
 the pediment, and they too grin. The artist is merely using 
 the conventional symbol for animation, unmindful of its 
 inappropriateness, quite unable, apparently, to meet the subtle 
 requirements of psychic adaptation. The theme, too, is utterly 
 prosaic. The artist has no appreciation as yet of the value of 
 those rare motives that stir unusual emotions, or of the subtle 
 suggestion which redeems incident from commonplaceness. 
 
 Again of uncertain date, but certainly after the Persian wars, 
 stands the great Zeus Temple of Olympia. Its colossal mass, 
 
ii8 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 fine form and imposing sculptural decorations must have gone 
 far to stimulate the nearly contemporary builders of the Par- 
 thenon to their supreme effort. 
 
 Here again we reserve for later study the great sculptural 
 pediment groups, the last word in large scale, decorative com- 
 position before Phidias. We are concerned here with the 
 character of the sculpture as such. This is perhaps best illus- 
 trated by the fragments of the metopes which are so important 
 a possession of the Museum of Olympia. One of the best (Fig. 
 32) represents Heracles getting the apples of the Hesperides 
 from Atlas, who assents to Heracles' request to bring them on 
 condition that the latter will perform his task of holding up the 
 sky while he is away. This the hero, nothing daunted, under- 
 takes and successfully performs with the aid of Athena. The 
 admirable figures of Heracles and Atlas show a still further 
 advance in the mastery of the nude, but the advance is much 
 more than this. The calm dignity of heroes and goddess alike, 
 the realistic suggestion of burden in the attitude of Heracles, 
 above all the admirable faces full of dignity, repose and power, 
 lift these figures to a plane which it is difiScult to surpass. It is 
 true that the artist is still conservative in his themes. Intri- 
 cacy, vivacity, dramatic intensity are lacking, perhaps because 
 beyond his power. There is also a childlike naivete in inter- 
 pretation. Nothing could well be more naive than the way in 
 which the goddess assists Heracles, merely lifting the heavy 
 burden from behind as would a child in play. Of subtlety and 
 suggestion there is none, none also of the higher poetical faculty. 
 Phidias and Plato have not yet laid their spell upon Hellas. 
 When their message is ready, however, the language of utter- 
 ance will not be lacking 
 
 In one of the rooms of the National Museum at Athens stands 
 a mutilated figure misnamed Apollo of the Omphalos (Fig. 
 41). Whether Apollo or athlete we do not and need not 
 know. Forearms and feet are missing and the face has suffered 
 sad mutilation, but its beauty triumphs over all disfigurements. 
 
Fig. 41. —Apollo of the Omphalos. National Museum, Athens. 
 
I20 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 The limbs are relaxed, the head is posed easily, and the hair 
 gracefully arranged in the older fashion. The face is calm, 
 earnest and dignified, the body beautiful in its reposeful power. 
 It stands isolated as the high-water mark of art before the great 
 days. It is no illegitimate flight of fancy to picture the youth- 
 ful Phidias in those eventful years after Salamis wandering 
 about among the monuments and sculptured memorials of that 
 new Athens which was so soon to claim his powers, and gazing 
 long and earnestly upon such works as this, the last word in that 
 long lesson which art had been learning in preparation for his 
 supreme message. For in this Phidias saw the best that he was 
 to know of art until he knew his own. 
 
 The achievements of this age are not dramatic or showy. 
 They are none the less supremely important. Art was shorn 
 of its adventitious elements and pruned of its seductive man- 
 nerisms. There was a return to simplicity, sincerity and 
 earnestness. The immediate suggestion is one of austerity, a 
 loss of prettiness, even of beauty. Longer acquaintance with 
 the Apollo or the Olympian metopes reveals in them great soul- 
 satisfying quaUties which are the promise of greater things. 
 If art lacks grace, charm and soaring vision, it has at least 
 ceased to be a plaything and has taken its place among the great 
 serious interests of life. That place and that spirit it never 
 lost so long as Greeks controlled its destiny. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ATHENS BECOMES AN EMPIRE. THE DELIAN LEAGUE. PERICLES 
 AND PHIDIAS 450-400 B.C. 
 
 The battles of Marathon and Salamis dedded the fate of the 
 great Persian expeditions and assured the redemption of Greece, 
 but they did not complete the work of redemption. Twelve 
 years of arduous warfare followed, war less dramatic than these 
 two great battles, but hardly less important. In this war the 
 Greek cities along the north and east sides of the .i^gean were 
 wrested, one by one, from Persian dominion and organized into 
 a federation for mutual protection. The task of organization 
 was even more arduous than that of liberation, and a human 
 generation passed before the logical outcome of Salamis was 
 fuUy realized. 
 
 In this great task all the allies who had fought against Persia 
 seem at first to have participated, but Sparta, easily first in 
 military organization, soon ruled herself out by the incom- 
 petence of her general. Thereupon the Ionian allies voluntarily 
 ranged themselves under the leadership of Athens, fortunately 
 represented at the moment by Aristides and Cimon, two of her 
 wisest and be^t. As Spartan military organization was little 
 adapted to oversea campaigns and Spartan wit hardly antici- 
 pated the results of Athenian leadership, Sparta relinquished not 
 unwillingly her share in the diflScult task, the more so as Aris- 
 tides and Cimon, who were all-powerful in Athenian councils, 
 were declared friends of Sparta and devoted to the policy of an 
 all-Greek federation. For a time this poUcy seemed to prosper. 
 A League was organized with its treasury and council head- 
 quarters at Delos, the tiny island-shrine of the lonians in mid- 
 
122 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 ^gean, into which the allies entered voluntarily, pledging each 
 a certain quota of men and ships for the war against Persia and 
 against the pirates who infested the ^gean. This contribu- 
 tion, nominally determined by the council, was in fact dictated 
 by the fair-minded Aristides, whose decisions gave universal 
 satisfaction. The quota of Athens was very much the largest, 
 as befitted her wealth and power, yet she had at the outset 
 only a single vote in the council, and Aristides probably never 
 expected her to have more. The presidency was hers, quite 
 inevitably, both because of her power and because she was 
 represented by Aristides. 
 
 All this changed because of the action of the allies themselves. 
 The war dragged on, and the little states found it irksome. 
 The Ionian cities were never much given to making common 
 cause. They joined the League willingly enough when it was a 
 question of their individual liberation, but when it came to 
 paying their good money to liberate their commercial rivals 
 their enthusiasm was finite. Moreover the maintenance of a 
 naval plant to keep a few ships in commission was relatively 
 very expensive. Unable wholly to throw off the burden, they 
 hit upon a means of lightening it which was finally adopted by 
 nearly all. Athens had a splendid naval establishment and 
 could build and equip ships far cheaper than they could. So 
 they bargained with her to supply their quota for an annual 
 money payment, and thus found themselves free to devote 
 their energies to the splendid commercial opportunities which 
 the efficient work of the League and its Athenian-manned navy 
 had opened up. It seems strange, in the light of subsequent 
 events, that the allies did not fear thus to put themselves in the 
 power of Athens, but may we not see in their action an evidence 
 rather of confidence than of dullness? What a magnificent 
 tribute to the character of Aristides as an imperial asset to his 
 people. 
 
 All went on smoothly for a time, but certain problems had not 
 been foreseen, or if foreseen, had been deliberately postponed. 
 
Athens becomes an Empire 123 
 
 They had formed the League, as we Americans formed ours, 
 for a specific purpose, and they postponed, as we did, the knotty 
 question of what should be done when that purpose was ac- 
 complished. Doubtless the larger minds hoped that the League 
 would be permanent and that it ^ould accomplish a larger 
 purpose than that of local liberty, but most men do not think 
 much about these larger and remoter possibilities. So, as the 
 work of the League seemed nearing completion, the sea cleared 
 of pirates, the cities liberated and Persia cowed, the question 
 inevitably arose whether it paid to remain in the League. Why 
 not withdraw and save further outlay? One or two tried it, 
 and were promptly coerced by Athens with the very fleet which 
 the allies had contributed to maintain. Whether Aristides 
 would have done this we cannot say, but Aristides was dead. 
 Athens saw her interest too plainly in the existing situation to 
 be willing to sacrifice it. Moreover, it was easy to see that the 
 seceders were narrow and selfish. What they wanted was not 
 the dissolution of the League, but merely to get its advantages 
 without paying for them. They thought that Athens and the 
 cities on the mainland would be compelled in their own interest 
 to keep down the pirates and hold Persia at bay, and they would 
 get the benefit without contributing ; not a very magnanimous 
 attitude, but peoples are seldom magnanimous. Athens quickly 
 showed them where they stood. The League was now an em- 
 pire and Athens was its capital. It was a very wonderful em- 
 pire, the first that had ever been formed voluntarily, of liberated 
 rather than of conquered provinces, and with tribute voluntarily 
 agreed upon and justly assessed, instead of extorted by force. 
 How long was the world to wait for another such empire ? And 
 if later Athens used coercion, it was not to extort more tribute 
 or to suppress local liberties, but to maintain these liberties for 
 all. The position of Athens was morally a very strong one, and 
 considering the universal tradition of imperial oppression, it 
 is a marvel that she preserved so nearly the mind of "Aristides 
 the Just." 
 
124 ^^^ Message of Greek Art 
 
 Meanwhile things had come very much her way. The war 
 conducted under her leadership had not only destroyed all 
 hostile naval power, but had developed a new and far more 
 eflScient naval science. As naval science and other conditions 
 changed, her contracts with the allies must be constantly re- 
 vised or broadly interpreted. The essential thing was to pro- 
 tect the League and its commerce. This Athens did beyond 
 question. The great trouble was that she did it so easily and 
 at a fraction of the original cost, now that her navy was de- 
 veloped to the point of easy supremacy. Tribute acciunulated 
 in the treasury at Delos, and then — master stroke of favoring 
 fortune — there was a war scare, and the Samians proposed that 
 the tiny island be relieved of the custody of a treasure which she 
 could not protect. This suggestion that the treasure be re- 
 moved to Athens, where it could not be seized by pirates or 
 enemies of the League, was perfectly reasonable, but it was so 
 obviously to the advantage of Athens that we may fairly suspect 
 that Athenian diplomacy was back of it. Here, piled high in 
 the treasure room of Athena^ the glittering yellow ingots brought 
 to imperial Athens their possibilities and their temptations. 
 
 The treasure of course belonged to the League and Athens was 
 only its custodian. Nominally, its expenditure should be de- 
 termined by the council, but this council had either ceased to 
 exist or had come completely under the control of Athens. The 
 conservatives, or 'strict constructionists,' argued that the 
 League had been formed for defense, and its tribute paid for 
 that purpose. If not needed for that purpose, the tribute 
 should be reduced or remitted and the surplus distributed. 
 To use it for other purposes was a breach of trust. The con- 
 servatives were of course in the majority among the allies. 
 The liberals, or 'loose constructionists,' maintained that the 
 League had been formed for the general welfare, and that any 
 use of the tribute consonant with this larger view was legitimate. 
 Among such purposes was obviously the strengthening and 
 embellishment of Athens, the defender and representative of 
 
Athens becomes an Empire 125 
 
 the League. The liberals were of course in the majority in 
 Athens. It was the old antithesis between men of precedent 
 and men of vision, an antithesis sharpened as usual by opposi- 
 tion of interests. As in all such cases argument on each side 
 was conclusive but unconvincing. But Athens had the fleet 
 and the treasure, and was not afraid to use either. The dispute 
 was settled, therefore, in the usual way. The justice of the 
 decision is quite as much in dispute now as then, for these two 
 opposing temperaments are still with us. There are still those 
 who see wisdom in precedent and who seek, to be guided by the 
 intentions of the fathers; and there are those to whom "new 
 occasions teach new duties" and who chafe under this spiritual 
 mortmain. We need them both. The world's stability is due 
 mainly to the one and its progress to the other. 
 
 The important thing for us to note as we turn again to that 
 phase of Athenian achievement with which we are chiefly con- 
 cerned, is that Athens is no longer an isolated city dependent upon 
 local resources of commerce and manufacture, but the capital 
 of an empire, in receipt of magnificent revenues, and fully com- 
 mitted to the policy of splendid development. The art of the 
 next century is the record of the way in which she played her 
 great part. 
 
 The change above noted was perfectly expressed in the change 
 of leadership which took place at this time. By the middle of 
 the century Aristides and Cimon were no longer at the helm. 
 Aristides had died years before and Cimon had just been gath- 
 ered to his fathers. Probably neither would have had much 
 sympathy for the new order. They had lived in the days of 
 storm and stress and had fought at Marathon and Salamis and 
 Platsea. They embodied the early virtues and loved the simple 
 life and the early ideals. They did not foresee the splendid 
 leadership of Athens in art and culture, and might not have 
 welcomed it if they had foreseen it. It is interesting to spec- 
 ulate as to what might have been the fate of Athens and of the 
 League if they had continued to shape its destinies, but such 
 
126 The Message of Greek ArL 
 
 a continuance would have been impossible even had they lived. 
 In the last years of Cimon's life he saw himself defeated and 
 ostracized by the opposition under the leadership of Ephialtes 
 and Pericles, men of the new order, the latter of whom was soon 
 to find himself alone at the helm of the now imperial ship of state. 
 Among the many stars of first magnitude which crowd the 
 brilliant constellation of this period, there are two which easily 
 outshine all others. The first of these is Pericles (Fig. 42). 
 The most elementary acquaintance with this great age must 
 begin with a knowledge of his personality. He was utterly a 
 liberal, a man whose enthusiasm was for the future rather than 
 for the past. In politics he was a democrat, in foreign policy 
 an imperialist, in religion a freethinker, in all matters of per- 
 sonal and social relation an untrammeled spirit. Yet he was 
 not a revolte or a libertine in religion, politics or morals. In 
 existing religious, political and social systems he saw, not insti- 
 tutions to be reverenced with fetishistic awe, nor yet irksome 
 restraints to be cast off in the interest of personal indulgence, 
 but devices of transient utility to be displaced by others in due 
 course. A man of vision, he was yet no visionary. Democracy 
 to him meant not equality of selfish privilege, but the rounded 
 development of every citizen. His ideal of personal develop- 
 ment was equally removed from the sodden materialism which 
 is the pitfall of mankind and the ascetic otherworldliness which 
 is the pitfall of its would-be reformers. This development of 
 all faculties in even balance was alike the just goal of the indi- 
 vidual life and the necessary condition of permanent greatness 
 on the part of the state. That his efforts to attain this ideal 
 should have involved endless compromise and seeming incon- 
 sistency, even some serious mistakes, should not surprise us. 
 The master potter was fashioning his vessel out of very imper- 
 fect clay. The vessel was none the less fashioned unto honor. 
 Let us not wonder at his failure — that is the universal lot of all 
 who make his attempt. Let us marvel rather at his success, for 
 that was unique. Those who in their young manhood looked 
 
Fig. 42. — Pericles. British Museum, London. 
 
128 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 upon the majestic Parthenon rising as the glorious shrine of 
 imperial Hellas, saw, beneath gray hairs, a prostrate Athens, 
 her long walls dismantled, her triremes sunk and her empire 
 dismembered, never to be reunited. Speedy and complete was 
 the failure of Pericles' great undertaking. But in her fall Athens 
 was more exalted than her foes. Macedon and Pergamon and 
 Rome did her honor. Alexander conquered a world only to lay 
 it at her feet. The Caesars carried her tokens from Parthia to 
 Britain. Christianity voiced its message in her tongue. And 
 when an exhausted world renewed itself by a thousand years of 
 slumber, the first cry of the Renaissance was for Phidias and 
 Plato. To-day her name is a shibboleth of culture, and in- 
 spired devotee and jeering Philistine alike pay homage at her 
 shrine. 
 
 Count the tale of the world citizens, men like Caesar and 
 Charlemagne, Mohammed and Confucius, whose names have 
 become naturalized in every tongue. In this goodly company of 
 the world's elect England has won a single place in a thousand 
 years, France one or two, Germany none, America none; so on 
 with the rest. But of all those whose spiritual citizenship is 
 recognized from the Golden Gate to the Euphrates, one half 
 own the prior claim of Athens. 
 
 Let us stand for a moment on the Acropolis and gaze from the 
 little Nike temple upon the prospect before us. There the blue 
 waters of Salamis sparkle in the sun, with memories of Themis- 
 tocles and Aristides and Cimon. A stone's throw before us is 
 the Pnyx with the famous Bema from which Pericles ruled the 
 Assembly and Demosthenes denounced the Macedonian. To 
 the left is the Prison of Socrates before which grows the hem- 
 lock. To the right is the place of the Stoa where Zeno taught 
 his disciple, and farther on the grove of Academus sacred to 
 the memory of Socrates and Plato, while looking to the other 
 side we are reminded of the Lyceum and the sway of Aristotle. 
 Emerging from the olive groves to the north is Colonnus, home 
 of Sophocles, while the great theater at our feet recalls his rivals, 
 
Athens becomes an Empire 129 
 
 ^schylus and Euripides and Aristophanes. Is there one among 
 my readers to whom these names are not familiar ? How few 
 are they who do not involuntarily lengthen the list! And of 
 these there is not one whose work was not either supplemented 
 or made possible by the work and the genius of Pericles. 
 
 Glorious as was the vision of Pericles, it was more than 
 equaled by his extraordinary power to inspire other men and 
 enlist them in its realization. The moment, it must be con- 
 fessed, was propitious. His appeal was to a properous people 
 refined by the schooling of Pisistratus and intoxicated with 
 the glory of Salamis and the vision of empire. Ready to his 
 hand was the golden hoard bequeathed by the thrift of Aristides 
 and Cimon. A clumsier hand than his could have opened the 
 floodgate of Athenian prodigality. But this alone is no service 
 to art. The unguided flood leaves but wreckage in its train. To 
 control the chaotic vehemence of the impulses which his demo- 
 cratic policy so unreservedly released, and to utilize their energy 
 for the achievements which are associated with his name, re- 
 quired almost superhuman powers. With a character that 
 seems to have combined penetrating insight with prompt deci- 
 sion, he was gifted with an eloquence which made him unique, 
 even among the orators of Athens. Disdaining flattery and the 
 famiUar seductive arts, he stood upon the Bema calm and un- 
 approachable as a god. In his imperturbability, which was 
 alike unrufiled by the passions of the Assembly and the dis- 
 asters of the state, as in the calm mastery of his logic and the 
 beauty of his phrase, there was a majesty which seemed more 
 than human. The opposition which he constantly met was 
 enormous, for his freedom from the prejudices of every faction 
 roused all prejudices into fierce opposition. To the aristocrats 
 he was an anarchist, to the orthodox an infidel, to the frugal a 
 spendthrift, to the traditional moralist a corrupter of the youth. 
 Yet opposition was fruitless and degenerated into unworthy 
 guerrilla tactics. Alone among Athenian statesmen his probity 
 was never challenged, and alike when infinite possibilities 
 
130 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 beckoned and when measureless disaster impended, Pericles 
 was supreme over the Athenians. 
 
 By the side of Pericles and entitled to equal honor stands 
 Phidias. The world remembers him as a sculptor, but despite 
 the honor accorded to his art by the ancient and modern world, 
 it is not in this that we are to recognize his chief service or the 
 measure of his personality. He was the companion and adviser 
 of Pericles, joint fashioner with him of the destiny of imperial 
 Athens. Of this personal intimacy we have the most conclu- 
 sive evidence. How far the great sculptor concerned himself 
 with questions of war and commerce we do not know. It is 
 enough to credit him, as we assuredly may, with initiative and 
 direction in that wonderful art development which alone has made 
 Athens immortal. It is all but certain that not a particle of his 
 handiwork remains, yet in the all-pervading elevation and poetic 
 grandeur of the work of this period, we may with certainty trace 
 the influence of his personality. It is a favorite pastime of the 
 myopic critic to seek his elusive chisel marks and to question 
 the validity of traditional conclusions regarding his art. The 
 chisel marks cannot be traced, but the work of no Greek artist 
 stands more clearly revealed to us than that of Phidias. Statues 
 were but his pastime. His true achievement was the trans- 
 formation of Athenian ideals. His inspired gaze saw in the old 
 myths an ineffable poetry which is not so much his discovery as 
 his creation. Called by his magic, the vanishing tribal gods of 
 a waning faith return clothed with a new divinity. They no 
 longer appear in shapeless wooden fetish shrouded in the pious 
 peplos and wreathed in myrtle, but in forms of infinite majesty 
 which no Greek is esteemed to die happy until he has seen. 
 "That he rode on the crest of a splendid wave is beyond ques- 
 tion," but in a sense that can be said of no other he was the very 
 substance of that wave. In no other age or place has art been 
 so dominated by a single unifying spirit. The Age of Pericles 
 gives us less an assemblage of works than a single organic work 
 of which each statue and each temple forms a necessary and per- 
 
Athens becomes an Empire 131 
 
 fectly coordinated part. The synthesis is one of inspiration 
 rather than of repression or constraint. Such a unity never 
 results from accident, nor yet from the pressure of mere outside 
 impersonal conditions. It can be accounted for only by the 
 ascendency of one master spirit. We are left in no doubt as 
 to who that master was, in hardly more doubt as to the nature 
 of his mastery. 
 
 Of the many distinguished contemporaries of Phidias we know 
 much less. Much of their handiwork remains in the decora- 
 tions of the temples of the Acropolis, but in the absence of 
 personal attribution we are less impressed by the obvious differ- 
 ences of style than by the all-embracing unity of spirit ; less im- 
 pressed by the contribution of the several sculptors than by that 
 of Phidias. Whatever may be the manual authorship of these 
 works, their spiritual genesis must be attributed to Phidias. 
 Or if, by any chance, their imity be otherwise explained, it is 
 still their unity which challenges our attention, rather than the 
 diversity due to their several authors. It will, therefore, serve 
 the purpose both of convenience and of probable truth if we 
 contemplate in the Parthenon sculptures and other nearly 
 allied works the art of Phidias. It is probably true that not 
 one of them ever felt the touch of his chisel, that some of them 
 were even executed after his death, but neither fact excludes his 
 influence or even his controlling guidance. 
 
 Under the guidance of two supreme personalities, therefore, 
 Athens entered upon her great career. The program involved 
 the transformation both of the city and of its citizens. It was 
 sure to be opposed by conservatism at home, by self-interest 
 among the allies, by jealousy in other Greek states, and by the 
 stolidity of that vast barbarian world whose transformation was 
 beyond the range of practical policy. With statesmanlike 
 sagacity, Pericles chose his ground and set the limits of his 
 undertaking. Aristides and Cimon had striven for a united 
 Greece, but theirs was a simpler program. In a war against 
 Persia, Sparta might well participate, but what could Pericles 
 
132 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 and Phidias have done with the Spartans? Pericles has been 
 thoughtlessly criticized for abandoning the broad program of 
 Hellenic unity which had been steadfastly maintained by Cimon 
 and Aristides, and adopting the seemingly narrower policy of 
 Athenian supremacy which involved Athens and Sparta with 
 their several allies in a war which was to bring his great ex- 
 periment to nought. But it is perfectly clear that such a nar- 
 rowing of his constituency was the natural concomitant of the 
 broadening of his program. It was only where his ascend- 
 ency was maintained that he could hope to see his program 
 adopted. He controlled Athens through the Assembly, and 
 Athens controlled the League. This, then, was the natural 
 limit of his policy. He could accept no alien partnership, no 
 outside veto. Even more criticized has been his famous law 
 restricting citizenship to those who could prove descent from 
 parents born in Athens. The purpose was still further to limit 
 and select his constituency. The swarming immigration of the 
 time brought aliens who were strangers to the new ideals, and 
 allies who were disaffected and unsympathetic. To have 
 admitted these men to citizenship would have meant a con- 
 stant accession to the ranks of the ignorant, the unimaginative, 
 the selfish and the unsympathetic who disputed his progress 
 inch by inch. His policy, whether well or ill considered, was 
 perfectly consistent. He chose for his experiment the one 
 place where success was possible, and jealously guarded the 
 field thus chosen from those who could not contribute to his 
 success. It was a daring and hazardous policy, and the hot- 
 house flower which it produced flourished for but a brief season. 
 But with any other policy there would have been no flower. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 ART AND EMPIRE. THE BUILDING OP THE PARTHENON, THE 
 PROPYLiEA AND THE ERECHTHEUM 
 
 The vast scheme of reconstruction and embellishment adopted 
 for Athens at this time is known to us only in small part. The 
 city grew enormously and not only in the new quarters, but 
 doubtless in the older quarters as well, many new buildings, 
 private and public, marked the era of imperial development. 
 But all this was swept away in the long period of calamity which 
 continued almost without respite from the fifth century to the 
 nineteenth, while the rapid growth of modern Athens in the last 
 seventy-five years has effectually burie,d from sight the re- 
 mains of the ancient city. Little is now open to our investiga- 
 tion except the Acropolis which Athens, now as of old, holds 
 sacred " to the good, the beautiful and the true." Here at 
 least the transformation, whether fully planned from the out- 
 set or not, was systematic and far-reaching. 
 
 The Acropolis at present presents the appearance of a fiat 
 table mountain with comparatively regular outline, perpen- 
 dicular sides, and level top. It was originally a most irregular 
 hill of extremely uneven surface, around which the old .Aegean 
 wall meandered in tortuous windings. Themistocles and Cimon 
 had straightened this wall in the hurried rebuilding after Salamis, 
 boldly crossing deep ravines which were filled in behind the wall 
 with broken statues and the rubbish of temples. This straight- 
 ening and leveling removed many of the easier irregularities, 
 but the top was still far from level. Unfortunately the crest 
 of the hill lay, not in the center, but on the southern edge, from 
 which there was a gentle hollow slope to the northern edge which 
 lay considerably lower. 
 
 133 
 
134 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 In the center of the hill and therefore somewhat in a hollow, 
 lay the old temple of Athena. It could not be seen at all from the 
 south side, the principal site of the earlier city, which sti;aggled 
 from the front of the Acropolis along its southern side. From 
 the other points of compass it could be seen but imperfectly, 
 while to the front entrance it presented a direct end view, al- 
 ways the least impressive view in Greek architecture, and one 
 which the Greeks seem carefully to have avoided. The site 
 had plainly been chosen at a time when the Acropolis was 
 crowded with houses, and with regard to local impressiveness 
 and convenience. As the hill was cleared of houses, and the 
 temple became an object of contemplation to the expanding 
 city below, the defects of the site became apparent. Even be- 
 fore the Persian wars a new temple had been begun on the high 
 southern edge of the hill, the only point where it could be seen 
 from all sides. Inasmuch as the temple could hardly stand on 
 the edge of a sheer cliff, a considerable terrace was constructed 
 on the precipitous southern side by means of a huge retaining 
 wall and extensive filling, thus still further leveling and squaring 
 up the irregular hill. 
 
 The great temple begun upon this site stood incomplete, its 
 still unfluted columns already in place and surrounded by the 
 massive timber scaffolding required by such construction, when 
 the Persians captured and sacked the Acropolis. The burning 
 of this scaffolding destroyed the unfinished structure and re- 
 duced the great marble blocks of the walls and columns to the 
 condition of shapeless ruin in which we find them in the wall 
 which Themistocles hastily built on the return from Salamis. 
 
 The site thus cleared was unoccupied for more than a genera- 
 tion. Themistocles, indeed, favored the permanent abandon- 
 ment of the site and the removal not only of the temple but of 
 the city itself to the Piraeus, the new port chosen by his fore- 
 sight, whose advantages, commercial and military, had been 
 so signally demonstrated. But to remove the shrines of the 
 gods from sites long consecrated by their presence was more 
 
Art and Empire 135 
 
 than even the persuasion of Themistocles could accomphsh; 
 and from the first, the rebuilding of the great temple seems to 
 have been contemplated. The early years of warfare and of 
 empire building seem, however, to have absorbed Athenian 
 energies, and the new temple, though decreed in the last years 
 of Cimon's supremacy, was not begun until 447, when Pericles 
 was supreme and the power and wealth of the League were at 
 their zenith. The building thus begun was pushed through to 
 completion in the short space of nine years, save for a part of the 
 sculptural decorations which were apparently completed soon 
 after. When we recall how few Gothic cathedrals were com- 
 pleted in a century, we cannot but marvel at the creative energy 
 of Athens in bringing to completion one of the most expensive 
 and distinctly the most perfect of the world's monumental 
 buildings in this incredibly short period. 
 
 The Parthenon (Fig. 43) is a Doric peripteros having seven- 
 teen columns on each side and eight (instead of the usual six) 
 on each end. It is thus somewhat broader in proportion to 
 its length than other Greek temples, notably the ones which it 
 displaced and whose foundations it utilized. Inside the great 
 colonnade is a cella with a colonnaded porch at each end, which 
 gives each end of the temple essentially a double colonnade. 
 The cella itself was divided into two parts, a large eastern room, 
 which was the sanctuary proper and contained the cult statue, 
 and a smaller western room, which was used as a treasure room. 
 Around three sides of the larger room or sanctuary was a smaller 
 Doric colonnade supporting a gallery, and above this colonnade 
 was another which in turn gave support to the great cedar beams 
 of the coffered ceiling. In all this the builders followed a well- 
 established tradition, save only in the widening of the temple. 
 
 The sculptural adjuncts of the temple were four. First, and 
 most immediately emanating from Phidias was the cult statue. 
 Next in importance come the two great pediment groups, then 
 the metopes, and finally the frieze which encircles the cella wall 
 without. All these were traditional except the last, and that 
 

 CO 
 
 d 
 
Art and Empire 137 
 
 had its precedent in the old temple as enlarged by Pisistratus. 
 These sculptures of the Parthenon are reserved for consideration 
 in the following chapter. They constitute distinctly the most 
 important single group of sculptures in the world, and the east 
 pediment must probably be accounted the most brilliant con- 
 ception known to us in the history of human art. It is impor- 
 tant for our present purpose, however, to note that the Par- 
 thenon does not owe its beauty to these sculptures. With the 
 possible exception of the pediments they could be removed, or 
 inferior sculptures substituted, without appreciable loss. The 
 frieze in particular, despite its intrinsic beauty, would not be 
 missed at all. So prevalent is the notion in our day that the 
 beauty of architecture depends upon ornament, that the searcher 
 for the secret of Greek perfection is apt to be misled at the 
 outset by the seductive beauty of these incomparable but ad- 
 ventitious elements. Ornament was never so perfect nor so 
 unnecessary as here. 
 
 Seductive as are the attractions of ornament, we have but to 
 withdraw to a moderate distance to obliterate them completely. 
 It is then that we become conscious of the larger elements 
 of architectural power, mass, proportion and repose, the great 
 fundamentals which all feel in the absence of surface orna- 
 ment, and which all should strive to feel even in its presence. 
 The student of art in any form may well remember the words 
 of the great painter : "As the light fades and the shadows 
 deepen, all petty and exacting details vanish, everything triv- 
 ial disappears and I see things as they are, in great strong 
 masses ; the buttons are lost, but the garment remains ; the gar- 
 ment is lost, but the sitter remains ; the sitter is lost, but the 
 shadow remains; the shadow is lost, but the picture remains. 
 And that night cannot efface from the painter's imagination." ^ 
 
 He who, by the aid of deepening shadow or mellowing dis- 
 tance, has escaped the din of "petty and exacting detail," 
 
 1 Whistler's reply to a sitter who asked how it was possible to paint when it was so 
 dark,. From "Eddy's Recollections and Impressions of Whistler." {LippmcoU.) 
 
138 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 and has seen things in great strong masses, "as they are," has 
 gotten a far truer measure of architectural values than any de- 
 tailed inspection can ever give. As thus viewed, Greek archi- 
 tecture is easily supreme. Let the visitor to Athens wander 
 towards sunset over to the stadium and from its topmost seats 
 gaze upon the Parthenon outlined against the golden afterglow 
 above the hills of Salamis. Gone are the reminders of decorator 
 and destroyer alike. The great shafts bear with splendid suf- 
 ficiency the burden which rests so reconciled upon their broad 
 summits. Here is no dizzy bravado or soaring line of grace, no 
 "arch that never sleeps," but that perfect repose which is so 
 far superior to filigreed grace. All is shapely and comely in its 
 proportion. Nothing is confused or intricate or uncertain in 
 intention. Few are the buildings which thus outline them- 
 selves easily, clearly and impressively to the vision. Rare is 
 this demonstration of unity of mass and perfect distribution of 
 parts, this deep repose resulting from the perfect reconciliation 
 of opposing forces. Seen thus in great masses "as they are," 
 the Greek temples far surpass all other buildings. 
 
 But not even here are we to seek the unique perfection of the 
 Parthenon. For this we must turn to a third and still more 
 subtle element of beauty, an element in which the Greek archi- 
 tecture is not only supreme but in which it stands alone. Even 
 in Greek buildings this subtle element is very unequally present, 
 and in full application it is found only in the Parthenon. So 
 rare is this peculiar quality that it scarcely has a name. It is 
 often spoken of as 'proportion,' but that word certainly mis- 
 states its character. For lack of a better name it is more 
 often described by the vague term 'Greek refinements.' 
 
 As we stand at the corner of the Parthenon and glance down 
 the line of the long steplike base, the outline of the temple is 
 seen to be perfectly straight, but as the eye ranges along the 
 upper step the horizontal is seen not to be straight but convex, 
 the center being four inches higher than either corner (Fig. 44). 
 Sighting along the end of the platform, the same convexity is 
 
Fig. 44. — St.vlobate of Parthenon, showing Curve. 
 
140 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 seen, the center elevation being half as much, the distance being 
 proportionately shorter. This convexity is carried perfectly 
 over the whole temple platform. Cut a very thin slice from the 
 outside of an apple or orange. It will be shaped like a single 
 lens. Now lay it down, convex side up, and trim it to a rec- 
 tangle. This thin slice with its convex upper surface and the 
 slight upward curving line of the trimmed edges will approx- 
 imate the shape of the Parthenon platform, only it must of 
 course be remembered that this convexity is too slight to be no- 
 ticed unless special attention is called to it. It is convex but 
 it looks flat. Every other horizontal line in the building has 
 this convex character. 
 
 The columns all lean inward, but this leaning is not noticed 
 as a leaning. It is revealed only by plumb-line measurements, 
 but it is felt by the most casual observer as a peculiarly impres- 
 sive repose in the structure. 
 
 The columns seem to be absolutely straight-tapered shafts, 
 but if we sight along one of the fluted edges, we find that this 
 line too is convex. There is an entasis, or swelling, of about 
 half an inch in the length of the column, and the curve of the 
 column's outline is not a uniform but an accelerating curve 
 nearly straight at the bottom and curving more rapidly as it 
 nears the top. At a few yards distance the most practiced eye 
 cannot detect this curve, but the least sensitive will feel it. 
 
 The capitals (Fig. 45) flare rapidly from the neck of the shaft 
 outward, spreading to the width of the abacus or square block 
 above. The profile of this flaring capital seems to be a straight 
 line. But take a rule and lay it on this profile, holding it 
 tightly at the lower end. For a brief space it fits closely. Then 
 a faint line of light comes through, then more and more, until 
 at the upper end it is- nearly an inch from the marble. The 
 profile is again seen to be a curve, and an accelerating curve, 
 invisible as such, yet a part of the visible perfection of the whole. 
 
 The flutings of the columns consist of shallow hollowing 
 channels meeting at a knife-edge. Their purpose is purely 
 
Fig. 45. — Capital of Parthenon, show- 
 ing Curve. 
 
142 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 aesthetic, to interpret or emphasize the perpendicular lines of 
 the building by means of the sharp-edged lights and shadows 
 thus cast. As the columns are six feet in diameter at the base 
 and less than four feet at the top, the channels necessarily nar- 
 row in like proportion as we rise. The concave surfaces would 
 naturally become correspondingly shallower if based on a uni- 
 form curve. But this would have lessened the density of the 
 interpreting shadows toward the top, and so the concaves are of 
 uniform depth throughout. This of course implies a changing 
 curve at every point of the ascent, a feat of extreme difficulty 
 which seems to have been accomplished without a shade of 
 irregularity. 
 
 The above are but a part of the subtleties of line and surface 
 which characterize this wonderful building. The accelerating 
 curve is everywhere, in the cross sections of the tiny annuls, 
 or grooves around the neck of the column, in the hollow top of 
 the grooves in the triglyphs, in the cross section of moldings 
 and eave troughs and cornice surfaces, in places seen and un- 
 seen. It seems to have displaced the straight line and circle 
 curve in the instincts of the workman of the period. The" 
 execution of a building with these refinements, with present- 
 day instincts and training, would be superhumanly difficult. 
 A distinguished architect is credited with this statement :-first, 
 that it would cost ten thousand dollars to-day to carve one of the 
 capitals of the Parthenon; second, that no man living could 
 carve one ; and third, that there is no person living who could 
 learn to carve one in his lifetime. Conceding much to the 
 exaggeration of an enthusiast, there is profound truth in these 
 words. The higher forms of skill in any craft can be developed 
 only in a community which is permeated with this same skill 
 and with the appreciative sympathy and the critical faculty 
 which it engenders. The human hand to-day has lost nothing 
 of its potential cunning, the human mind nothing of its capacity 
 to appreciate, but other ideals have long dominated the imagi- 
 nation. 
 
Art and Empire 143 
 
 It is easy to see in these subtleties an element which is foreign 
 to our later architecture. It is scarcely to be discerned in 
 Roman or Gothic architecture or any of their modern derivatives. 
 Even the conscious imitations of the Parthenon and related 
 buildings have either ignored these peculiarities, or despaired 
 of their reproduction. But the impatient modern will be 
 tempted to say: "What of it? To what purpose such finesse 
 which is as invisible as it is diflacult. Why these curves which 
 are so infinitely more costly than straight lines, and yet which 
 leave the lines seemingly straight ? " So the Roman seems to 
 have reasoned. Discovering the entasis or swelling of the 
 column, he seems to have said, "If the curve is good, why not 
 put in enough so you can see it ? " and he forthwith made 
 columns the shape of a barrel. Subtleties which the mind could 
 not take note of and estimate seemed to him inappreciable as 
 art. Only the Greek' seems to have realized that this border- 
 land which lies just beyond the line of active mental conscious- 
 ness is the very domain of art. Go to a concert, and your mind 
 is actively critical and perhaps not well pleased ; but continue 
 your usual tasks in an atmosphere rhythmical with far-away and 
 scarce audible music, and all unconsciously your tasks will set 
 to singing. In like manner, outline your gravity-governed 
 masses with curves that challenge the eye, and you have sac- 
 rificed their burden-bearing power. Your barrel-shaped pillars 
 look squashed, and your building hangs flabby with fat where 
 it should stand stalwart with sinew. In an art which must for- 
 ever reckon with gravity as its controlling condition, the straight 
 line suggestive of strength and support must forever be the 
 normal. Every departure from this line, so suggestive of sta- 
 bility and power, be it in Gothic groin or flying buttress, in 
 mullioned window or pendant fret, is a hazardous adventure, 
 an economy of material or a purchase of grace at the expense of 
 majesty and power. 
 
 Yet the straight-lined building has about it a certain austerity 
 that we accept with difficulty. It awes us, but it refuses to 
 
144 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 smile. Of this the Greek seems to have been conscious. To 
 preserve the essential elements of architecture, his building 
 must be a straight-lined building. No conscious curves must 
 contradict this fundamental principle. Yet if this architec- 
 ture is to woo our sympathy, its austerity must be relaxed, 
 and its harsh and uncompromising lines must become genial. 
 Hence the invisible curve, the transfigured straight line. The 
 visible curve would have been a sacrifice of principle; the 
 invisible curve was a change of spirit. 
 
 If we have clearly distinguished this last and subtlest element 
 in Greek architecture, we have a clew to the peculiarities of 
 Greek art in general. That art in all its branches excelled less 
 in the use of elements which made conscious appeal to the mind, 
 provoking to analysis and intellectual estimate, than in the 
 manipulation of subtle elements which elude mental notice and 
 are felt rather than seen. The conscious and intellectual ele- 
 ments are primarily the subject matter of science. The buUder 
 who knows but these is an engineer rather than architect. Nor 
 does his character greatly change when he adds extraneous 
 ornament to his reasoned structure as a concession to art's 
 demands. But he who can manipulate the X-rays of art, 
 penetrating to secrets of feeling which the mind cannot per- 
 ceive, is the true artist. Remove all ornament from the Par- 
 thenon, and you cannot materially harm it ; eliminate its subtle- 
 ties of line and proportion, and no ornament can redeem it. 
 
 The Parthenon, once completed on the summit of the hill, 
 was not only visible from all quarters, but it completely 
 dominated the whole Acropolis. No other building of impor- 
 tance remained upon the hill. The wall had no aesthetic char- 
 acter and the gateway of Pisistratus, even if restored after the 
 Persian occupation, was utterly inadequate as an approach to 
 so magnificent a structure. Moreover it did not line with the 
 Parthenon, but stood cofnering, thus adding a peculiar unsight- 
 liness to the irregular front of the hill. This was little noticed 
 so long as small and irregularly distributed buildings occupied 
 
Art and Empire 145 
 
 the space, but when the majestic S3Tnmetry of the Parthenon 
 crowned the sacred enclosure, it was clear that the whole hill 
 must conform to this masterful symmetry. 
 
 A new gateway was projected and begun in the year follow- 
 ing the dedication of the Parthenon. The magnificence of this 
 gateway, as originally planned, transcends in daring ima'gina- 
 tion the Parthenon itself. Unlike the great temple, it was not 
 the perfected expression of a long recognized ideal, but a new 
 creation of startling originality and beauty. That the plan 
 was not destined to be fully realized is part of that tragedy 
 which has widowed humanity. 
 
 The plan (Fig. 46), including a monumental gateway with 
 wide-extended wings on either side, amounted to a magnificent 
 architectural facade for the entire Acropolis. No heed was 
 paid to the irregularities of the rock which had determined the 
 placing and direction of the earlier gateways. In the center of 
 the squared end of the hill was located the Propylcea itself, that 
 is, the gateway with a colonnaded porch on either side. The 
 old .(Egean wall was of course removed sufficiently to make room 
 for the magnificent structure, and in the gap thus created rose 
 first of all a'beautiful wall of marble of architectural rather than 
 of fortress character. This wall was pierced with five openings, 
 a monumental doorway in the center with a smaller and then a 
 still smaller one on either side. Inside this wall and facing the 
 Parthenon was a beautiful templelike porch, quite similar to 
 the end porch of the Parthenon opposite, except that there 
 were no sculptures in the pediment, though we cannot tell what 
 may have been intended. Outside the partition wall and facing 
 toward Salamis was another porch with just such a temple 
 fagade, only this porch was very much deeper, affording an ex- 
 tensive roofed space whose exquisite marble coffered ceiling 
 was supported by two rows of Ionic columns whose slender 
 shafts were hidden away behind the great Doric colonnade in 
 front. In the warm and sunny climate of Greece this sheltering 
 porch, offering its refreshing shade after the fatiguing ascent 
 
k. 
 
 CD 
 1< 
 
 
Art and Empire 147 
 
 of the hill, had more than aesthetic justification. It was an 
 appropriate recognition of the outdoor or porch life of the 
 Athenians, a tendency manifest in every department of life, in 
 the home, the market, the temple, the school, and commem- 
 orated in the name of one great school of philosophers, the 
 Stoics or 'porchers.' 
 
 On either side of this great temple gateway, but set somewhat 
 forward of its front line, a wing was planned extending out to the 
 corner of the hill, making the structure altogether about one 
 hundred sixty-five feet in width. These wings thus enclosed a 
 sort of forecourt of which the great templed porch was the 
 commanding center, and the wings, fronted by lesser Doric 
 colonnades, formed the two sides. These wings were de- 
 signed for galleries of art or other similar purpose, a splendid 
 accessory, stamping with its unmistakable character this sanc- 
 tuary of "the things that are more excellent." 
 
 But this was not all that was planned, though it was more 
 than was destined to be realized. Back of these wings which, 
 it wiU be remembered, were set forward so that they little 
 more than cornered on the great Propylaea, were two great 
 rectangular spaces, each about fifty by eighty feet. In these 
 were to be built two great stoas or colonnaded porches, with 
 Doric columns in front and slender Ionic columns within, to sup- 
 port the coffered ceiling. In each of these, some hundreds 
 of Athenians might have found shelter from rain or heat, with 
 opportunity to pursue, undisturbed by the movement in the cen- 
 tral porches, those occupations of high leisure to which the culture 
 worship of the Athenians dedicated this sanctuary of Athena. 
 . The great gateway and its porches, front and rear, were car- 
 ried out as planned and, save for the final trimming of walls 
 and steps, were completed, unless the absence of sculpture in 
 the pediments be a further sign of incompleteness. The north- 
 ern wing was likewise completed and devoted to its intended 
 use. The opposite wing was built about half its intended size 
 and with other significant changes. The great stoas behind 
 
148 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 were never begun. Abundant signs of interruption of plans 
 are observable where these parts are missing, unfinished sur- 
 facing of walls, stones projecting to receive connections which 
 never came, and above all a certain awkward deference and 
 conspicuous temporizing where the shrunken wing collides with 
 the old .(Egean wall on the south. That this unsightly rem- 
 nant was to be removed cannot be doubted, but it was not 
 removed, and marble blocks were even hewn and disfigured 
 to make way for its uncouth and stubborn surfaces. 
 
 The meaning of it all is painfully clear. Hidden in this cor- 
 ner of the old fortress was. the sacred precinct of the Brauronian 
 Artemis. Pisistratus had brought hither the unsightly wooden 
 statue from the Brauronian promontory, as a part of his policy 
 of securing for Athens the headship and prestige of Attica. 
 The protests of priests and votaries had been stilled by grants 
 to the new precinct and augmented prestige. The plan for the 
 new Propylaea called for the vacating of this precinct. To 
 such a move the priests of Artemis must have been unalter- 
 ably opposed. The splendid changes on the Acropolis had made 
 this coign of vantage priceless. A change would mean a loss in 
 both perquisites and prestige for which there could be no com- 
 pensation. But more serious is the all but certainty that the 
 priests and votaries of this archaic shrine belonged to the con- 
 servative religious party who regarded Pericles and all his 
 great lieutenants as foes of the ancient faith. With sanctified 
 selfishness and the certitude born of ignorance, they formed 
 part of the motley opposition which it is a marvel that Pericles 
 withstood so long. But as war brought its distractions and 
 ultimately its disasters the power of the great leader waned. 
 Concessions now to one element, now to another, became in- 
 evitable. It must have been in some such strait, when perhaps 
 the control of the Assembly and the life of Athens seemed to 
 hang in the balance, that Pericles asked the crestfallen architect 
 to curtail his plans temporarily until the bigoted champion of 
 the wooden Brauronia should die out of the way. Do not the 
 
Art and Empire 
 
 149 
 
 great projects of earth all halt and hesitate, waiting for some 
 one to die out of the way ? So the wing was shortened and the 
 great porches waited for a more convenient season. Alas, it 
 was Pericles who died. It was enlightenment and not super- 
 stition that perished. 
 
 The completion, even in mutilated form, of the Propylaea, 
 gave to the Acropolis that splendid symmetry which could now 
 tolerate no conspicuous exception. Within the walls still stood 
 a number of minor shrines which remained from earlier times 
 and owed no allegiance to the new scheme of symmetry. In 
 accordance with a universal conviction, these shrines could not 
 be moved. The sanctuaries might be rebuilt, but the spot, 
 usually commemorating a supposed event of religious signifi- 
 cance, must remain sacred. It was this universal belief, as we 
 have seen, which 
 prevented Themis- 
 tocles from per- 
 suading the Atheni- 
 ans to rebuild their 
 destroyed city at 
 the Piraeus. 
 
 Three of these 
 detached shrines it 
 was now planned to 
 bring under a single 
 roof by the erec- 
 tion of a remark- 
 able temple. As 
 originally planned 
 it was to be over a hundred feet in length and less than a 
 third as wide (Fig. 47). Its longer axis was approximately 
 parallel to that of the Parthenon, but on the opposite or 
 lower side of the hill. The building, whose height was propor- 
 tioned to its moderate width, thus dropped completely below 
 the base line of the more loftily situated Parthenon, and as seen 
 
 Fig. 47. — Plan'of Erechtheum. Athens. 
 
150 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 from a distance, did not in the least lessen its magnificent su- 
 premacy. The interior was to be divided into three sanctuaries, 
 the end ones approached through the end porches, and the 
 middle one necessitating porches and entrances in the middle 
 of each of the long sides. In strongest contrast with the majestic 
 Parthenon, this slight building was planned in the light and 
 graceful Ionic order. Nowhere is there a vain attempt at mas- 
 siveness and sublimity. Elegance is the appropriate substitute, 
 and in the study of refined and graceful forms and the perfect 
 rendering of decorative detail the Erechtheum is as imchal- 
 lenged among Greek buildings as is the Parthenon in its other 
 field. That elegance and grace are inferior ideals which no 
 possible mastery can hft to the rank of sublimity and repose is 
 no disparagement of the Erechtheum or of the good judgment 
 which chose for the lesser shrine a lesser and non-competing 
 ideal. There are many ways of being perfect, and the Erech- 
 theum has found one of these ways. 
 
 The temple stood on very uneven ground. On the side 
 facing the Parthenon the building abutted on the high terrace 
 of the old Athena temple, while on the opposite side the ground 
 was many feet lower. The difficult problem thus presented and 
 the masterly skill with which it is handled hardly concern us. 
 It is important to note, however, that the side entrance facing 
 the Parthenon was from so high a level that the porch must needs 
 be a very low one. The architect therefore plarmed here the 
 famous Maiden Porch ' (Fig. 48), in which maidens do duty 
 instead of pillars as supports for the entablature and roof. 
 This rare procedure, so ynfortunate in principle and so satis- 
 factory in this application, has been the subject of endless con- 
 troversy and conjecture. It deserves our careful consideration. 
 
 First, as to the principle. It is not good to represent in sculp- 
 
 • Commonly known as the Caryatid Porch. The term Caryatid (or Caryatide) 
 originally means a woman of Caryae, a city in Laconia, and was probably applied to 
 the priestesses of the famous temple of Artemis in that place. Explanations of how 
 the term came to be used in this connection are rather fanciful. 
 
152 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 ture that which is painful to translate into life. A maiden car- 
 rying a large basket upon her head excites no compassion. 
 Sculpture may therefore so represent her. But if the burden, 
 though no larger than the basket, represent something which 
 we cannot translate in thought into something of bearable weight, 
 we cannot think of the girl thus represented as bearing the 
 burden without discomfort. This is plainly the case with our 
 porch. The weight carried is not a basket or other light object, 
 but a stone architrave and roof which no trick of the imagination 
 will turn into something light and easy to carry. An actual 
 girl would be crushed by the burden vyhich these girls are rep- 
 resented as Ijearing. This is bad in principle, and no reverence 
 for Greek authority should obscure that fact. 
 
 Nevertheless, none but the incorrigible doctrinaire really 
 suffers from this suggestion. The Maiden Porch is beautiful, 
 even reposeful. Two questions therefore require answer: Why 
 did the Greek do the wrong thing ? How did he manage so to 
 do it that it does not seem to be wrong ? 
 
 Among many suggestions, it is often urged that this was a 
 device to avoid confronting the Doric Parthenon with an Ionic 
 porch, the Ionic order being unable to bear this direct compari- 
 son. The last assumption has a certain basis of truth, but 
 unfortunately the argument proves too much. If the archi- 
 tect wished to avoid this direct comparison, he has not suc- 
 ceeded. From any point where the two temples can be seen at 
 once, that is, from either end of the Acropolis, the Erechtjieum 
 presents an Ionic colonnade in full contrast with the Parthenon, 
 while for a full view of the Maiden Porch one must take a posi- 
 tion opposite the Parthenon and virtually turn one's back upon 
 it. Of all the porches of the Erechtheum this can least easily 
 be compared at a glance with the great Doric temple, and it is 
 the only one that does not present the dangerous comparison. 
 
 Here, as uslial, the explanation is to be sought in historic 
 rather than in theoretic considerations. The Erechtheum was 
 not like the Parthenon built as a great pan-Hellenic shrine, but 
 
Art and Empire 153 
 
 rather as a local temple to house purely Athenian cxilts. It 
 was appropriately built in the Ionic style, a style of Asiatic 
 origin and associated with that branch of the Greek race to which 
 the Athenians belonged. From time immemorial it had been 
 characteristic of this style, as of all Asiatic architecture, to 
 use human and animal forms in decorative and even in structural 
 relations. The Hittites had planted pillars on the backs of 
 lions, as did Niccolo Pisano thousands of years later, possibly 
 with the Crusaders as a connecting link. The columns of the 
 palace of Persepolis bore crouching bulls as capitals upon whose 
 backs rested the architrave, a device copied by the lonians in 
 Delos. In the Ionic style itself this tendency is constant. 
 The treasury of Cnidus (an Asiatic city) at Delphi has a maiden 
 porch, and animal forms incongruously decorate the capitals, 
 or stalk unrestrained through palmetto borders and other orna- 
 ments. Even in the period of unquestioned Athenian ascend- 
 ency, a great Ionic shrine like that of Ephesus mounted its 
 beautiful columns upon huge double bases which were decorated 
 with figures in high relief. All honor to these incomparable 
 reliefs, but think of a Parthenon decorated in such a manner. 
 
 The Maiden Porch was therefore a traditional if not a neces- 
 sary feature of the Ionic style. In a building so extensive as the 
 Erechtheum, with its three or possibly four intended porches, 
 this feature would naturally have a strong claim to recognition, 
 for which the low-eaved porch offered excellent opportunity. 
 Any one familiar with modern architecture realizes how im- 
 possible it is to shake off classical tradition. Features, struc- 
 tural and decorative, which have the sanction of Greek author- 
 ity, are repeated with an unthinking willingness as though they 
 were a part of the constitution of nature. It does not always 
 occur to us that the Greeks also had a past, with traditions and 
 sanctions from which they were never free. Loyalty to tradi- 
 tion was as natural to them as to us, and was then as now the 
 indispensable condition of orderly and consistent evolution. 
 
 That the inherent objections to this use of the human figure 
 
154 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 have here been so completely overcome is a marvelous illustra- 
 tion of the resource of Greek art at this period. These maidens 
 (Fig. 49) perform the impossible easily and without exertion. 
 They neither excite compassion for their human weakness nor 
 riot in excess of power. Strength of figure and perfect pose 
 have much to do with this result, as have also the straight folds 
 of the drapery, the straight, heavy braids of hair, and the arms 
 which hang straight on the outer line. But it is the face more 
 than the figure which extends over our protesting minds its 
 reassuring sway. These soaring spirits are not tethered to earth, 
 but seem imbued with an inscrutable energy over which the 
 earthward tug of mere human burdens has no power. 
 
 Like the Propylaea, the Erechtheum records the disasters of 
 Athens. We do not know when it was begun, but it is recorded 
 that in 409 it was unfinished. Alas for the dreams that that 
 fatal year found unreahzed. Pericles was dead and moderation 
 had given way to riot in all the counsels of the state. The 
 statesmanship of Pericles made way for the demagogy of Cleon, 
 his liberalism for the libertinage of Alcibiades and his modera- 
 tion for the conservatism of Nicias. Radicalism and sacrilege, 
 then as always, strengthened the forces of reaction, and hand 
 in hand, Alcibiades the blackguard and Nicias the ass led 
 Athens to the shambles of Syracuse. Already Alcibiades had 
 guided Sparta to her prey, and Nicias had reminded his de- 
 spairing soldiers on the eve of that last fatal battle th^t if they 
 failed on the morrow there were no more soldiers on the long 
 walls of Athens and no more triremes to guard her harbor — 
 and they had fought and failed. There were to be yet other 
 death grapples before the Spartan hoplite should stand guard 
 in the Propylaea, but upon these last desperate efforts rather 
 than upon the completion of her temples the energies of Athens 
 were now concentrated. It is amazing that under such cir- 
 cumstances any steps should have been taken to complete the 
 unfinished building. It is self-evident that plans had to be 
 curtailed where possible. 
 
Fig. 49. — Caryatid from Maiden Porch. 
 British Museum, London. 
 
156 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 The eastern end and the north and south porches seem to 
 have been well advanced toward completion ; the west end not 
 even begun. Quite inevitably the building was cut short and 
 walled up as it stood. This left the Maiden Porch at the corner, 
 and the larger north porch projecting incongruously beyond the 
 corner. What this makeshift western wall was like we do not 
 know. It may have been obviously temporary, a mere boarding 
 up, as it were, until the time should come when the whole should 
 be completed as planned. It seems clear that centuries later 
 this temporary wall was replaced by a permanent one in the 
 Roman style, with windows and engaged pUlars and other 
 things not unbeautiful but all un-Greek. 
 
 The fate of these incomparable monuments in later times can 
 claim here but a brief allusion. The Parthenon remained scarce 
 modified for about nine hundred years, when the great statue 
 of Athena was removed, the inside pillars and galleries destroyed, 
 and other minor features changed to convert it into a church. 
 With these regrettable but minor modifications the great temple 
 continued a thousand years without further serious change. 
 It was then converted into a Turkish mosque by the addition 
 of a minaret with which it appears in old pictures of the " Castle 
 of Athens." Another two centuries passed, and Venice and 
 Turkey were in desperate struggle. With that retrogression 
 which has everywhere characterized Turkish rule, the Acropolis 
 had returned to the condition in which Pisistratus found it 
 more than two thousand years before, a fortress crowded with 
 mean houses and armed for defense. The Parthenon was made 
 a powder magazine, and as such became the target of Venetian 
 artillery, to be finally ruined by the explosion of a well-aimed 
 Venetian shell. , It is significant of the growing barbarism of the 
 time that the countrymen of Titian should have this achieve- 
 ment to their charge. 
 
 The Propylaea and the Erechtheum passed through similar 
 vicissitudes at the hands of Christian and Moslem. Both were 
 converted with much mutilation into residences for the Turkish 
 
Art and Empire 157 
 
 governor and his harem, and perished by bombardment or by 
 injudicious efforts for their defense. Both have been reverently 
 restored of late, so far as the original materials permit, thus 
 more clearly revealing their plan and more deeply emphasizing 
 the tragedy of their destruction. 
 
 Alas that so little has remained to us of man's best creations. 
 What a pity that the one perfect thing that man has done should 
 not have been safely delivered to our reverent care. But are 
 we then more sure of our custodianship ? Will the visitor 
 after two thousand years find our Parthenons intact, or will he, 
 as Macaulay prophesied, find a New Zealander sitting on a 
 broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of Saint Paul's ? 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 NEW IDEALS IN ART. PHIDIAS AND THE PARTHENON 
 SCULPTURES 
 
 The energies of Phidias were largely devoted, during his 
 maturer years, to the two great cult statues which are especially 
 associated with his name. These, taken in connection with his 
 duties as supervisor of the Parthenon sculptures and his general 
 participation in the great plans of Pericles, exclude the pos- 
 sibility of miscellaneous work during these later years. The 
 fame which won him these commissions, however, was neces- 
 sarily based upon earlier works of a less ambitious character, 
 some of which are recorded. The most prominent of these was 
 a colossal statue of Athena in bronze, cast from the bronze spoils 
 of Marathon, we are told, and undoubtedly commemorating 
 that victory. The gilded spear and crest are said to have been 
 visible to the sailors as they came from distant Sunium. This 
 Athena later acquired the epithet of Promachos, foremost in 
 battle, apparently as a popular designation. People seem to 
 have named works of art then much as they later named Ma- 
 donnas, from some accident or characteristic which struck their 
 fancy. Perhaps this early work of Phidias was a very warlike 
 Athena. It did duty as originally intended for nearly a thou- 
 sand years and was then carried to Constantinople, where it 
 perished in a riot. Several coins are in existence which give 
 us many but contradictory hints of its appearance. 
 
 Another statue, also in bronze, was peculiar in that it repre- 
 sented Athena without her helmet, a very unusual thing in 
 Greek art, though the Parthenon frieze furnishes at least one 
 more example. The copy of such a statue should be easy to 
 identify. It has. been recognized with much probabihty in a 
 
 is8 
 
Fig. 50. — Lemnian Athena. Albertinum, Dresden. 
 
i6o The Message of Greek Art 
 
 beautiful marble copy, part of which is now in Dresden and part 
 in Bologna. Figure ^50 represents the two reunited in cast. 
 There are few more beautiful heads in existence than this beauti- 
 ful marble in Bologna, which we might almost accept as an orig- 
 inal did we not know that the original was in bronze. The 
 figure is erect and the draperies fall straight and in compara- 
 tively simple folds in the manner with which the copies of 
 Phidias' cult statues make us familiar. Yet the easy attitude 
 of the head removes every suggestion of stiffness, and rigidity 
 is transmuted into dignity. It is diflScult to say with certainty 
 that we have here a work of Phidias, but no obstacle presents 
 itself to this conclusion, to which the beauty of the work, so 
 easily first among Greek works up to the time of the Parthenon, 
 strongly inclines us. Certainly if this had been the work of 
 Phidias it should have secured him the confidence of his great 
 patron and the commissions which he later received from the 
 Athenians. 
 
 The relation of the Parthenon^ sculptures to the work of 
 Phidias has been already mentioned'. Of those now preserved it 
 is all but certain that no portion came from his hand. The 
 pediments seem to have been executed after his death and in a 
 style more modern than that which characterized his cult 
 statues. But there are other than chronological reasons for this 
 difference of style, and work executed in marble after his death 
 may have been planned and even modeled before. There is a 
 quality about the pediment sculptures which it is difficult to 
 account for without the assumption of one controlling mind, 
 and as the sculptures themselves are demonstrably from several 
 hands, that unity can hardly be found in the execution itself. 
 These facts, taken in connection with the well-established tradi- 
 tion of Phidian supervision, give us plausible, if not conclusive 
 grounds for assigning the higher authorship of these works to 
 Phidias. The authorship, however, was probably confined 
 to the broad outlines or concept of the works in question. In 
 the frieze, for instance, we may attribute to him the choice of 
 
New Ideals in Art i6i 
 
 subject and the general working out of the idea, but we need 
 not assume that he dictated the number of horsemen and 
 chariots, much less the posing and detail of the individual figure. 
 The splendid poem of the East Pediment must have been his, 
 and the exacting conditions of its representation must have been 
 carefully considered, but it is not probable that he determined 
 the position or even the identity of each figure, as he certainly 
 did not the treatment of detail. The relation of these several 
 functions to the completed whole will be more apparent as we 
 proceed, as also the reason for assuming this spiritual overlord- 
 ship of a single mind. 
 
 THE PEDIMENTS 
 
 The Parthenon pediments are the culmination of a long 
 evolution, with the first steps of which we are already familiar. 
 In addition to the usual problems of sculpture, the low triangle 
 which the artist was called upon to fill presented an exception- 
 ally difl&cult problem in composition or arrangement. If we 
 are decorating spaces with purely conventional designs like 
 those of the Moors, such a space presents no especial diflficulties, 
 but if we decorate with pictorial designs, representing living 
 beings whose laws of being are more or less familiar to the be- 
 holder, the problem becomes far more difficult. We must now 
 have regard, not merely to the character of our space, but also 
 to the character of our decorative material. It will no more do 
 to distort our living beings than it will to distort our building. 
 If we do, the knowledge and sympathy of the beholder will voice 
 itself in protest, and our appeal to him will be vain. 
 
 The requirements for a decorative group of this sort may per- 
 haps be simply stated as follows: The group must fit, hut it 
 must not seem to be fitted. It must fit, for otherwise the space 
 wiU not seem decorated; and it must not seem fitted, for if it 
 does, it will seem to do violence to Ufe and to destroy its liberty 
 and its true character. 
 
 Judged by this standard, some of the early decorators had a 
 
i62 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 decided advantage. The hydra (Fig. i8), for instance, was 
 wonderfully accommodating. Its undulating tail, its rather 
 arbitrary body mass and its many long-stalked heads could be 
 satisfactorily arranged with the utmost plausibility, the more 
 so as any deviation from true hydra anatomy was not likely to 
 encounter critical knowledge. Heracles, the charioteer and 
 the crab also get along very well, only the horses coming into 
 collision with the cornice. Other early examples like the Ty- 
 phon (Fig. 20) are also convenient, thanks to the accommo- 
 dating tails. The bull and the lions (Fig. 19) certainly seem 
 more forced, and even so the group probably fitted less well. 
 
 But when the momentous decision was reached to limit the 
 repertory of art to dignified subjects and essentially to the human 
 figure, the pediment decorator had to begin all over again. The 
 human figure in its normal attitudes is excessively ill-adapted 
 to fill the sharp angles of the low pediment triangle. From 
 the first the solution seemed to require that some of the figures 
 lie down, and as the only interesting themes which presented 
 the figure in this attitude were combats, these forthwith became 
 the stock theme of the pediment. We have already noticed 
 the first crude attempt in the new pediment of the old Athena- 
 temple (Fig. 22). The Temple of JEgixia, presents a much more 
 satisfactory arrangement by the introduction of more figures, 
 more varied motives and a better gradation (Fig. 51). Athena 
 stands in the center, warriors in combat on either side, then 
 kneeling spearmen and bowmen, and finally in the tips the 
 inevitable wounded soldiers leaning on one elbow. This group 
 fits, nor are individual attitudes constrained or unplausible. It 
 is only when we come to the arrangement of the figures that our 
 group seems fitted. Possibly we might expect to find the 
 wounded in the rear of the combatants, but we cannot avoid the 
 suspicion that they are there because there is room for no one 
 else. The archers, too, may plausibly fight at long range, but 
 not at the moment when the swordsmen have joined issue. 
 Plainly the artist is still thinking about the limits of his space 
 
r?^»* - 
 
 /'a 
 
 1 ^^ 
 
 f r ■-■ - _/ ^ 
 
 %-«^ 
 
 1^ 
 
 -'•w 
 
 fc 
 
 w 
 
164 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 and in so far his group is conceding something of its natural 
 freedom to^rafter exigencies. 
 
 The great Teijaple of Zeus at Olympia, erected during Phid- 
 ias' lifetime, marks a great advance. It not only seeks and 
 secures a freer arrangement, but it adopts a notably higher and 
 more poetic theme. The east pediment (Fig. 52), which will 
 suffice for our purpose, represents the chariot race of Pelops and 
 (Enomaiis, which was the mythical beginning of the Olympic 
 games. A god is the umpire, a king and a prince are the cham- 
 pions and a princess and a kingdom the stakes. In the center 
 stands Zeus, plausibly conceived as above mortal stature. On 
 either side stand Qinomaiis and Pelops, and then, with plausible 
 lessening of stature, the queen and the princess. Next come the 
 horses of the two chariots, four on each side, and as the mo- 
 ment chosen is one of readiness rather than of action, they ad- 
 just themselves much better than the horses of Heracles to the 
 exigencies of the triangle. The horse is a very convenient sub- 
 ject for pediment composition, being higher at one end than at 
 the other, but of course only on condition that he will obligingly 
 turn in the right direction. 
 
 So far all has gone very well, but now the artist is forced to 
 unplausible devices. Under the horses' heads is a space which 
 he desires to fill, and a figure crouches' there somewhat arbi- 
 trarily. Behind the horses should come the chariots with the 
 charioteers in them, but there is no room for these, and so the 
 charioteer crouches in the rear. Behind each charioteer comes 
 another and lower crouching figure not very obviously related 
 to the story, and finally in the tips the inevitable reclining fig- 
 ures, this time river gods, who may not unplausibly be repre- 
 sented as reclining. This is so much better than the .^gina 
 pediment both in the arrangement of the group and in the more 
 poetical character of the story, that it must have seemed a 
 triumph of art in its day. In an important sense it is so, but 
 it is still far from satisfactory. Not only are the sitting and 
 crouching figures near the ends very arbitrary and under con- 
 
New Ideals in Art 165 
 
 scious restraint of the cramped space, but the whole group is 
 dominated by a picture consciousness. How plain it is that 
 this whole central group have been summoned to line up for the 
 camera before the race begins, and that the moment the picture 
 is taken and they are free to devote themselves to the race, they 
 will group themselves in a very different way. With what re- 
 lief will the central group break ranks and the kneeling charac- 
 ters stretch their limbs and mount their chariots when the 
 photographer has pressed the button. 
 
 But to such criticisms the artist might well object that we 
 are demanding the impossible. We are asking for figure and 
 action, the freedom of all outdoors in a space which does not 
 remotely approximate to nature's conditions. We shall best 
 appreciate the imreasonableness of our demands if we take up 
 the problem in a more homely and familiar connection. 
 
 Probably most of us have played as children in an old-fash- 
 ioned attic. Let us imagine ourselves trying to hold a recep- 
 tion in such an attic, low-browed and none too large for our 
 purpose. Our guests must be distributed judiciously. The 
 tallest men must go in the center line, the tall women and 
 shorter men must come next, then shorter women, then set- 
 tees for figures not privileged to stand, couches even, perhaps, 
 for those overcome by the festivities. Plainly the thing can 
 be done. But how about the reception, the movement, the 
 freedom of spirit which such an occasion demands. Try all 
 possible arrangements, and will not the result be the same? 
 Now that we think of it, is not the difficulty inherent in the 
 space itself, an obstacle not to be overcome by any arrange- 
 ment, and has not the artist effected as satisfactory a compro- 
 mise between space and life as we are entitled to expect ? 
 
 If we can turn, in this attitude of humbler expectation, to the 
 east pediment of the Parthenon, we shall be better prepared 
 to appreciate the wonder of its achievement. It is but very 
 imperfectly preserved to us, the middle portion being entirely 
 destroyed and only suggested by drawings and ancient frag- 
 
1 66 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 mentary copies. The preserved portions have suffered terrible 
 mutilation. Yet the essential character of the work is perfectly 
 clear, only details, important, to be sure, but not vital to the 
 general scheme, having been lost. 
 
 The theme, the birth of Athena, was virtually dictated to the 
 artist by the character of the temple. The event, represented 
 as taking place in Olympus and as already complete, filled the 
 middle of the pediment space. Zeus sat enthroned in the midst 
 of the assembled gods ; his head, cloven by the axe of Hephjes- 
 tus, has resumed its normal condition, and the glorious goddess! 
 who but now issued from it stands full-panoplied in the midst 
 of her companion divinities. So much we know, though just 
 how these figures were arranged we may not hope to discover. 
 It is plain that the arrangement of such a group in the middle 
 of the pediment space presented no insuperable difficulties and 
 that the figures involved could hardly have permitted of the 
 formal arrangement of the group at Olympia. Judging by the 
 adjacent remains, there must have been exquisite details of 
 figure and drapery, but here we are reduced to conjecture. ,; 
 
 Turning to the extreme corners of the triangle (Figs. 53 and 
 54), we catch our first glimpse of the genius of the supreme 
 poet. The device of the reclining figure is abandoned, as that of 
 the reptilian tail had been before. In a famihar nature myth 
 the artist finds the perfect theme for his difficult purpose. In 
 a country that was more sea than land there was scarcely a 
 Greek who had not seen the sun rise or set in the sea. To the 
 poetic imagination of the Greeks, the sun was a god who drove 
 his chariot through the sky, illuminating the earth with the 
 blaze of the chariot wheels, and descended beneath the sea to 
 rest until another dawn. Similarly, the moon was a goddess 
 who drove her paler chariot through the sky by night and 
 rested beneath the waves by day. 
 
 All previous pediment attempts had assumed the base of the 
 pediment to represent land, on which the necessary figures must 
 crouch or recline. It is here assumed to be land in the center 
 
1 68 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 bounded by the sea on either side. Out of the sea at the left 
 (Fig. 53), forward and upward, dash the horses of HeUus, in the 
 fullness of their heavenly beauty and strength, their powerful 
 forms scarce controlled by the arms of the god whose head 
 just emerges from the waves. The fire of these splendid crea- 
 tures is worthy of earth's great luminary. Their forward and 
 upward movement fits alike the sun god's course and the angle 
 of the pediment. Their location is dictated as much by nature 
 as by art, for it is at the horizon, not overhead, that the sun 
 announces the day. 
 
 At the other end (Fig. 54), Selene, the pale-faced goddess, 
 descends beneath the waves. The heads of the horses, just 
 about to disappear beneath the surface, are as magnificent as 
 those of the sun god, but with an infinite subtlety they are ap- 
 propriately contrasted in temper. The splendid fire of the latter 
 gives place to soberness, the difference between the thorough- 
 bred at the beginning and at the end of the race marks these 
 magnificent creatures who are sobered by their course through 
 the skies. 
 
 It is impossible to exaggerate the value of such a concept. 
 Gone are the childishness of hydra tails and the prosaic com- 
 monplace of woimded men, and the dayspring rolls back the 
 mists that shroud the gods from mortal sight. No paltry con- 
 venience of shape or place measures the fitness of this splendid 
 thought. It is not the happy coincidence that the sun rises 
 at the horizon which determined our poet's choice. We must 
 depend on no trudging truths of science if we are to catch the 
 winged messages of the soul. Let us for a moment become 
 Greek and mark out the bounds of the sunrise with the measur- 
 ing rod of poetic fancy. Is it not plain that the birth of Athena 
 is a sunrise theme? Can we imagine it as happening at noon 
 or at eve or at midnight ? Nay, more. Is it not clear that day 
 dawned for Athens at the moment when her goddess was born ? 
 Along some such pathway as this we must follow the artist to 
 his goal. 
 
New Ideals in Art 169 
 
 The middle and the extreme corners of the pediment are now 
 filled, and there remain the intermediate or connecting spaces, 
 the part least satisfactorily filled in the Olympia pediment. We 
 are fortunate in possessing in fair preservation this masterly 
 portion of our great composition. 
 
 The stirring event in the center takes place at sunrise, and 
 messengers are sent forth to carry the news of the glad event 
 to the slumbering world. Winged goddesses, we fain would 
 think, Nike and Iris perhaps, were chosen for the task. One 
 such figure is preserved on the left (Fig. 53), and the rush of 
 her splendid figure is eloquent of her glad message. The dra- 
 peries are alive with emotion, in strong contrast with the figures 
 next, where drapery and posture alike bespeak repose. The 
 first figure sits erect and turns toward the messenger, welcom- 
 ing with outstretched arms, whose splendid lines are a triumph 
 of composition, the bringer of glad tidings. The second figure 
 sits in complete repose, the arms rest passive upon her lap and 
 upon her companion's shoulder. She is not yet aroused. The 
 third figure reclines and turns, not outward, but almost directly 
 away from the messenger, wholly unconscious as yet of the great 
 happening in Olympus. 
 
 Turning to the right (Fig. 54), we have a similar and possi- 
 bly an even finer transition. Again the messenger) this time 
 preserved but as a fragment, but even more instinct with move- 
 ment ; then the alert sitting figure, one foot drawn back as though 
 she were about to spring from her seat; then the more passive 
 sitting figure, already disturbed, though dazed and uncon- 
 scious from what source comes her awakening; and finally a 
 reclining figure leaning upon the bosom of the last, and wrapt 
 in a slumber which is the most perfect embodiment of languorous 
 repose known in all art. Just as movement sometimes assumes 
 a grace that suggests a silent music which only one may hear, 
 so repose, in this wonderful group, ceases to be a neutral thing 
 and becomes a positive bliss. She rests as one who dreams of 
 heaven. Even the messenger of the gods may well forbear to 
 
170 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 disturb such a repose. The saying of the great sculptor, 
 Canova, that all other statues are stone, but these are flesh and 
 blood, only feebly expresses his enthusiasm for this incompa- 
 rable group which must beyond doubt be accorded first place 
 among the sculptures of the world. 
 
 Our pediment as thus completed gives us, first of all, the 
 desired gradation in height to fit our space. The transition 
 from standing through sitting and reclining figures to the groups 
 in the angles is a perfect gradation. The group fits. But it 
 gives us much more than this, not a physical gradation only, 
 but a psychic gradation which causes and explains the former. 
 There is the stirring event in the center, the hurrying messenger, 
 the aroused figure, the dazed figure, the figure reclining in un- 
 disturbed repose. Just as a pebble cast into a still pool creates 
 ripples which widen outward and outward, lessening as they go, 
 until they lose themselves on the remotest shores, so the psychic 
 impulse emanating from this center of Olympus propagates 
 itself in lessening waves until at last it dies out against inviolate 
 repose. Do these figures crouch uneasily in their cramped 
 space? If the roof were removed would they elect otherwise 
 to sit or stand than as they do ? Are they constrained by the 
 roof or grouped at the photographer's call? To suggest such 
 questions is to attest the artist's immeasurable triumph. 
 
 At last we have the perfect group, a group that fits and is not 
 fitted. But this is not all nor chief. The theme that thus 
 naturally expresses itself in this perfect group is no common- 
 place accident of nature, but an ineffable poem, such as no other 
 people has ever enshrined in art. Think of it. On Olympus, 
 where sits enthroned the Thunderer, appears this queen of the 
 gods, more beautiful than fair Aphrodite, more royal than the 
 god of the silver bow, and angel goddesses speed to carry this 
 message of heaven's own joy, at the moment when Helios emerg- 
 ing from the waves floods earth and sea with light and dispels 
 the twilight of the world. What poetry is here ! Not the idylls 
 of the hearthstone or the lyrics of simple hearts; not the epic 
 
New Ideals in Art 171 
 
 of the hero, or the pathos of the prophet. This is a reveille 
 from Olympus, a message direct from the gods. 
 
 Beyond shadow of doubt this must be accounted earth's 
 greatest achievement in art. The figures in the Sistine ceiling 
 may be comparable in individual beauty, but the ceiling as a 
 whole is but the sum of their beauty. This pediment is in- 
 finitely more than the sum of its individual statues. It is with 
 positive pain that we read the estimates of their individual 
 merits of drapery, modeling and pose. These merits are above 
 praise, but as well judge the chess game by the carving of the 
 pawns as judge this superlative creation by the quality of its 
 parts. These statues are but ^s letters whose comeliness is as 
 nothing to the message which together they spell. 
 
 In the terrible mutilation which this work has suffered, all 
 the heads of these statues have been lost except one, and this 
 has been so disfigured that we can discern little of its charac- 
 ter. Accident has however preserved a single head (Fig. 55)^ 
 now in private ownership, which certainly belonged to one of 
 these figures. In the seventeenth century a Venetian ship un- 
 loaded in Venice some stones taken as ballast, and this was one 
 of the stones. Accident has preserved it. and the bad taste for 
 restoration has disfigured it with a nose and mouth unworthy 
 of the original. But through all these disfigurements we can 
 still see the austerely noble type of the great age. The head 
 is_ an admirable early example of the famous classical type in 
 which the profile becomes almost a straight line. There has 
 been much discussion as to whether this type was founded on 
 nature. Its occurrence here in pronounced form suggests the 
 query whether it is not one of those subtle decorative adapta- 
 tions of which the pediment contains so many. In a setting so 
 dominated by straight lines as was this, is it not clear that a god- 
 dess with a curved nose would be a discord ? It is a trifle, but 
 the exacting mind is careful of trifles. There is no example in 
 art of a more complete assimilation of all elements to a single 
 spirit or purpose than this great group. It is consonant with 
 
Fig. 55. — Weber Head. Laborde Collection, Paris. 
 
New Ideals in Art 173 
 
 all the work that the faces themselves should present a noble 
 severity of outline, that they should become "parthenonesque." 
 The vogue thus given to this style hardly needs explanation. 
 The exceeding nobility and dignified simplicity of this head 
 helps us to imagine the beauty of this work, which calls for ' 
 the highest effort of the imagination to restore. 
 
 The western pediment has been, almost entirely destroyed, 
 its extant remains being too Uttle related to give us any idea of 
 the work as a whole. We know that it represented the struggle 
 between Athena and Poseidon for the possession of the sacred 
 hill, the appropriate pendant for the theme of the eastern pedi- 
 ment. Whatever the merit of this work, it is unthinkable that 
 it should have equaled the other. What myth could fill the 
 corners like the story of the dawn ? What group could match 
 the gods of Olympus? What emotion could pulse outward 
 like this message of the gods? The mind easily says "impos- 
 sible." And yet, who of us would have guessed these things 
 in the other pediment, if the message of Phidias had been lost ? 
 It is not for such imaginations as ours to set the bounds of possi- 
 bility for him. 
 
 We may here pause to ask ourselves as to the probable author- 
 ship of this wonderful work. Did the two or more sculptors 
 whose work is here traceable cooperate to conceive this perfect 
 poem? Hardly. Did some other mind than that of Phidias 
 conceive it? Perhaps so, but then there was another Phidias. 
 The world is not so rich in genius as to make this duplication 
 probable, even in Athens. But what matters it if the workman 
 be buried beneath his work ? 
 
 THE METOPES 
 
 The Parthenon is one of the few temples, all of whose metopes 
 are sculptured. In the Theseum below they are sculptured 
 only in front and for a Uttle way down either side. The im- 
 mense number of panels required for this great temple gave 
 employment to many men. They differ markedly in style, 
 
174 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 though tending as a whole toward the earlier type as contrasted 
 with the pediments and the frieze, by which they are undeniably 
 overshadowed. It is clear that they are the work of skilled and 
 reliable sculptors, but that the resources of supreme genius were 
 levied upon for the great pediments. We would fain see in 
 these excellent but finite works the creations of skilled and 
 talented men who could be perfectly trusted within the re- 
 quired limits, but who fell short of the high plane of genius. 
 The theme is pretty uniformly the battle of the Lapiths and 
 Centaurs (Fig. 56), which could be resolved into the necessary 
 number of individual combats, each well adapted for a panel 
 composition. If they seem tame to us as we come from the 
 study of the great pediment, we may well recall that these 
 panels offered no such opportunity as the great composition. 
 Not till we make the juster comparison with the Ol5Tnpia 
 metopes do we realize the real excellence of these admirable 
 compositions. 
 
 THE FRIEZE 
 
 The frieze is a band of relief somewhat more than a yard wide 
 running completely around the top of the cella wall without. 
 It doubtless owes its existence to the accident of the frieze on 
 the old temple rather than to a study in adaptation. As thus 
 situated it is entirely harmless but largely wasted. If seen from 
 without the colonnade, its continuity is broken by the columns, 
 whUe from within the colonnade it is so directly overhead that 
 despite the care taken in calculating the relief it is scarcely 
 visible. It is a matter for regret that this splendid creation 
 should have remained almost invisible for twenty-two centuries 
 until it found its present much decried position in the British 
 Museum. This unfortunate position, however, neither injured 
 the Parthenon nor led to the slighting of the frieze itself, which 
 remains a masterpiece among works of its kind. 
 
 The usual interpretation of the frieze as representing the 
 Panathenaic Festival has given rise to much fruitless controversy 
 
Fig. 56. — Metope from the Parthenon. 
 British Museum, London. 
 
Fig. 58. 
 
 Fig. 57. 
 
 tM^, 
 
 Fig. 61. 
 
 Fig. 60. Fig. 59. 
 
 Fig. 62. 
 
 Fig. 64. Fig. 63. 
 
 Slabs from the Frieze of the Parthenon. 
 
Fig. 65 
 
 Fig. 66. 
 
 
 Fig. 67. 
 
 Fig. 70. Fig. 69. Fig. 68. 
 
 Slabs from the Frieze of the Pari,henon. 
 
178 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 among those whose incomprehensible pleasure it is to evade the 
 message of art. This festival, or another ; it is all one. It is a 
 procession bearing sacred objects to the gods who sit to receive 
 these gifts. On either side, the procession is seen moving from 
 the rear of the temple to the front, and as the temple is ap- 
 proached from the rear the visitor seems to move with the pro- 
 cession. The west end is treated as belonging to the north side, 
 for nearly all who approach the Parthenon would see this end 
 first and then follow the usual path along the north side to the 
 great door on the east, over which the gods sit in audience. 
 The work is by many hands, and of great though unequal merit. 
 The less seen south side is distinctly inferior to the other, and 
 contrasts of personality as well as of skill are noted in many 
 parts. Despite all differences, however, there is a pronounced 
 unity of style and spirit, and the parts assigned to the different 
 temperaments suggest a wise appreciation of their availability 
 and an efficient supervision. 
 
 Beginning at the rear right-hand corner (Fig. 57) we see prep- 
 arations for the procession. There is no movement as yet. 
 We are too near the corner. If everybody runs away from this 
 corner there will be no one there in a moment, so our instincts 
 tell us. When we have moved a little down the line, they may 
 move as fast as they like. There are more coming behind to 
 take their places ; but just here it will not do. So the artist 
 concludes to give us not only the whole length of the procession, 
 but also its development in time. We begin at the right with a 
 youth dressing for the occasion. He stands quite still at the 
 corner, even leans slightly the other way. Then come horses 
 and men preparing. Some of the horses are being groomed ; 
 one bites a fly from his fetlock ; another is being bridled, and so 
 on. Then come some who have mounted but who are reining 
 in their impatient horses. Finally they move. In the center 
 (Fig. 58) is a magnificent horse whose master controls him 
 with difficulty. The horse is realistic in the extreme, even to the 
 veins that stand out upon his rearing body. And now, as we 
 
New Ideals in Art 179 
 
 pass the center, come more moving horsemen, but interruptions 
 begin. A horseman appears dismounted and facing away from 
 the direction of movement. The horsemen ahead rein in their 
 horses (Fig. 59), and look back as if to learn the nature of the 
 mishap. Other horsemen ahead are stopped and finally one is 
 compelled to dismount and a dignified figure seems to administer 
 reproof to the attendant. We are approaching the other corner 
 now and the movement, which farther back was fast and furious, 
 is interrupted, resumed and again interrupted, each time more 
 completely, until at last, at the very corner, stands a»dignified 
 figure whom, like the one mentioned as administering reproof, 
 we recognize as a director or marshal (Fig. 60), commissioned to 
 preserve order in the procession. This corner figure stands still, 
 with unusual dignity and repose, facing backward and thus 
 bringing the movement to a full stop before the dangerous 
 corner is reached. For if it will not do to run away from a cor- 
 ner, still less will it do to run toward it. This would give us an 
 uneasy impression that the rush was going over a precipice. 
 It is not enough to say : "It is only a picture. I shall see the 
 continuation when I have turned the corner." This is dispelling 
 the illusion which it is the very purpose of the picture to create, 
 in order to save ourselves from some uncomfortable suggestion 
 which it gives us. This uncomfortable suggestion must be 
 avoided. If the procession goes dashing up to the corner, we 
 shall cease thinking picture and think corner. If it comes to a 
 natural stop at the corner, we shall turn the corner without 
 thinking. 
 
 Beginning on the north side (Fig. 61) we again have standing 
 figures at first — some of the most beautiful figures in the 
 frieze — and then a gradual resumption of the movement as 
 the cavalcade continues (Fig. 62). Few heads in Greek sculp- 
 ture can surpass some of these youths. 
 
 Still farther ahead, we come upon the chariots. A peculi- 
 arity of this part of the frieze is the frequency with which the 
 marshal appears. In the long line of the horsemen there were 
 
i8o The Message of Greek Art 
 
 but two, while for the chariots there is nearly one apiece. This 
 concentration of police supervision on this seemingly orderly 
 part of the procession is due to the artist's desire to preserve 
 an even band of decoration. The chariot horses have no one 
 upon their backs, and so leave a large space here which the ar- 
 tist fills by having a marshal stand conveniently in this interval. 
 This desire for a uniform upper line is responsible for a consider- 
 able variation in the proportions of the figures. For instance, 
 the head of a man on horseback is usually considerably higher 
 than that of one standing beside him, but to avoid the uneven- 
 ness thus resulting the standing men are made much taller, and 
 the horses hold their heads high so that all are in the same line. 
 This is done so cleverly that it is not noticed, and if not noticed, 
 it is quite unobjectionable. Michelangelo did the same tl^ng 
 at times and the practice is common in art. Yet it is met here 
 by a counter principle which seems to have been even more 
 exacting. Anxious as was the artist to have all heads in line, it 
 was seemingly inadmissible to represent a slave as tall as his 
 master. Thus, the attendant before mentioned, to whom the 
 marshal seems to be administering reproof, is several inches 
 shorter than the other figures, and this rule holds throughout. 
 This principle is present in far more exaggerated form in Egyp- 
 tian and in early Christian art. 
 
 Farther forward are the animals led to sacrifice (Figs. 68-70), 
 and youths carrying water jars (Fig. 63). It is difi&cult to praise 
 too highly these marvelous figures and the truthful and sym- 
 pathetic representation of animal life. 
 
 The next corner is turned with the same care, and brings us 
 to the temple front, the most important and the most beautiful 
 part of the frieze. Here, from either side, approaches the pro- 
 cession, the magistrates and the high-born maidens of Athens 
 in the lead (Figs. 64 and 65). Few representations of maiden 
 dignity and grace are to be found which can compare with the 
 beautiful group which forms the unique contribution of the 
 Parthenon to the great Museum of the Louvre. Exactly over 
 
New Ideals in Art . i8i 
 
 the great central entrance (Fig. 66) is the group which represents 
 the culminating act of the procession, the delivery to the priest 
 of the sacred peplos, or embroidered robe, presented at each 
 festival by the women of Athens to Athena. Other gifts borne 
 by women are presented to the priestess, while the short-statured 
 slave delivers the peplos to the priest. On either side -of this 
 central group, an assumed invisible assemblage, sit the gods to 
 receive the gifts of their votaries. 
 
 This splendid section of the frieze is evidently the work of 
 two men, both of the highest ability, but utterly contrasted in 
 temperament. On the one hand (Figs. 65 and 66), is the central 
 group representing the delivery of the offerings, and the group 
 of gods to the right. These have all suffered sadly, draperies 
 being defaced and facial features all but obliterated, until they 
 present little more than the outline of the original figures. Yet 
 it is questionable whether any reliefs in existence are more ex- 
 pressive of the high qualities of benignity and dignity than some 
 of these figures. This is especially true of the priest and priest- 
 ess above referred to, and above all of the magnificent Athena 
 which, in all its disfigurement, must still be counted as the finest 
 representation we possess of this noblest of the divinities of 
 Olympus. Scarcely less beautiful was the exquisite Aphrodite 
 and the lovely Eros who leaned against her knees, the latter a 
 recent sacrifice to that wanton vandalism against which no safe- 
 guards seem to avail. 
 
 If we turn now to the other side (Fig. 67), the whole spirit 
 of the work changes. The gods, true to the conservatism of 
 religion, are represented as sitting upon stools, though these 
 earlier devices have been abandoned in Athenian life for chairs 
 with their convenient backs. Athena and her companion divini- 
 ties on the right accommodate themselves with perfect dignity 
 to the accustomed seat. They know no weariness and have 
 no need of the conventional support. But the group on the left, 
 including Ares, Artemis and others, show an amazingly human 
 consciousness of stool limitations. Artemis leans forward, 
 
iSa . The Message of Greek Art 
 
 resting her head on her hand and her elbow on her knee. Two 
 other divinities sit back to back and lean against each other, 
 an arrangement somewhat disturbed by the curiosity of the less 
 fortunately situated one as the procession approaches, . while 
 Ares, with amazing unconventionality, locks his hands and an- 
 chors himself forward to his upraised knee. This freedom is 
 variously excused. We are told that the gods are invisible and 
 hence free to assume such attitudes as they please. Possibly, 
 but these not more than Zeus and Athena whose choice is 
 so very different. Another reminds us of the supposed family 
 relationship between Ares and Artemis as accounting for this 
 domestic neglige. Possibly, as permitting it, but nowise as 
 requiring it. The unexplained fact remains that the one artist 
 felt like it, and the other did not. The one is governed by a 
 religious ideal and instinctively endows the gods with high 
 dignity befitting their function as the rulers and exemplars of 
 men. The other is a realist, interested in purely human reality, 
 and representing the gods perfunctorily and wholly as men. 
 There is no denying the immense cleverness of this second group. 
 The two artists were fully equal as masters of their craft, but 
 one was the spiritual child of Phidias, and the other the repre- 
 sentative of a new order. 
 
 Tradition has amply supplemented the scanty record of art 
 as to the spirit and purpose of Phidias. He was famed for his 
 new manner of representing the gods, enduing them not only 
 with majesty and power, but with benignity, a characteristic 
 little seen in earlier representations. One writer most inade- 
 quately suggests that he might almost seem to have added some- 
 thing to the religious conceptions of his people. He was in fact 
 the precursor of Socrates and Plato, who revolutionized these 
 conceptions. Suggestive too is the remark that Polyclitus 
 would do very well for smooth-cheeked youths and laughing 
 maidens, but it took Phidias for the gods. He seldom repre- 
 sented any other subject, and his exalted conception of the divine 
 impressed posterity as long as his work endured. 
 
Fig. 71. — Nike fastening her Sandal. 
 Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
184 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 It is interesting to follow in imagination tlie great master on 
 his rounds of inspection as his quick eye catches the thought of 
 these younger men who without doubt were assigned to the 
 frieze. Not untested they came to their work, and it was a 
 penetrating insight that distributed them according to their skill 
 and the importance of the several tasks. We can imagine his 
 quiet smile of approval as he saw the divine Athena emerge 
 from the marble, or the priest who receives the peplos bow his 
 benediction. Words were scarce needed to tell the youthful 
 follower that the master recognized in him his child in the spirit. 
 
 But how about this lounging Artemis and happy-go-lucky 
 Ares? A kindly shake of the head, perhaps, and a word of 
 doubtful query : 
 
 "Will the worshipers recognize the gods in such guise as 
 that? That is clever realism, but it smacks more of the club 
 or the stoa than of Olympus. Not so have I pictured the gods' 
 in the visions they have sent me. I don't know what that will 
 come to, my boy. But it is your work, not mine. If you are 
 to be an artist it must be by being obedient to your heavenly 
 vision, not to mine." Pure fancy, you say : nay, but one thing 
 is fact. Phidias did not make him change it, for there it stands, 
 done under the master's supervision. A lesser man seeing this 
 sketch would have said: "Rub it out. None of that club- 
 room realism. Make the gods as I have told you." Not so 
 Phidias. In his all-overshadowing personality, his pervasive 
 influence, there seems to have been nothing repressive. Him- 
 self the loftiest of idealists, the frieze executed under his direc- 
 tion bristles with homely realism. The horse bites the fly 
 from his fetlock ; the rider ducks his head to keep the wind from 
 blowing off his hat, another fastens his sandal, and the gods 
 lounge in attitudes scarcely admitted in good society. This 
 new spirit appears, now furtively, now boldly, in a vast work 
 which is predominantly noble, dignified, Phidian. This spirit 
 is the precursor of a new age in an age which owned the maxi- 
 mum of possible allegiance to a supreme spirit. 
 
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 60 
 
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 (M 
 
1 86 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 What will come of it? Out on a little terraced spur of the 
 Acropolis, without the great Periclean gateway, the generation 
 after Phidias built a tiny temple to Athena. It commem- 
 orates some victory, and so was dedicated to Athena Nike, the 
 Conquering Athena, later misnamed the Wingless Victory. The 
 dangerously narrow terrace was surrounded by a balustrade, 
 perhaps the noblest monument of Greek art in that troublous 
 time. On its inner surface, toward the temple, Nike is repre- 
 sented over and over again in long procession. She performs 
 the most varied feats, all with fairylike grace. Now she hangs 
 up a trophy, now fastens her loosened sandal (Fig. 71), now in 
 duplicate leads a bull to sacrifice (Fig. 72). There is not a trace 
 of Phidian dignity or majesty. All is infinitely light and blithe- 
 some. Draperies like films of thinnest mist reveal rather than 
 conceal the form within. Idealism stilly but^_the new orde r, 
 not the idealism of Phidias. The gods ! Nike is a goddess. 
 And here she is repeated over and over again, a blithesome,' 
 fairylike form, the very repetition itself suggestive not of a 
 divinity but of a decorative motive. The gods are playthings 
 now. You admire the tripping Nike, you muse with the dreamy 
 Hermes ; but you do not pray. 
 
 THE CULT STATUES 
 
 The great cult statues of Phidias at Athens and Olympia 
 have been purposely reserved for consideration somewhat out 
 of chronological order, in deference to their importance and their 
 closer connection with his personality. Both have perished, 
 leaving but indifferent data for their reconstruction. They were 
 of ivory and gold, the nude parts, face and arms, being of the 
 former and the draperies and accessories of the latter, the whole 
 being supported by a substantial framework of wood. This 
 type of cult statue seems to have been the specialty of Phidias. 
 He worked little in other materials and perhaps never in marble. 
 
 Of the two great statues which comprised his chief life work, 
 that of Zeus at Olympia was the more celebrated. It was of 
 
Pjq 73. — Head of Zeus. Museum, Boston. 
 
The Message of Greek Art 
 
 this that the saying arose that no man could be esteemed to 
 die happy until he had seen Phidias' Zeus. Its loss, inevitable 
 on account of the value of its material, is perhaps the greatest 
 that the history of art records. It is known to us now only 
 through an imperfect representation upon a coin of EUs, and a 
 superb marble head in the Boston Museum. The former tells 
 us that Zeus was represented as seated upon his throne. The 
 latter (Fig. 73) goes far to justify the representation of the great 
 work as a revelation of divinity. The dignity of idealized man- 
 hood, the venerableness of age, the majesty of divine kingship, 
 all are here, but all are subordinated to another and hitherto 
 scarce recognized attribute, the benignity of an all-father. Noth- 
 ing can surpass the fine balance in which these attributes are 
 blended. There is dignity and majesty, but none of the passion- 
 less and impersonal kingship of the Zeus of Otricoli, fit only to 
 reign on the inaccessible heights of Olympus. There is the 
 venerableness of age, but not a trace of the senility into which this 
 almost inevitably degenerates. Above all there is benignity, but 
 not a touch of the sentimentality which is its eternal menace. 
 The days of Greek faith were numbered when Phidias laid down 
 the chisel. Few were the visitors to the great temple who be- 
 lieved very cohvincedly in the gods of Olympus. Feeble, too, 
 was the consciousness of an all-pervading spirit whom Socrates 
 saw controlling the forces of nature and guiding the destinies of 
 men. But through the coming centuries of fitful philosophy 
 and wavering faith, believer and skeptic alike saw in the Zeus 
 of Phidias that vision without which no man could be esteemed 
 to die happy. A vision of the good and the true, said one, a 
 vision too good to be true, said another, but to both a vision of 
 good. Who shall say to what regions this vision penetrated 
 following the ever-widening domain of Greek philosophy and 
 Greek culture ? In the day when Philo of Alexandria sought to 
 blend the philosophy of Plato and the prophecy of Isaiah, and 
 Greek temples and schools were built beyond Jordan, who shall 
 trace the influence that emanates from the Zeus of Phidias ? 
 
Fig. 74. — Varvakeion Copy. 
 National Museum, Athens. 
 
 Fig. 75. — Lenormant Copy. 
 National Museum, Athens. 
 
 Fig. 76. — Pergamon Copy. 
 Museum, Berlin. 
 
 Fig. 77. — Madrid Copy. 
 Prado, Madrid. 
 
 The Athena Parthenos. 
 
I go The Message of Greek Art 
 
 The Athena Parthenos is at once better and worse preserved. 
 We possess numerous copies, but widely divergent and totally 
 inadequate. Two are in Athens, the one (Fig. 74), a large 
 statuette, turgid in detail and indescribably debauched; the 
 other (Fig. 75), tiny and barely sketched in its execution, but 
 dignified and impressive. Berlin possesses a large copy (Fig. 
 76), executed for the great Library of Pergamon, an elegant 
 work, but quite obviously modernized in accordance with the 
 taste of a later time. Finally, a small statuette in .Madrid 
 must perhaps be accepted as the most faithful reproduction 
 (Fig. 77), though noticeably at variance with all the others in 
 certain features whose uniformity seems to give them a certain 
 authority. None of these copies, however, gives us the spirit of 
 the work of Phidias. That we may boldly venture to seek in a 
 much later work which does not even purport to be a copy of the 
 Athena of Phidias, but which was certainly executed largely 
 under its influence, the Minerva Giustiniani of the Vatican (Fig. 
 78). It would be difficult better to express the concept of this 
 unrivaled divinity who was characterized in the thought of the 
 Greeks, not by the seductive feminine charm of Aphrodite, but 
 by the highest qualities of mind and soul. It is hers rather to 
 rule us by reverence than to entice us by charm. 
 
 The statue was of immense size, standing with its pedestal 
 thirty-eight feet high. Like the Zeus of Olympia, its outer 
 surface was wholly of ivory and gold, and ornament was freely 
 used upon every available part of the vast statue. The head 
 was covered by a helmet which was surmounted by a sphinx 
 with a winged horse on either side. The terrible aegis bore a 
 Medusa head in the center and was bordered by writhing ser- 
 pent forms. The right hand bore a golden statue of Nike, and 
 the shield was decorated, within and without, with exquisite 
 reliefs. The draperies were chased and even the edges of the. 
 sandals ornamented with scenes in delicate relief. Modem 
 taste winces a little at this impressiveness of metal sheen, this 
 lavishness of ornamental accessory. It must have required 
 
192 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 superlative skill to hold these dangerous elements in due sub- 
 jection to the divine. It is clear at a glance that this is no mere 
 problem in art. The artist must take into account not only 
 the higher aesthetic factors, but the traditional forms familiar 
 to the worshiper, the cumbersome religious symbolism which 
 was a part of the ritual of faith, even the still potent charm of 
 splendid costliness which awed the common mind then almost 
 as much as it does to-day. For let it never be forgotten, the 
 appeal of this wonderful age was to the common mind. While 
 the art and culture of the time sought and attained an incom- 
 parable elevation, to the everlasting honor of Pericles and 
 Phidias be it remembered that they never sought to found an 
 aristocracy of art's elect. With no supercilious cry of 'vulgar' 
 did they scorn the common herd. The most amazing thing in 
 this amazing age is its democracy, the profound conviction that in 
 very truth mankind as a whole was capable of the highest things. 
 
 The Parthenon was therefore conceived, not as a creation of 
 distant Olympic perfection for the delight of gods and super- 
 men, but as a part of the great school in which a chosen people 
 were to be trained for these highest things. Pericles was an 
 emancipated spirit, free alike from the childishness of the early 
 faith and the childishness of shallow skepticism. Though en- 
 lightened — nay, rather because enlightened — he saw in the 
 existing faith a medium and the chief medium for the develop- 
 ment of the higher ideals. Like Socrates, he had none of the 
 pettiness which sees "in the gods an insult to the Divine." 
 
 In this breadth of vision Phidias was completely and in- 
 stinctively in sympathy with him. In his work we trace no 
 inclination to discredit the traditional faith or even to elevate 
 it above the reach of those who must be its votaries. His 
 effort is to preserve its familiar forms and refine its spirit. 
 
 The art of his great cult statues therefore roots deep in the 
 past, ^gis and helmet retain their old-time symbols. Dra- 
 peries are heavy, simple and archaic. Precious materials and 
 sculptured myth appeal to venerable instincts and awake the 
 
New ideals in Art 193 
 
 old-time awe. Every effort is made to surround divinity with 
 the long-wonted environment of ideas and emotions, and then 
 — subtly to transfigure divinity with suggestions of personality 
 and character of which the past had never dreamed. Thus art, 
 deep-rooted in the past, flowers with a new ideal. 
 
 And here, as elsewhere, we chronicle failure of the hoped-for 
 result, and success in a result undreamed. It is doubtful if 
 the great statue of Phidias ever inspired to worship. It was too 
 plainly the work of Phidias, a human thing. It had no occult 
 virtue, only the appeal of a sublime ideal. In the old shapeless 
 wooden statue of the Erechtheum whose origin was divine 
 because forgotten, there if anywhere talismanic virtue was to 
 be found. In the stress of common human needs and present 
 emergencies, how impotent seems the aid of mere ideals ! Yet 
 they are the only potent thing. The religious idealism of 
 Phidias seemed to make little impression upon the flippancy of 
 Alcibiades or the aestheticism of the artists of the Nike balus- 
 trade. It even made scant headway against the superstition 
 whose recrudescence was the inevitable result of Athenian calam- 
 ity. But no power can stay, no calamity can destroy these 
 wireless messages of the soul. Intangible and elusive, these 
 ideals are none the less the growing phenomenon of the coming 
 years. It was into this mold which Phidias helped to fashion 
 that was soon to be cast the plastic substance of another great 
 world faith. 
 
 The statue has its tragic associations. The supremacy of 
 Pericles, I of ten vainly challenged, was at last the object of dis- 
 ingenuous side attacks. Unable to injure him directly, the op- 
 position adopted the tactics of nagging his friends. They at- 
 tacked jAspasia, that object lesson of Pericles' inconsistency. 
 Had he not himself secured the passage of a law denying citizen- 
 ship and full legitimacy to children not born of full Athenian 
 parentage ? He did not know then that the one woman fit to 
 be the wife of a Pericles had been born in Miletus. When he 
 met her his doom was sealed. The union was not immoral, 
 
194 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 not even illegal, but a glaring inconsistency in the face of such 
 legislation. Whatever the nature of the attack, it brought 
 Pericles to his knees. Then, and only then, he pleaded with 
 the Athenians. Not much came of it except to make him ex- 
 tremely uncomfortable, but this was doubtless a satisfaction 
 to the opposition. 
 
 Looking for further opportunity, they turned their attention 
 to Phidias. It was surmised that he had appropriated some of 
 the gold furnished him for the great statue and he was arrested 
 on a charge of embezzlement. But, warned perhaps by the 
 wary Pericles, he had made the gold detachable from the frame, 
 so that it could be removed and weighed. This completely 
 refuted the accusation. 
 
 But though baffled they were not beaten. On one side of the 
 golden shield Phidias had represented the battle of the gods and 
 the giants, on the other that of the Greeks and Amazons, tradi- 
 tional symbols for the struggle between civilization and barba- 
 rism. And here, by way of happy allusion, one of the foremost 
 in the fight bore the unmistakable features of Pericles, while 
 opposite, in playful caricature, Phidias had represented himself, 
 a short, thick-set figure, nude, bald, with tufts of hair above the 
 ears. It was but a minor detail, a kind of signature of the work 
 and in some ways most appropriate. What form so fitting as 
 that of Pericles to lead the army of civilization ? But here the 
 opposition saw its opportunity, and the great sculptor was ar- 
 rested on a charge of sacrilege as having represented a mortal 
 upon the shield of the goddess. We can imagine the horror 
 with which these ward heelers of the opposition witnessed this 
 offense against piety. We can conceive the alacrity with which 
 the priests of the Brauronian Artemis and many a like over- 
 shadowed cult sounded the tocsin to the faithful. But their 
 zeal was denied its supreme exercise. While awaiting trial, 
 the great fashioner of the gods died in prison. " Oh, Jerusalem, 
 Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets and stonest them that 
 are sent unto thee !" Have not all Jerusalems done the same? 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 ART AND THE SCIENTISTS. MYRON. POLYCLITUS AND 
 ' HIS CANON 
 
 The majestic religious idealism of Phidias so chains attention 
 in this splendid age that we are tempted to forget that art had 
 other and indeed far stronger traditions. How little precedent 
 Phidias could have found for his art in the draped figures of 
 Pisistratus or in the nude ApoUos of the democratic reaction. 
 Yet these, more especially the latter, had not only wide vogue 
 but deep foundation in the life of the time. It is no exaggeration 
 to say that the nude athlete was the most vital theme of the 
 time, although, as we have seen, the reasons for this vitality 
 were of neither universal nor perpetual validity. We must not 
 for a moment imagine, therefore, that this theme lost interest 
 at this time, the more so as it was strongly intrenched in the 
 art of other centers, such as Argos, which had known nothing of 
 the great Phidian movement. 
 
 This normal tradition of Greek art was represented at this 
 time by two artists of very high reputation, Myron and Poly- 
 clitus, the one an older and the other a younger contemporary of 
 Phidias. Both worked in bronze, the material preferred by the 
 Greeks for statues not used as architectural decorations. Both 
 were Argive in their training, and their work represents Argive 
 rather than Attic ideals. 
 
 Myron is reputed to have been a fellow-pupil with Phidias 
 in the studio of the Argive sculptor Ageladas, but while Phidias 
 completely drops the Argive theme and manner, Myron finds 
 the Argive tradition congenial. He is recorded as the author of 
 numerous statues commemorating victories in the Olympic 
 games, none of which have come down to us, though one of 
 
 195 
 
Pig. 79. — Discobolus. Terme, Rome. 
 
Art and the Scientists 197 
 
 them has been preserved in the form of a Roman copy, together 
 with another statue of a different but related sort. The former, 
 the well-known Discob^ us (Fig, ^ q) or Discus Thrower, seems 
 to have enjoyed a great reputation in antiquity, judging by the 
 number of copies and fragments which have been found. The 
 other, the so-called Dancing Satyr (Fig. 80), likewise a Roman 
 copy, was unfortunately erroneously restored in the period when 
 presentableness rather than historic accuracy was the desid- 
 eratum in discovered antiquities. The statue in fact represented 
 Marsyas, hovering between eagerness and fear, as he watches 
 his chance to snatch the flute just thrown down by Athena. It 
 is with some difficulty that we rid ourselves of the impression 
 produced by the modern arms with their castanets. The 
 restorer's guess is certainly wrong, but not a bad one. It is 
 annoyingly plausible. 
 
 If now we compare these statues with the earlier Apollo 
 statues, even the Apollo of the Omphalos (Fig. 41), which we 
 recognized as the high-water mark of the pre-Phidian art, we 
 see at a glance that Myron has effected a veritable revolution. 
 All the earlier statues represent the athlete, but they do not, 
 represent his act. The Apollo of the Omphalos, for instance, 
 may have been, almost must have been, a discus thrower, but 
 the artist has represented merely the man, not the throwing 
 of the discus. Myron's procedure is just the opposite. His 
 Discus Thrower might better be called the Throwing of the Dis- 
 cus, for it is the action much more than the man upon which he 
 fixes his and our attention. The Marsyas, too, as properly 
 conceived, is an immensely subtle study of action and emotion 
 much more than of the human figure merely as such. There is 
 something of almost mercurial alertness in this apelike creature 
 trembling between cupidity and fear. 
 
 An attempt was made in an earlier chapter to show under 
 what extraordinarily favorable conditions was developed the 
 Greek knowledge of the human figure. Frequent observation 
 under circumstances stimulating to the most acute appreciation 
 
Fig. 80. — Dancing Satyr (Marsyas) . Lateran Museum, Rome. 
 
Art and the Scientists 199 
 
 made every Greek a connoisseur of the nude figure as the trained 
 specialist of to-day can'hardly claim to be. But by the same 
 token the Greek was trained to appreciate action as well as 
 figure. He was as sensitive to the perfect move as to the perfect 
 limb. It was inevitable, therefore, that art should be tempted 
 into this still more difficult field. For it must not be forgotten 
 that while form and the static figure can be measurably expressed 
 in sculpture, action as such is excluded. The sculptor can only 
 suggest action by transition attitudes, more strictly by com- 
 posite attitudes which scarce find their counterpart in life. 
 In the case of the draped figure the sculptor can fall back on the 
 drapery, and by a judicious hyperbole of the wind of motion, he 
 can suggest motion very effectively. With the nude figure 
 the case is far different. 
 
 We can dimly appreciate from our two examples that Myron 
 was a master in his art. It is impossible, however, for us to 
 feel the enthusiasm which the ancients felt over his work, or to 
 tolerate the judgment of those who ranked him the equal of 
 Phidias. Is it our bias or theirs? Partly both, no doubt. 
 They understood perfectly and enjoyed passionately the acts 
 which his statues represented, and caught his meaning without 
 difficulty. We catch with difficulty a meaning which we neither 
 enjoy nor fully understand. We are without doubt less com- 
 petent judges. But are we not in a sense the more normal? 
 The marvelous education which fitted the Greek for this con- 
 noisseurship was after all adventitious, something which no 
 conceivable development of culture can ever reproduce. It 
 was of all the great motives in Greek art, the one which, because 
 of its local and unreproducible character, we may most justly 
 denominate provincial. The lessened estimation in which My- 
 ron is now held is just, in that it recognizes in his art the 
 expression of relatively local and temporary enthusiasms. It was 
 as sincere as it was skillful, but none the less a provincial art. 
 
 In compensation for this cooling of ancient enthusiasm, we 
 may perhaps extenuate the one weakness noted by the ancients. 
 
200 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 He was accounted a master of anatomy and action, but weak in 
 the rendering of the face. Conceding* that the faces are not 
 very expressive, it may be doubted whether this is altogether 
 a weakness. It is questionable whether the athletes whom he 
 represents were very expressive of countenance, and it is alto- 
 gether certain that their faces were not the subject of chief 
 attention. In still further subordinating facial expression, 
 Myron is but following the great law of concentration which is 
 recognized in all great art. Probably he could not in any case 
 have been a master of psychic analysis, but it is more than 
 doubtful if his themes would have gained by such mastery. 
 Other masters of the same theme long betray the same tendency. 
 
 Polyclitus was born in the Peloponnesus and studied and 
 worked in Argos. He holds something the same place in the 
 Argive school that Phidias holds in that of Athens. He seems 
 to have enjoyed an even greater fame than Myron, though for a 
 different and perhaps more questionable reason. His statues 
 were exceedingly popular and much copied, with the result that 
 a number of his bronzes are transmitted to us in the form of 
 Roman copies, sometimes by several examples. None of these 
 copies is good, and no just conclusion can be based on them 
 as regards the finer details of finish and facial expression. In 
 one case, the Doryphorus (Fig. 8i), we have not only the marble 
 copy of the statue, but a fine bronze copy of the head, evidently 
 taken direct from the original. The vulgarizing of the marble 
 is conspicuous, and warns us to be cautious in other particulars 
 where we have no such opportunity for comparison. 
 
 The theme of Polyclitus, like that of Myron, is the athlete, or 
 nearly allied subjects. Unlike Myron, however, he does not 
 represent the athlete in action. He is a student of pose rather 
 than of action or of mere form. His fame was enormously in- 
 creased in antiquity by the composition of a treatise on sculp- 
 ture known as the " Canon." In this treatise sculpture was for- 
 mulated not so much in the manner of an art as in the manner 
 of an applied science. A comprehensive law of proportions was 
 
PiQ, 81, — Doryphorus. National Museum, Naples. 
 
202 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 laid down in which the width of the middle finger was taken as 
 a unit, and all other dimensions of the body were specified in 
 terms of this unit. Questions of attitude and pose were dis- 
 posed of in a similar manner. The weight of the body should be 
 borne upon one leg, the other leg being bent and poised upon 
 one toe. The entire art was thus reduced to a convenient rule 
 of thumb. 
 
 In illustration of these principles Polyclitus chose one of his 
 own statues, the Doryphorus, which for this reason became 
 known in turn as the Canon. This is fortunately one of 
 the statues preserved in Roman copy. It represents a naked 
 youth of comparatively stocky build, whose right hand origi- 
 nally carried a spear which pointed somewhat backward over 
 the shoulder. The pose is that referred to above. It suggests 
 neither motion nor complete repose, but a quality vaguely 
 associated with grace. The face is inexpressive and listless, a 
 fact to be explained no doubt in part by the poor copy, but 
 even the fine bronze head which we possess in the Museum of 
 Naples, doubtless copied from the bronze original, is somewhat 
 blase. 
 
 The anatomy presents peculiarities which are noticeable even 
 to the uninitiated. The lines of demarcation between parts, 
 even the outlines of muscle masses, are sharply drawn. The 
 treatment is somewhat diagrammatic, in most striking contrast 
 with the soft outlines and scarce perceptible transitions of later 
 sculpture. This reminds us of the cuts in scientific treatises, 
 where exposition and analysis are aimed at rather than general 
 effect. 
 
 In these various characteristics we cannot help seeing the in- 
 fluence of the ' ' Canon. ' ' Everything is a matter of exact measure- 
 ment, and how shall measurements be exact unless outUnes are 
 exact? The figure is stouter than is the custom of Greek art, 
 before or since. This may have been the taste of the sculptor, 
 but one cannot help wondering whether some seductive mathe- 
 matical sequence, some arithmetical or geometrical progres- 
 
Art and the Scientists 203 
 
 sion, did not acquire a certain tyranny over his ideals. The 
 pose is seemingly without significance in this special subject, 
 and has been adopted on the assumption that this is the beautiful 
 pose. 
 
 Another statue preserved in Roman copy, as also in a late 
 Greek copy from Delos, finer but in some ways less faithful, 
 presents a youth of the same type and the same pose, who is 
 binding about his head a fillet won in the games. The action is 
 of doubtful sincerity, the suggestion being that the youth pauses 
 and suspends the action in a moment of pose, rather than that 
 the artist has caught a transition moment and held it fast. 
 This statue is recorded as having been valued at $120,000 in 
 Roman times, a sum which must be multiplied many fold to 
 allow for the difference in the purchasing power of money, if 
 we are to get at the true valuation of the statue. Surely Poly- 
 clitus was popular. 
 
 Most significant of all is the 'statue of a wounded Amazon 
 (Fig. 82), which has been identified beyond reasonable question 
 in one of many Roman copies that we possess. The story re- 
 calls a legend which had a curious history in Greek art. A 
 wounded Amazon is said to have taken refuge from her pursuers 
 in the sanctuary of Artemis at Ephesus. This was later com- 
 memorated by a statue, and tradition made the theme a subject 
 of rivalry in later art. Sculptor after sculptor, the list including 
 no less a name than that of Phidias, presented his statue of the 
 wounded Amazon to the great temple, thus measuring himself 
 with his rivals in this much-visited shrine. Numerous Roman 
 copies of these statues have come down to us, all much broken, 
 and now much restored, for the most part erroneously. Only 
 one of these can be identified with any certainty, that of Poly- 
 clitus. It was perhaps the best preserved of all and furnished 
 the most reliable data for restoration, which is certainly cor- 
 rect in the main as carried out. With minor reservations, there- 
 fore, we may see in this statue the work of the far-famed 
 contemporary of Phidias. 
 
Fig. 82. — Amazon. Lansdowne House, London. 
 
Art and the Scientists 205 
 
 The Amazon is wounded above the right bieast, the gash being 
 plainly visible. She is posed like the statues of Polyclitus 
 already mentioned, the weight borne on one leg and the other 
 bent and resting lightly upon one toe. The right arm is raised 
 high and bent so that the hand touches the back of the head. 
 The form, though rather stout, like all those attributed to.Polyjf- 
 clitus, is graceful and elegant. The traditionally slight draperies-f- 
 are exquisitely treated, soft and clinging. The face is again 
 expressionless and blase. All suggests that^r*artist was' a 
 consummate sculptor, a master of the technique of his craf t.'^ ' 
 
 But how about the theme? Would a wounded woman, 
 weakened by the loss of blood, stand on one foot and poise the 
 other lightly upon one toe ? Would she pose .in curving lines 
 of grace ? Above all would she raise her right arm, thus open- 
 ing the wound and causing it to bleed afresh, with her hand 
 touching the back of her head and a languorous and lackadaisical 
 expression upon her face? "After the Ball" would better 
 describe this relaxed and indolent creature. 
 
 Polyclitus is a great sculptor but not a great artist. He has 
 formulated his art with painstaking thoroughness, but he»Jnas 
 totally misconceived its character. He has laid down a law of 
 proportion by which statues can be figured out with mathe- 
 matical exactness, but a law which excludes that variability 
 which distinguishes between the litheness of youth and the 
 sluggishness of age. He defines the beautiful pose, forgetful 
 that the pose which is appropriate to a dancer is painful to a 
 wounded woman. He has stereotyped and petrified that whose 
 very nature it is to be fluid, fugitive and free. As well nail fast 
 the fluttering flag or confine the drifting mist as thus to reduce 
 to rigid formula the artist's imagination. 
 
 How then are we to account for the extraordinary popularity 
 of Polyclitus in 'ancient — more particularly in Roman — 
 times ? In part, no doubt, it was due to his splendid technique, 
 a quality of which we have much evidence, though it is httle 
 reflected in existing copies of his works. In an age in which 
 
2o6 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 technical proficiency had developed rapidly on the part of 
 many craftsmen and in comparatively small communities 
 keenly alive to the progress made in a favorite art, enjoyment 
 of good workmanship merely as _ such (a very different thing 
 from the enjoyment of art) must have been far more general 
 than even the most alert now experience. More than one 
 worker in art has risen to fame purely through excellent 
 workmanship. Witness a recent president of the Royal 
 Academy, "that admirable painter without a spark of genius." 
 
 There is some reason to suspect that in the case of Polyclitus 
 this fame of good workmanship was enhanced by original con- 
 tributions to the science of art, perhaps new processes in model- 
 ing or casting, the overcoming of obstacles and consequent 
 fuller and more forceful expression. Such discoveries, belong- 
 ing to the domain of science rather than of art, would naturally 
 be gratefully recognized by the craft, and would furnish occa- 
 sion for that peculiar laudation with which the technical ini- 
 tiate delights to mystify the lay public. Note the satisfaction 
 with which a modern painter will occasionally rave over Edouard 
 Manet in the presence of those who see in his Olympia only 
 a revolting wanton "whose charms might convert Don Juan 
 himself to the monastic vow of chastity." Benighted spirits 
 who insist upon hunting in pictures for folks and things, and 
 do not know that painting "with full values" is the real essence 
 of art ! When the fraternity of a numerous craft conspire to 
 overawe the uninitiated, they easily lead the many to a perilous 
 affectation of appreciation. This age, like every other which 
 has devoted large attention to art, developed the highbrow 
 and the toady as by-products of its creative activity. Both 
 were almost certainly the partisans of this poseur among the 
 artists. 
 
 A much better and probably more potent reason for the popu- 
 larity of Polyclitus is to be found in his subject. The peculiar 
 interest of the Greeks in the nude figure has been fully discussed. 
 To this popular theme Polyclitus was doubtless sincerely de- 
 
Art and the Scientists 207 
 
 voted. His masterly rendering of the human figure with con- 
 spicuous knowledge of anatomical detail gave a pleasure to his 
 public which is never experienced now, though occasionally 
 affected. To these very different conditions of art judgment 
 among the ancients we must no doubt attribute in large part 
 his extraordinary reputation. The fact that the Roman col- 
 lector, who offered fabulous sums for his statues, had no real 
 appreciation of this excellence is of course irrelevant. These 
 later estimates were largely echoes of earlier judgments as is 
 the estimate of "old masters" in our day. 
 
 But when all is said, these facts and conjectures do not ac- 
 count for the fame of Polyclitus. As a master of the nude he 
 was hardly superior to Myron, and he totally lacked the latter's 
 power to interpret action, while his fondness for irrelevant 
 poses drops him far below that great master. His diagram- 
 matic treatment of the figure and his listlessness of temper are 
 also palpable defects. In the face of this obvious inferiority 
 to Myron, we have still to account for the fact that he was 
 reckoned the equal not only of the latter, but even of Phidias 
 himself. 
 
 The explanation is to be found in his very limitations. The 
 qualities which degraded his art were the qualities which com- 
 mended him to a certain following which exists in every com- 
 munity, always numerous, often influential, clamorous parti- 
 sans of art and its irreconcilable enemies. They are the people 
 of logical and prosaic temperament, matter-of-fact and largely 
 endowed with horse sense. They abominate vagueness and 
 ambiguous suggestion. They are the people who listen to Poe's 
 "Raven" and want to know what the raven represents, who 
 would like to study the log book of the "Ancient Mariner," 
 and who delight to discover that the painter of a moonlight 
 scene has got the moon wrong side up. As art critics — and 
 this is one of their favorite occupations — they query whether 
 the cherubs in Raphael's Sistine are conceived as standing, 
 or sitting on stools. Does the Parthenon frieze represent the 
 
2o8 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Panathenaic Festival or some other ? Does the reclining figure 
 that gazes upon the sunrise of Phidias represent Theseus or 
 Ion? Of what possible use are the figures on the other side 
 until we knpw whether they represent the Three Fates or some 
 other group ? How absurd of the Saxon bard to call the sea a 
 "Swan path" when the passage of the swan leaves no perma- 
 nent trace upon the water. Yet literature is such a delight, 
 with its studies in etymology and textual criticism. Not 
 "sermons in stones and books in the running brooks," but 
 sermons in books and stones in the running brooks. Obviously. 
 
 The writer once enjoyed (?) a course in art criticism under a 
 distinguished 'foreign specialist of this type. The first lesson 
 is still fresh in memory. The subject was an utterly worthless 
 study dashed off by a facile painter. In what was it painted ? 
 In oil (presumably, with some opportunity for discussion). 
 On what was it painted ? On wood. On what kind of wood ? 
 On poplar wood (with a discutable margin of uncertainty which 
 directed careful attention to the hach of the picture). The 
 course was a fruitful development of similarly vital themes. 
 It will be apparent to how little purpose the master distributed 
 his pearls to one of his disciples. 
 
 Not one of this class was a painter or could presumably render 
 the slightest service to art by a knowledge of the properties 
 of poplar wood. All were seeking, for themselves or for others, 
 that bread of life which, in fullest measure, only art can give. 
 Of that our distinguished specialist had never tasted. In 
 fairness to the teacher, however, it should be said that to most 
 of these bread seekers, the profiered stones seemed highly satis- 
 factory. The writer recently flung down with impatience a 
 popular treatise on art which seemed a mere compendium of 
 feebly relevant fact, remarking upon the worthlessness of such 
 commentaries, when an experienced teacher replied: "You 
 don't appreciate what a hunger people have for mere facts about 
 art, no matter how irrelevant or miscellaneous — the artist's 
 history, his technical methods, the location and probable authen- 
 
Art and the Scientists 209 
 
 ticity of his alleged works, anything that is concrete and tan- 
 gible." It is the same temperament, this craving for the literal, 
 the exact, the thing that can be measured and demonstrated. 
 It is found in class as well as teacher, and in teacher because in 
 class. 
 
 Finally, and most important for our purpose, this is always 
 the dominant temper within the craft itself. The terrible 
 ordeal of the art school and the studio with their necessary hos- 
 tiHty to the sporadic, the wanton and the careless, sternly 
 mows down with these weeds the flowers of fancy which can 
 alone bear the fruit of art. For every one whose inspired im- 
 agination survives the repressive discipline of the studio, there 
 are a hundred who learn to disparage and distrust the creative 
 fancy if they ever knew it and who emerge skilled craftsmen 
 devoted to the mimicry of the commonplace. 
 
 If it has been impossible to characterize this class with sym- 
 pathy, it is easy to recognize their importance and, in other con- 
 nections, their very great value to society. Theirs is the scien- 
 tific as contrasted with the artistic temperament. Fact is the 
 ideal of the one class as fancy is that of the other. Exactness 
 appeals to the one as vague suggestion delights the other. Each 
 is valuable and each is wholly admirable, if only each could 
 know — as neither ever does know — its place. What incred- 
 ible vagaries the artist perpetrates in the name of science, what 
 maddening commonplaces the scientist creates in the name of 
 art ! Both mingle in either calling and no power seems able to 
 sort them out. The poetic fancy of the people rolls pseudo- 
 science as a sweet morsel under its tongue. The matter-of-fact 
 side of the popular mind acclaims with equal enthusiasm a cal- 
 culated and uninspired art. The wheat and the tares grow 
 together until the harvest, but the winnowing is thoroughly 
 done at last. 
 
 Imagine the enthusiasm with which this scientific art public 
 would greet a 'canon.' You start with the width of the middle 
 finger. Delightfully definite ! The foot is a certain multiple 
 
2IO The Message of Greek Art 
 
 of this unit. How satisfying! And the height six times the 
 length of the foot. Magnificent ! And this fugitive element 
 of beauty; you get it by standing on one foot and resting the 
 other on the toes. Superb ! Pegasus is at last tethered and 
 coralled, and stands docile for our lading. All honor to him 
 who can reduce the puzzling principles of art to a recipe. All 
 honor to Polyclitus. 
 
 Polyclitus stands as the master technician who thus made 
 himself unconsciously the great exponent of the prosaic and 
 scientific temperament. As such he would have had a follow- 
 ing in any age or place, but especially in Rome. Even in the 
 Age of Pericles, when art was dominated as never before or since 
 by the creative imagination, his following must have been a 
 large one. In any other age it would have been in overwhelm- 
 ing majority. Even the most poetical do not utter poetry 
 continually. Mankind seems to be made up of those who speak 
 mostly prose and those who speak only prose. There are few 
 of us who have not a place for Polyclitus, few whose allegiance is 
 unswerving to the inspiration of art. 
 
 In his old age the great sculptor seems to have entered into 
 closer rivalry with the great Phidias. For the famous sanctuary 
 of Hera in Argos he executed a gold and ivory statue of that 
 goddess which was ranked as equal to the Zeus of Phidias. 
 Efforts to identify existing marble works as copies of this statue 
 on the authority of representations on coins have resulted in a 
 certain presumption in favor of a head in the British Museum, 
 which rather confirms our suspicion as to the fitness of Poly- 
 clitus for this work. It took Phidias for the gods. Without 
 disparaging unnecessarily a work of which we know so httle, 
 we need not be seriously moved by this alleged equality. It is 
 nowhere said that the same persons were partisans of both, and 
 that those who judged the work of Phidias merely from his 
 rendering of the figure should have found the work of Polyclitus 
 quite equal, is natural enough. In his own way Polyclitus was 
 a master, and there were those who liked his way. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 ART AND THE PHILOSOPHERS. PRAXITELES AND SCOPAS. 
 400-338 B.C. 
 
 Like the Age of Pericles, the great age with which we have 
 now to deal was ushered in by war. But it was not the victory- 
 crowned struggle with Persia bringing its opportunities and its 
 boundless exhilaration, but internecine warfare among those who 
 had fought side by side at Salamis, a war demoralizing in its 
 niotives and disastrous in its outcome, and justly characterized 
 by its great chronicler as "the saddest war in history." The 
 continued development of art and the further refinement of its 
 ideals by an Athens crippled in body and spirit can be accounted 
 for only by the immense culture momentum of the preceding 
 age. Th^phejiomenon, however, has its frequent counterparts 
 in the history of culture. The art of Venice, of Spain, of Nu- 
 remberg, attained its zenith at the moment of national adversity 
 and decay. Indeed the -frequency:.of this relation has suggested 
 the theory_ that art is a phenomen on of social decay . The ob- 
 vious truth is that the slow-ripening fruit of art often outlives 
 the prosperity that produced it, as the harvest outlasts the sum- 
 mer. The great achievements of this culminating period of 
 Greek art are but the splendid fruit of the wonderful Athenian 
 summer. 
 
 But the art of this time, though distinctly Athenian and 
 owning itself such, is no longer confined wholly or even chiefly 
 to Athens. Itjs an age_gf _difl[usion,, as the Age of Pericles was 
 an age of concentration. Athens no Jonger^hasJthe, tribute of 
 an empire to spend on great inonuments and must limit her 
 patronage of art to her own modest resources. On the other 
 hand, rivals in Sicily and Italy, in Asia and the Peloponnesus 
 
212 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 have been fired by her example and emulate her in letters, in 
 philosophy and in art. The great sculptors of the period are 
 neither born in Athens nor do they usually work there. We 
 find Athenian philosophers, poets and artists in Italy, Sicily 
 and Asia. We trace the work of Praxiteles in Olympia, in Man- 
 tinea, in Cnidus, in Cos. Great temples and monuments claim 
 the services of Athenian sculptors in every Greek settlement. 
 Yet in all this dispersion of Athenian energy, art was never so 
 Athenian as now. The primacy of Athens is never disputed 
 and she remains the clearing house of art, letters and philos- 
 ophy for the Greek world. That place she retained for nearly 
 a thousand years, and in a not unsubstantial sense she retains 
 it still. 
 
 In the^jongjjst-oi^distinguished &culptors_Qf..the period the 
 names of Praxiteles and Scopas stand easily first. In technical 
 procedure they seem to have had much in common, as was 
 natural in an age in which the craft was well organized and dis- 
 coveries made by one were speedily known to all. The change 
 from the technical procedure of the Phidian period is noticeable 
 in many particulars and in the aggregate is of considerable 
 importance. The most noticeable difference is in the trea tment 
 of the eye. The socket is deeper and both the eyeball and the 
 opening are somewhat modified, with the result that the eyes 
 are heavily shaded and their whole expression changed. How 
 different the impression thus produced and how much more 
 suited to the expression of the sentiments of this age, will be 
 apparent if we compare the Demeter of Cnidus, which forms 
 the frontispiece of this volume, with a head of the older type 
 like Figure 40. Many other changes are similarly significant, 
 though perhaps less noticeable. It is less important that we 
 should note the means by which the artist accomplishes his pur- 
 pose than that we should note the purpose itself. That purpose 
 is exceptionally clear. It is to this purpose as manifest in its 
 broad outlines and in its individual peculiarities that we now 
 turn. 
 
Art and the Philosophers 213 
 
 The,art of Praxitel es marks the true culmination of the. Athe- 
 nian spirit. In refinement, in exquisite delicacy of sentiment, 
 which never errs on the side of obtrusiveness or excess, in seren- 
 ity and repose, he has never been surpassed. That perfect 
 equilibrium of all the forces and impulses of the individual, an 
 equilibrium which suppresses none, but harmonizes all, was 
 doubtless far enough from the ordinary Athenian attainment, 
 but it was the unmistakable Athenian ideal, the aim alike of 
 the democracy of Pericles and the philosophy of Socrates. The 
 reach that is beyond our grasp is realized only in art. 
 
 It is fortunate for us that Praxiteles, of all the sculptors of 
 Greece, should have been preserved to us in the form of one 
 perfect work of unquestioned authenticity, the Hermes, _of 
 Olympia (Figs. 83 a nd 84) . 
 
 Though apparently regarded as a minor work of the great 
 artist, if we may judge by the slight allusion of Pausanias, he 
 was fortunately explicit as to its location and general character, 
 and there the excavators of 1877 found it, more perfectly pre- 
 served than any other ancient work. The old temple in which 
 it stood had been buUt centuries before, with wooden columns 
 and with walls of sun-dried brick above a base of stone. Its 
 religious character had probably somewhat lapsed when, for 
 reasons unknown to us, the Hermes was placed' just inside the 
 entrance where Pausanias saw it five hundred years later. Four 
 centuries more it stood, until the glory of Olympia passed and 
 the temples were neglected and the shrine abandoned. The 
 roof fell into disrepair and the rain trickled down the mud-brick 
 walls and mud gathered inches deep upon the untrodden floor. 
 Then an earthquake snapped the statue off at knees and ankles 
 and it fell prone forward into the muddy cushion prepared for 
 it. Arms and projecting portions were broken and carried 
 away, perhaps to the lime kiln of the wretched village which 
 then huddled amid pillars and monuments, but the face was 
 perfectly preserved from injury, and the trickle of more mud from 
 the decaying walls slowly covered the comely figure, which was 
 
214 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 thus preserved like a fly in amber. Nothing but the actual 
 discovery of this perfect work could have revealed to us the 
 almost incredible finish of Greek sculpture at this time, or the de- 
 gree to which this finish contributed to the realization of the 
 artist's higher purpose. A comparison of this statue with the 
 ordinary marbles of the Roman period can alone suggest how 
 the art of Greece is travestied in the copies through which we 
 are obliged, for the most part, to make our acquaintance with 
 Greek art. 
 
 The statue represents Hermes holding the young Dionysus 
 upon his left arm, while with his right arm (now missing) he 
 dangled before the child a bunch of grapes. The god leans 
 upon a tree trunk over which his garment is cast, and the atti- 
 tude suggests complete serenity and repose. The eyes are 
 dreamy and the thoughts are far away. 
 
 The greatness of this statue is universally recognized, but the 
 work has not escaped criticism or controversy. The careful 
 observer will note several peculiarities which call for explanation. 
 For instance, while the figure of Hermes is magnificently con- 
 ceived and finished with superlative care, the infant Dionysus 
 is indifferently represented. Small, expressionless and sketchily 
 treated, it has been pronounced by some critics a failure. There 
 are those, too, who see in the absent-minded expression of the 
 Hermes a defect. He is holding the child and purports to be 
 devoting himself to its entertainment, but he is plainly other- 
 wise occupied. Again, the notion of a bunch of grapes dangled 
 in the foreground is disturbing to those who desire a perfect unity, 
 a single center of attention and interest. As the grapes and arm 
 are now missing, reverent criticism is usually directed against 
 the current interpretation, rather than against the work itself. 
 We are told that the missing arm must be otherwise conceived, 
 that it could not have held any such obtrusive and distracting 
 object. It is clear that these criticisms are based on real diffi- 
 culties, and yet that they are somewhat in conflict with one 
 another. It is deemed impossible that Praxiteles should have 
 
Fig. 83. — Hermes of Praxiteles. Museum, Olympia. 
 
Fig. 84. — Head of Hermes. Museum, Olympia. 
 
Art and the Philosophers 217 
 
 distracted attention from the face of Hermes by a dangling 
 bunch of grapes, and yet a glance at the child shows that the 
 hand held something at which the infant eagerly grasps, and 
 therefore something which presumably attracted attention quite 
 as much as the grapes. This something being demonstrable, 
 can we think of anything more innocent than grapes ? 
 
 While the artist is criticized for giving too much prominence 
 to grapes, he is criticized for giving too little prominence to the 
 child. For it is plain that a more careful study of the child, in- 
 volving the perfect finish and significant expression which char- 
 acterizes the Hermes, would have produced exactly the result 
 which the critic of the grapes so deprecates. 
 
 Let us see if we cannot get away from this jar of discordant 
 criticism by contemplating the work in somewhat longer per- 
 spective. To do this we must recall the environment of art 
 at this time. The technique of art is evolved in the studio. A 
 craftsman invents a new tool, a painter discovers a new medium, 
 and forthwith the new discovery becomes the property of his 
 fellows. To this evolution the general public contributes Uttle. 
 But the content of art, its sentiments and ideals, are mainly 
 evolved outside the studio. Members of the craft make their 
 contribution, but rather as men than as artists. Broadly 
 speaking, the form of art is a technical product and the content 
 of art a social product. It may seem as if a Monet had taught 
 the world to love nature in a new aspect, but it is significant that 
 there was no Monet imtil the world had been steeped for a 
 century in natural science. The new nature poetry of Tenny- 
 son is another product of the same far-reaching cause. The 
 artist works, and must always work, as though he stood alone 
 in the universe and knew no law except his own unfettered fancy, 
 but the ideals which he seems to create have in fact been for 
 generations in process of slow elaboration, shaped by many out- 
 side forces. 
 
 Never was this so true as in the period which we are now con- 
 sidering. Important as was the technical evolution of the 
 
2i8 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 period, it quite fails to give us the key to the great changes which 
 now take place in art. These changes reflect the marvelous 
 intellectual and spiritual environment of this incomparable age. 
 The statues^ ofjhe time were modeled in the studios of the 
 sculptors, but their ideals were fashioned in the schools of the 
 philosophers. 
 
 It is doubtful whether by an exercise of our powers we can 
 fully appreciate the change which took place in Athens in this 
 eventful century. ThejAange was nothing Less than a spiritual 
 transformation. Under the lead of Pericles the city had changed 
 from a provincial community to the capital of an empire, with 
 corresponding enlargement of horizon and broadening of poUt- 
 ical philosophy, a result shared by all, under the intense school- 
 ing of the great democratic Assembly. Phidij,s_.had-_lif,ted art 
 from the religious fetish and the fashion-plate portrait to the 
 level of the loftiest ideal poetry, devoted no longer as in Egypt 
 to the accidents of individual or race type, but to ideas, things 
 of spirit rather than of flesh, which are henceforth to be its 
 highest themes, ^schylus, Sophocles and Euripides have led 
 the drama from the nature myth of Prometheus to the legend of 
 CEdipus, the history of Salamis, and, finally, by an innovation 
 whose daring we can scarcely appreciate, to fiction, the indis- 
 pensable medium for the treatment of the many-sided problem 
 of modern life. Oratory had reached its zenith in the stately 
 eloquence of Pericles, and poetry had set speech to music. Above 
 all, philosophy in the master hands of Zeno and Socrates and 
 Plato had wrought its unrivaled work. How far-reaching was 
 the influence of these teachers we may judge from the satires 
 of Aristophanes, that protagonist of the old order and worshiper 
 of Aristides and Cimon, and with him the hatred of the new 
 order which he saw everywhere triumphing became an obses- 
 sion. Still more conclusive is the attack upon Socrates, whose 
 death gave evidence of his influence and impetus to his spiritual 
 propaganda. To all of this must be added the fact that he 
 bequeathed his task to an even greater disciple, who was able 
 through a long life to conserve and to augment his influence. 
 
Art and the Philosophers 219 
 
 Nor was the development merely aesthetic and intellectual, 
 as is so often assumed. It was an age that produced great 
 hearts as well as great heads, and its dream of the gods was not 
 more beautiful than its dream of a glorified humanity. It was 
 an age which built its hospital alongside its Parthenon and 
 recorded upon temple walls the manumission of its slaves. It 
 was an age that incurred ridicule for its sentiment toward the 
 weak and its efforts to exalt the common man. It knew war 
 in its utmost horror, yet forgave treason that had never known 
 forgiveness, and changed from vengeance to mercy under the 
 pleadings of conscience in a night. Let whoever will, record the 
 commonplace fact that the age was human. It is the more 
 grateful and the more significant task to recall that it was 
 superhuman. 
 
 It was to this transformed and spiritualized Athens, an Athens 
 whose thought was philosophy, whose speech was poetry and 
 whose life was sentiment, that the artists of the new age were to 
 make their appeal. Not every Athenian was a poet or an idealist 
 or a philosopher, but most tried to be and the rest pretended to 
 be, save a few irreconcilables like Aristophanes. Doubtless 
 conduct was far enough from squaring with the new ideals, but 
 conduct is not the only reality. Nothing is more real than our 
 ideals, or more certain in the long run to dominate all other 
 realities. It is these ideals which are the subject matter of^art. 
 The artist is not a newspaper reporter condemned to collect the 
 miscellany of life, but the interpreter of the ideals of his age. 
 These he interprets whether he will or no, for in them he lives 
 and moves and has his being. 
 
 The Hermes is dreamy and his thoughts are far away. He 
 dangles automatically the grapes at which the infant grasps, 
 xmconscious of both infant and grapes. His attitude is one of 
 complete repose, a repose which almost etherealizes the body 
 from whose muscles all tension disappears. Even thought 
 seems to wander effortless out to the confines of time and space. 
 Could anything better express the spiritual Athens to which 
 
220 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 the art of Praxiteles owes its birth? Does not the dreamy 
 Hermes recall the story of Socrates as he stopped in his morning 
 walk, his thought fixed on the great idea which had taken pos- 
 session of his mind. And still he stood, till the sun climbed 
 high and sank behind the hills, till the stars came out and paled 
 in the morning light, and then when the sun came above the 
 horizon he uttered a prayer to the god and went home. The 
 transfigured Hermes whose frame seems clothed upon with 
 spirit recalls the transfigured Athens of philosophic thought 
 and prophetic vision, the perfect poise of spirit and equilibrium 
 of impulse so earnestly sought by statesman and philosopher. 
 The unheeded child and the dangled plaything suggest those 
 nearer prosaic interests of Athens whose neglect was the oc- 
 casion of Aristophanes' satire and Demosthenes' exhortation. 
 With what consummate skill has the artist subordinated these 
 accessories, reducing the child, as he certainly did, and the ob- 
 ject of its eager attention, to a mere hint, incapable of distracting 
 an attention which is due to the god alone. It is characteristic 
 of the total failure of modern criticism to appreciate the philo- 
 sophic idealism of the age and the exigencies thus imposed upon 
 art, that it sees in the dreamy contemplativeness of the Hermes 
 a defect, in the subordination of the child a failure, and in the 
 dangled object which the uninspired imagination reconstructs 
 with inconsistent vividness, an insufferable distraction. A 
 more perfect child would mean less perfect art. The child is 
 and should be unnoticed, and unless the lesson of the child is 
 misleading, if the grapes were there we should not see the grapes. 
 In suggesting these analogies, however, it is well to anticipate 
 a possible misunderstanding. "What!" it may be asked, "is 
 the Hermes then an allegory, a group of symbols to be related 
 to outside things by a mental identification key ? Did the artist 
 think of these analogies when he made his statue?" Most 
 certainly not. The use of art as a sort of cipher language to 
 convey intellectual concepts which are held in the mind as such 
 is fatal' to its true character. The true artist makes his statue 
 
Pig. 85. — Apollo Sauroctonus. Louvre, Paris. 
 
222 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 or his picture thus and so because he must. He does not know 
 why. He is lured on by a vision which appeals to him and will 
 not be denied. Praxiteles made the Hermes thus because he 
 liked him better so. But there is a reason for his vision and for 
 his liking. It is not for him to know the reason. IjE he vivisects 
 his visions they are apt to forsake him. It is for us to find the 
 reason why he saw things as he did and why he liked them as 
 he saw them. If we lived in his age and were surrounded by the 
 same environment of ideas and emotions, we should understand 
 his visions and his ideals without explanation, limited only by 
 our lesser powers. But when we contemplate the art of another 
 age, whose interests and predilections are unlike our own, we 
 must by diligent study reconstruct this age until we have been 
 admitted into its spiritual citizenship and feel at home among 
 its ideals. Praxiteles, like every true artist, had no other 
 thought than to express beauty as he saw it. But what is 
 beauty ? It differs with every person, time and place, according 
 to the environment and the spiritual development of men. The 
 art of Pisistratus defined it in terms of ornament and clothes. 
 In the age following it was a matter of physical perfection. In 
 the time of Phidias the ideal was sublimity, rhythm and poetry. 
 In the new age none of these ideals prevail. Beauty is a matter 
 of sentiment and spiritual subtlety. The preoccupation of the 
 age was philosophic contemplation. If Socrates could be lost 
 to the world for a day and a night in the contemplation of an 
 idea, lesser periods of abstraction must have been common among 
 the large public who felt his influence, while affectation would 
 add its momentum to the ruling passion. It became impossible 
 for the Athenians to conceive of the highest beauty untinged 
 by reverie and sentiment. 
 
 Even if Praxiteles had not been in temperamental sympathy 
 with this tendency he could hardly have escaped its influence. 
 The indications are, however, that he was a child of his time, 
 proud of its achievements, and in sympathy with its ideals. 
 His vision of beauty was thus the vision of his people and his 
 
Fig. 86. — Satyr (" Marble Faun "). Capitoline Museum, Rome. 
 
224 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 time, and in the Hermes he reveals the spirit of Athens as trans- 
 figured by Socrates and Plato. 
 
 Of the many other recorded works of Praxiteles our knowl- 
 edge is much less satisfactory. Several of them are easily rec- 
 ognized in Roman copies, whose degraded character suggests 
 little kinship with the Hermes save in the attitude of exquisite 
 repose which is at once his invention and the revelation of his 
 spirit. The Apollo Sauroctonus (Fig. 85) is a graceful youth 
 who leans against a tree trunk and transfixes the lizard that 
 climbs upon it. The Satyr, preserved in many indifferent 
 copies and in one shattered torso so far superior as to raise the 
 query whether it be not the original, a smiling, care-free youth 
 who leans like the Hermes, but knows naught of his preoccupa- 
 tions, has acquired literary notoriety as the "Marble Faun" 
 of Hawthorne (Fig. 86). It is necessary that the trained imagi- 
 nation transfigure these coarsened forms with the finer feeling, 
 the subtler sentiment and exquisite finish of the Hermes before 
 we can see in them the art of Praxiteles. 
 
 Of all his works, however, none enjoyed the reputation in 
 antiquity of the Aphrodite_of_Cnidus_(Figs^7 and 88). It is 
 related that the inhabitants of Cos sought a statue of this god- 
 dess from his hand and that in defiance of precedent he repre- 
 sented her as nude. Even more, it was possible to recognize in 
 her features a portrait of Phryne, the most gifted and beautiful 
 adventuress of the period, whose favor Praxiteles at this time 
 nionopolized. The sculptor seems to have appreciated the hardi- 
 hood of his innovation, and fearing lest the statue be refused, he 
 at the same time executed a draped statue and gave his patrons 
 their choice. His precaution seems to have been justified, for 
 they chose the draped figure. Thereupon, the rival city of 
 Cnidus, situated just across the narrow strait, hastened to secure 
 the nude statue. It was this statue rather than the other — 
 this statue far more than any other of his works — which won for 
 Praxiteles the admiration of posterity. Pilgrims went to Cnidus 
 to admire rather than to worship, and the statue won for itself 
 
Fig. 87. — Aphrodite of Cnidus (copy) . Vatican, Rome. 
 
PiQ. 88. — Head of Aphrodite of Cnidus. Vatican, Rome. 
 
Art and the Philosophers 227 
 
 the unenviable reputation accorded to "the world's twelve 
 great masterpieces," a reputation which destroys appreciation 
 by its arrogance and dogmatism. Between the slavish homage 
 of the docile and the silly reaction of the contrary, where should 
 we find to-day an unbiased jury to pass judgment on the merits 
 of the Sistine Madonna ? The Cnidian Aphrodite seems to have 
 suffered a like popularity in its day. Indeed, the analogy goes 
 accidentally somewhat farther. Each work is an idealized 
 portrait of a woman whose relation to the artist was a delicate 
 one ; each presents a familiar theme in a wholly novel way and 
 each has been the object of immoderate and unintelligent favor. 
 This favor is reflected, in the case of the Aphrodite, in numerous 
 copies which have come dowii to us wholly or in part, and in 
 still more numerous works which reflect the character of the 
 original. Of the copies, the best is in the Vatican. It is abys- 
 mally below the standard of Praxiteles, and the Pope who had 
 it partly covered with painted metal drapery might have had 
 other than moral reasons for his act. The face, despite its 
 unsatisfactory rendering, is one of surpassing beauty. The 
 pose, though not the one with which the other works have made 
 us familiar, is characterized by exquisite relaxation and ease, 
 mildly complicated by a modest consciousness of nudity which 
 is not carried to the painful point of apology or embarrassment. 
 That exquisite play of the subtler psychic forces which charac- 
 terizes Praxiteles is observable even in this dim reflection of his 
 art. 
 
 In estimating the art of Praxiteles we must first of all make 
 abstraction of the moral problem involved in the relation be- 
 tween the artist and his model. Sentiment has changed much 
 since that time, even since Raphael's time, in regard to such re- 
 lations, but whatever the tolerance or the reprehension of society, 
 the relation is irrelevant. There can be no question that the 
 model was chosen for esthetic reasons, and that the artist ex- 
 cluded from his work all suggestion of illicit passion. Art loses 
 everything and morals gain nothing by obtruding our moral 
 
2 28 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 convictions into our judgment of the Sistine. The significant 
 thing is not that Raphael painted a frail woman, but that he 
 made her a Madonna. All that we know of Praxiteles justifies 
 the conclusion that he brought to his work the same transform- 
 ing spirit. The statue was not Phryne but Aphrodite. Nor 
 may we for a moment defile our image of the goddess by the 
 base prejudice of a later age. We are the unfortunate heirs 
 of Roman tradition and still more of Christian protest against 
 later and degenerate forms of a cult, the early beauty and purity 
 of which had been lost. Let us not forget that to the Greek 
 Aphrodite was not the goddess of lust but the fair self-renewing 
 power of nature. Such was the Cnidian of Praxiteles. 
 
 Our problem thus cleared of extraneous factors, we are pre- 
 pared more fully to estimate the work of Praxiteles. Of its 
 technical perfection, its refinement, its serenity and repose 
 enough has been said. These are very high qualities in art, and 
 no art has ever manifested them in higher form than the art of 
 Praxiteles. But it is impossible to overlook the change which has 
 taken place in the concepts of art since the time of Phidias. 
 Of the venerableness and majesty which characterized the great 
 Zeus of Olympia no trace remains. Zeus is in fact not a popu- 
 lar theme. Other gods to whom imagination had attributed a 
 different type of beauty are preferred, and these in turn are 
 further modified in the interest of youth and beauty of a less 
 austere type. The significance of this change is not theological. 
 Indeed, its significance lies rather in the fact that theology has 
 nothing to do with it. Theology has simply ceased to concern 
 itself with the gods, who thus become plastic in the hands of 
 art. It was not the theology of the time which craved expres- 
 sion in the form of a graceful, languid youth killing lizards on a 
 tree trunk, or pensively dangling grapes to amuse an infant. 
 Art has slipped its tether, a tether never very tightly held in 
 Greece, and it follows where the vision leads, careless upon what 
 preserves it poaches. Art is not wanton — not half so wanton 
 'as the art of a monk like Fra Lippo — but art has the field. 
 
Pig. 89. — Eros with the Bow. Vatican, Rome. 
 
230 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 These are not Marathon days, and the great gods of Phidias are 
 ill-suited to the subtle refinement and delicacy of this gentler 
 age. Concede as we must that a nude Aphrodite was ill-judged, 
 and that the artist in this attempt overestimated his audience 
 and invited for his work a depraved popularity, there can be no 
 shadow of doubt that his purpose was purely one of art, and 
 that he sought to express through the delicate form of a woman 
 a sentiment still more exquisite, a sensitiveness even more tender 
 than that which exalts the Hermes to the first place among the 
 statues of this age. It is only to be regretted that the eye of 
 the beholder is so seldom single to the spirit of art. 
 
 A considerable number of works of this period show unmis- 
 takable kinship with the art of Praxiteles. Such are the Eros 
 with the bow and the Eros Centocelle (Figs. 89 and 90), the 
 latter a singularly pure and beautiful work which we could 
 but wish might be identified with Praxiteles' famous work 
 of the same name, disclosed by the ruse of Phryne as the 
 master's favorite among all his children of the spirit. But 
 above them all, and ranking with the Hermes itself, is the 
 wonderful Demeter of Cnidus, perhaps the noblest creation of 
 fourth-century art (Fig. 91). (See also frontispiece.) Comment 
 on such a face is futile. Nothing but long-continued contem- 
 plation, by varying light and in varying moods, can reveal its 
 deeper meaning. Suppose that a Christian sculptor had wrought 
 this figure and set the child upon her -knee. Would not a de- 
 vout Christendom have acclaimed this as the supreme revela- 
 tion of divine tenderness and maternal love. But no Christian 
 artist either wrought or conceived such a Madonna as this. 
 Compare with such a vision as this the coldly mundane beauties 
 of Titian, the emotionless placidity of Raphael, the joyless 
 pathos of Michelangelo, even the spiritual beauty of Giof- 
 gione, and the hopeless inadequacy of the Christian artist in 
 expressing his own ideal is at once apparent, while the purpose- 
 less subtleties of a Mona Lisa degenerate into irritating 
 impertinence. Not fifteen centuries after Calvary, but four 
 
Fig. 90. — Eros Centoeelle. Vatican, Rome. 
 
232 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 centuries before, the Christian ideal found its most perfect 
 expression. 
 
 The work of Scopas is less known to us than that of Prax- 
 iteles, but it seems to have enjoyed an almost equal reputation 
 in antiquity. Technically it has much in common with the 
 work of his great contemporary, but such evidence as we pos- 
 sess points to a very different personality. That his art was 
 subtle and subjective, highly charged with sentiment and the 
 philosophic temper of the time, was inevitable, and is clearly 
 indicated in ancient comments and extant remains. But the 
 perfect equilibrium and serenity which are never far absent 
 from the mind of Praxiteles are not the ideal of Scopas. He 
 is fond of action and dramatic situation. The deeper eye 
 sockets with which Praxiteles has made us familiar now lend 
 themselves to the expression of pathos, a relatively new theme 
 in Greek art. Thus while Praxiteles stands as the culmina- 
 tion of the earlier tendencies in art, Scopas stands as the ini- 
 tiator of the new. In a sense there is an analogy between these 
 two great exponents of Greek art and the two chief figures of the 
 Renaissance. Praxiteles was the Raphael of the Greeks in his 
 serenity and refinement, only an infinitely greater Raphael. 
 Less closely, Scopas resembles Michelangelo, but a lesser Michel- 
 angelo. The analogy goes farther, for Praxiteles like Raphael 
 seems to have closed the great development which he repre- 
 sents, leaving few to imitate and none to emulate him, while 
 Scopas like Michelangelo began a new movement which went 
 far beyond his warrant or his sympathy. 
 
 Scopas is recorded as having executed a temple pediment in 
 Tegea, in the central Peloponnesus, representing the Calydonian 
 boar hunt, a story whose tragic sequel is suggestive of Scopas' 
 predilection. Diligent search has recovered a few sorry frag- 
 ments of this composition, too battered to be very meaningful 
 to any but the practiced eye, but clearly indicating the new 
 temper of the artist. His more distinguished service, however, 
 was in connection with the building of two of the greatest monu- 
 
Fig. 91. — Demeter of Cnidus. British Museum, London. 
 
234 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 ments of the age, the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus and the Tem- 
 ple of Artemis at Ephesus, both of them later accounted among 
 the seven wonders of the world. The former was a vast temple- 
 like tomb in the Ionic order, but built square, with a pyramidal 
 roof retreating step- wise on all sides to a flattened point on which 
 stood a group of sculpture. Other statues or groups stood 
 between the columns, and above the architrave in the place of 
 the Doric triglj^hs and metopes was the usual sculptured Ionic 
 frieze. The interior was adorned with further sculpture, the 
 nature and location of which are now unknown. Four great 
 sculptors are said to have been intrusted with the work, which 
 they distributed equitably among themselves, each taking one 
 side. Of these sculptors Scopas was one. As Queen Artemisia, 
 who was building this tomb as a memorial to her husband, died 
 while the work was in progress and funds were suddenly cut off, 
 the sculptors are said to have finished the work at their own ex- 
 pense, doubtless a literary hyperbole, but suggestive of the im- 
 portance attributed to the work by the public and possibly by 
 themselves. 
 
 The splendid monument fell a victim to the barbarism of the 
 Crusaders, whose chronicler naively records how they broke 
 into the building and "admired and destroyed" the sculptures 
 within. Of its materials was constructed a fortress still used 
 by the Turks and largely balking the efforts of the modern exca- 
 vator. Not a Httle has been recovered, however, including the 
 colossal group of King Mausolus and his queen, and a consider- 
 able portion of the frieze_(Figs. 92-95) which has been un- 
 certainly identified as the work of Scopas. It represents the 
 familiar battle between Greeks and Amazons, all of immense 
 vivacity and dramatic power, but even were the identification 
 certain, it is obvious that it would not be representative of the 
 art of Scopas in any such sense as the Hermes reveals the art of 
 Praxiteles. 
 
 The Temple of Artemis has yielded nobler though fewer and 
 less identified remains. As previously stated, the great columns 
 
236 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 of the Ionic order do not rest upon the temple platform, but are 
 perched high on a double, sculptured base. There was first of 
 all a huge cube, on the four faces of which were sculptured in 
 high relief figures in motion. Above this, and slightly smaller 
 in diameter, was a cylinder, around which were represented in 
 lower relief figures circling in exquisite grace. A single base of 
 this kind (Fig. 96) has been discovered and now finds a place 
 of honor in the British Museum. There is little warrant for 
 attributing this single fragment of so vast a work to Scopas, 
 though he is known to have made his contribution to the work, 
 but his reputation certainly would not suffer from such an at- 
 tribution. The grace of these figures, executed in sketchy, 
 decorative style, shows at once the artist's perfect mastery of 
 his ideal and his power to subordinate his skill to the larger 
 purposes of art. The writer, who saw this masterly fragment 
 installed in the British Museum, remembers still the thrill of 
 emotion with which he saw in the youthful Hermes of the upper 
 base his first revelation of the perfect grace of Greek art. 
 
 Tradition has loosely associated with the name of Scopas the 
 group of Niobe and her children. According to the myth Niobe 
 had boasted that she was entitled to greater honor because of 
 her many children than was Leto, the mother of only Apollo 
 and Artemis. This was an affront not to be forgiven by the 
 gods, in whom, to the popular mind, jealousy was an unbeauti- 
 ful but ever-present characteristic, and her children were slain 
 by their avenging arrows. The group represented the helpless 
 mother trying to protect her youngest child while the others 
 fled from the impending doom or fell beneath the darts of the 
 gods. The group seems later to have been transported to 
 Rome, where it met the usual unrecorded fate, but not until it 
 had been much copied, its individual figures probably serving as 
 comparatively meaningless ornaments in Roman private col- 
 lections. From these copies, much restored in the usual un- 
 fortunate manner, the entire group has been tentatively 
 reconstructed, and now forms one of the prominent attrac- 
 
Fig. 96. — Base of a Column from Ephesus. 
 British Museum, London. 
 
|^ »", i " i .. l . iiii «l i .L. ii ..jl "I' ^ l - JTBIQiiiyBig ii tl li a i uMW^^ 
 
 Fig. 97. — Niobid Chiaramonti. Vatican, Rome. 
 
Fig. 98. — Niobid. Roman Copy. Uffizi, Florence. 
 
240 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 tions of the UfSzi Gallery in Florence. A single headless figure 
 (Figjj^), fortunately without disfiguring restorations, which now 
 graces the great Vatican collection, is so far superior to all others 
 and so in harmony with the style of Greek sculpture of this 
 period, that we can hardly hesitate to regard it as part of the 
 original group. It is a work of the highest merit and is perhaps 
 the finest that the Vatican possesses. Its magnificent vigor 
 and dramatic sincerity, its powerful style, with d eep cloy en 
 folds and bold contrasts of light and shadow, stamp it as the 
 work of a master who was able to conceive his theme simply 
 and express it forcefully, with perfect consciousness of the 
 physical problems of location and vision. It is almost un- 
 gracious to compare this magnificent figure with its emasculated 
 Roman copy (Fig. 98), the bold lines all toned down, the great 
 folds of drapery covered over with a host of petty ripples and 
 the garment's hem kicked up into the inevitable rain-gutter 
 frill which seems to have been almost the sign manual of the 
 Roman copyist at this time. Had we always original and copy 
 thus paired, the copy might always be ignored. But alas, for 
 the most part we have only the copy. It thus becomes our 
 painful duty to study these Roman mannerisms and learn to 
 dissociate them froin the Greek work which they clothe with 
 their heavy disguise. For this purpose the present comparison 
 is especially valuable. 
 
 Pliny, who saw the original group in Rome, records that it 
 was the work of either Praxiteles or Scopas, it was not clear 
 which. Later critics, mindful only of technical characteristics 
 in the evolution of art, have expressed a like incredible hesitancy. 
 It is unthinkable that an artist whose temperament is expressed 
 in figures so permeated with repose as the Hermes, the 
 Apollo Sauroctonos, the Satyr, and whose influence is recog- 
 nized in the Eros and the Demeter, should have chosen this 
 tragic theme and executed this dramatic figure quivering with 
 passionate emotion. Such a theme, however, fits perfectly 
 into the program of Scopas. The child of Niobe is wholly in 
 
Fig. 99. — Head of a Woman. National Museum, Athens. 
 
242 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 sympathy with the vehement action of the Mausoleum frieze 
 and the deep pathos which still characterizes the shattered 
 heads from Tegea. It is representative of a new spirit which 
 appears in Greek art at this time, a spirit isolated at first, but 
 soon to become dominant. 
 
 We see, as through a glass darkly, this new and creative spirit 
 in the art of this age. As in the case of Praxiteles, works in the 
 spirit of Scopas tempt to a daring attribution. Such is the 
 beautiful head of Aphrodite (Fig. 99) in the National Museum 
 at Athens. The-aJ;titude is mobile and transitional rather JJigji 
 reposeful, and the expression of mild vivacity is in marked con- 
 trast with the contemplative reverie of the Hermes, or the spir- 
 itual calm of the Demeter. Technical peculiarities also suggest 
 his manner, but we cannot argue with certainty from either. 
 
 Easier is it to trace his influence in the ever more dramatic 
 and finally sensational art of later times. The present felLhis 
 influence and the future owned his sway. As the serenity of 
 Praxiteles voices the complacency of the Greek ideals, so Ihe 
 pathos and dramatic intensity of Scopas speaks of the new un- 
 rest. Together they reveal the Athens of Socrates and Plato. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE DIFFUSION OF ART. GREEK AIEMORIALS TO THE DEAD 
 
 It was noted at the beginning of the preceding chapter that 
 art is no longer confined to Athens and Argos, but that it is 
 widely distributed and finds patronage in many new centers. 
 To this outward diffusion of art was added another, less notice- 
 able but in reality far more important, namely, its diffusion down- 
 ward into the humbler walks of life, and its patronage by larger 
 but less prominent classes. This popularization of art is al- 
 ways the true test of art development and is in a sense the best 
 measure of its usefulness. If we were asked to prove that the 
 Athenians were an artistic people, the Parthenon would furnish 
 but feeble evidence. The Parthenon is art — that is beyond 
 contradiction — but in itself it offers no proof that it represents 
 the taste of the Athenians. It speaks much for Phidias, much 
 for Pericles and his circle of the elect, but for Athens we must 
 seek other witnesses. We must get the testimony of the well- 
 to-do middle classes, whose wealth too often but reveals the 
 vulgarity which penury had hidden, and the witness of the poor, 
 among whom the art impulse is most naive. He who would 
 know the mind of the Greek should study the Greek kitchen 
 utensils from Pompeii bought for the use of a slave, or the grave- 
 stones from a Greek cemetery, which reflect the taste of the 
 middle classes. 
 
 Greek gravestones have come down to us from many periods 
 and many localities. We are fortunate, however, in recover- 
 ing in rare preservation an unusual number of these monuments 
 from the most important of all Greek cemeteries, that of the 
 Ceramicus, just outside the walls of Athens, and ori either side 
 of the busy street which led to the Piraeus. Here, during the 
 
 243 
 
244 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 civil wars, Sulla built a huge ramp for the conduct of siege oper- 
 ations, piling up earth and gravestones together, to the great 
 advantage of the latter, which were thus preserved in consider- 
 able numbers. Among the monuments recovered by modern 
 excavations are none of those which Pausanias saw here, erected 
 to distinguished personages like Pericles and Euripides. All 
 are apparently private memorials indicative of nothing more 
 than the taste and sentiment of the average Athenian family of 
 wealth. Much as we may regret the loss of the more distin- 
 guished monuments, we may congratulate ourselves on pos- 
 sessing this representative collection of middle-class art, a col- 
 lection especially rich in fourth-century examples. 
 
 The erection of an upright stone or slab at the head of a grave 
 to commemorate the deceased is so familiar to us that the custom 
 seems to require no explanation. The custom is in fact neither 
 universal nor very natural. A large portion of mankind have 
 used and still use a horizontal slab covering the grave for com- 
 memorative purpose. The upright slab or headstone is a cu- 
 rious derivative from the false door of the Egyptian tomb 
 chamber (Fig. loo). The true entrance to the tomb chamber 
 was carefully concealed, but a false or symbolical door, hewn in 
 the wall of the tomb chapel, deeply recessed and paneled, through 
 which the spirit of the dead person was believed to be able to 
 pass, was an indispensable feature of these imposing structures 
 from the earliest times. Upon this door were represented the 
 offerings to the dead, his servants at work and in waiting, while 
 on the threshold often appeared the dead man himself as a 
 vividly realistic statue to receive the homage and the offerings 
 brought to him there. 
 
 Gradually the door becomes nominal, the recess shallower, 
 the panels barely outlined, and inscriptions finally cross these 
 lines with impunity. The ritual of the dead becomes more com- 
 plicated, and the passer-by is exhorted to repeat the prayer 
 which conveys to the deceased the gifts there represented. To 
 accomplish this purpose, the inscription must be locatedi where 
 
Fig. 100. — Egyptian Tomb Door. Museum, Cairo. 
 
246 The Message 'of Greek Art 
 
 the passer-by will see it, not in a hidden tomb, but by the road- 
 side. The door thus becomes a commemorative tablet. 
 
 This evolution required many centuries, but it was completed 
 by the time of the eighteenth dynasty, when smooth, round- 
 topped tablets of this sort were common (Fig. loi). 
 
 We saw long ago__that.it_was in this brUliant period of Egyj)- 
 tian history__that relations with Crete and the ^geans be came 
 frequent. These people therefore got from the Egyptians the 
 idea of the commemorative tablet and its public location, with 
 no notion, of course, of its earlier character. It was in a some- 
 what mechanical way that they copied the Egyptian custom. 
 Their tablets had no exhortation for the passer-by, and no very 
 obvious reason for their erection in a public place. Eg3rptian 
 formulas and the representation of Egyptian gods and rsli- 
 gious symbols were naturally meaningless to them. The My- 
 cenaean gravestone, which represents a warrior in a chariot 
 charging a falling enemy, is a superficial and meaningless 
 mimicry of a foreign custom, but it is the beginning of a new and 
 far more significant development. 
 
 Examples of ^Egean gravestones are too few to show whether 
 the idea underwent any significant development at their hands, 
 but there is little reason to think that it did, for we find the 
 Greeks taking up the idea in essentially the same form. In 
 some cases they used the same gravestones over again, cover- 
 ing the ./Egean design with a thin layer of stucco and painting 
 their -own not very different design upon it. Examples of such 
 twice used headstones are now in the National Museum at Athens. 
 Gradually, however, from the accidental beginning of the ^Egean 
 warrior, the Greek evolves a definite theme for his gravestone, 
 a theme of which the Egyptians knew nothing and which the 
 ^gean probably represented only by accident and without 
 formulation. The new theme is very simple in principle. It 
 aims to show the function or status of the deceased in society. 
 Who he was, is a matter of small consequence, to be expressed, 
 if at all, by his name engraved upon the stone. Nor is any 
 
Fig. 101. — Egyptian Memorial Tablet. Museum, Cairo. 
 
248 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 attempt made at portraiture, probably because this was im- 
 possible at first, and later because art had conceived very dif- 
 ferent ideals. It cannot be too strongly insisted that we never 
 have a portrait upon a Greek gravestone, a striking fact when 
 we recall the extraordinary effort of the Egyptian sculptor to 
 reproduce the individuality of his subject in representing the 
 deceased. But while the Greek artist cared nothing how his 
 subject looked and little to what name he responded, he thought 
 it important to express his function or place among the living. 
 His choice is suggestive, and but for its accidental origin, might 
 seem significant. Its choice discloses that universal tendency 
 of the Greek to prefer an idea which has meaning to an accident 
 which has not. 
 
 Yet there is nothing very inspiring about these earlier grave- 
 stones. Our hearts do not thrill with emotion as we see a sol- 
 dier standing in armor, or a shoemaker holding a shoe, or a 
 sailor sitting in a boat. To be sure, it is rather more interest- 
 ing to know that a man can make shoes than to know that he 
 had a short nose or a high cheek bone, facts which the Greek 
 neglected, but which a modern realist would have expressed 
 with painstaking care. Ideas which mean something are more 
 valuable than accidents that mean nothing. But there are 
 ideas and ideas, and the idea chosen by the Greek for these early 
 gravestones was not very highly charged with emotion. It is 
 the prosaic period in Greek memorial art, a period which lasts 
 from its uncertain beginning down to perhaps the middle of the 
 fourth century, that is, until the time of Praxiteles and Scopas, 
 the century of the great philosophers. That this art remained 
 prosaic at a time when such men as Phidias were lifting art to 
 the loftiest plane of poetry is not strange. The grave reliefs 
 are not the work of great artists, and the influence of their high 
 example makes itself felt but slowly in the humbler ranks of art. 
 
 But while this idea ot telling what the deceased was, is in- 
 trinsically of moderate artistic value, it varies widely in dif- 
 ferent examples and in general shows a steady elevation in theme 
 
Fig 102 —Stela of the Farmer Fig. 103. — Stela of Aristion. 
 
 (by Alxenor). National Mu- National Museum, Athens, 
 
 seum, Athens. 
 
250 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 and treatment. Early examples sometimes manifest great 
 ingenuity. Thus, the artist who has to represent a farmer 
 (Fig. 102) displays an ingenuity out of all proportion to his 
 technical skill. The theme is a difl&cult one. Farmers do not 
 wear distinctive trappings like soldiers, nor can they display 
 a distinctive product like the shoemaker by way of identifica- 
 tion. Our farmer has caught a large grasshopper, one of the 
 most troublesome pests of the East, which he holds out to his 
 dog, who jumps to grasp it. We know at once. A banker or 
 a merchant would never catch a grasshopper to give to his dog, 
 nor would the city dog know what to do with it if he did. But 
 farmer and dog alike are trained to hate the vicious pest, and 
 their action is telltale of their occupation. This ingenuity gives 
 a certain pleasure and lifts the work up to a low level of art, in 
 spite of its abysmal clumsiness of execution. The draperies swirl 
 around the figure in most impossible circles, one foot, inconsist- 
 ently represented in front view, has toes but no ankle, and the 
 dog unplausibly puts his paws against the frame of the picture. 
 
 The gravestone of Aristion (Fig. 103) is a marked improve- 
 ment in the matter of skill, and fairly represents the painstak- 
 ing, matter-of-fact memorial of pre-Marathon days. It is very 
 interesting as illustrating the methods of the sculptor in re- 
 lief in this early period, while considerable traces of color, both 
 in general tinting and in decorative pattern, show the practice 
 in that respect. Were the helmet topped out with the crest 
 which once gave it dignity, the slender monument would be a 
 sober and respectable memorial. But it is not a theme that 
 rises above the level of dignified prose. 
 
 As the great art of the Age of Pericles makes its influence felt 
 upon the humbler craft, the prosaic theme develops unsuspected 
 possibilities. Two memorials, both still standing in the old 
 cemetery of the Ceramicus, may be taken as types of the best 
 of which the theme and the craft are capable. 
 
 The first is the monument to Hegeso (Fig. 104), a grave relief 
 of the latter part of the fifth century. The single figure of the 
 
Fig. 104. — Grave Relief of Hegeso. Ceramicus, Athens. 
 
252 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 earlier monuments is now replaced by a group, and the size and 
 shape of the headstone are modified accordingly. The work is in 
 comparatively low relief and both in 'composition and detailed 
 execution is of surpassing beauty. The draperies of these ex- 
 quisite figures are worthy of comparison with those executed 
 under the eye of Phidias, a fact which of course somewhat 
 clouds our judgment of the theme itself. The theme, however, 
 needs no apology. It represents a woman sitting in one of the 
 graceful chairs so often represented in the art of this period, 
 fingering a jewel which she has taken from the open jewel box 
 held by a waiting maid before her. The character of the jewel 
 is not clear, for it is evident from the position of the hands that 
 this article, perhaps a necklace or something of ribbonlike 
 character, extended from one hand to the other and was paiated 
 in, an archaism which is curiously suggestive of the subordinate 
 character of this memorial sculpture. 
 
 It is clear that this memorial tells us essentially what the others 
 have told, the function or status in society of the deceased, only 
 in this case that status is not commercial, professional or oflS- 
 cial, but merely social. The deceased was a woman of leisure. 
 She does not have to work, and having neither novels to read 
 nor clubs to attend, and calls being little in vogue, she falls back 
 upon her finery as her only distraction. Not a very exciting 
 diversion, but one long familiar and not yet obsolete, a repu- 
 table rival still for bridge whist and other leisure occupations 
 not yet outgrown. Hegeso, indeed, does not seem to find her 
 occupation exactly thrilling. There is a fine blase touch about 
 it all, a temper revealed with appropriate differences alike by 
 mistress and maid, which is either a masterpiece of skill or the 
 happiest of accidents. In a work of this humble order we should 
 be inclined to the latter view, were it not for the marvelous 
 beauty of figure and drapery which compel us to recognize here 
 the work of a master artist. A few more such will compel us 
 to revise our ideas of the importance of this department of Greek 
 art. After all, there are gravestones and gravestones. 
 
The Diffusion of Art 253 
 
 The other monument of this period is a memoria l to Dexileos 
 (Fig. lo.!^), a youth who fell in battle in the year^24 B.C. The 
 memorial was doubtless erected soon after, a date probably 
 somewhat later than that of the Hegeso monument, with which 
 it is contrasted in every respect except its fundamental theme. 
 It is much larger than the latter and even broader in propor- 
 tion. It is in relief so high as to be virtually in the round, a 
 change which is characteristic not so much of a different period 
 as of work of a more ambitious and costly character. As the 
 Hegeso memorial gives us the refinement of draperies in its 
 day, this gives us the marvelous development of the nude. The 
 relief represents a youth on horseba,ck furiously charging upon 
 an enemy half-fallen and upon the defensive. Both figures are 
 essentially nude, and we are at a loss to know which to admire 
 most, the refined beauty of these forms or the nobility of the 
 faces of the two combatants. Bgth^are unmistakably ideal- 
 ized. Especially grateful is the absence of anything like gross 
 muscularity or excessive dramatic vehemence. The theme is 
 unmistakable, but it is graciously refined and etherealized. 
 There is a difference between a prize fight and the triumph of 
 an archangel. 
 
 Once again, however, we have to note the famUiar theme. 
 Dexileos was a soldier, precisely as was Aristion. There is an 
 enormous difference, to be sure, between this splendid group 
 with its full relief, its perfect forms and its noble action, and 
 the painstaking but helpless relief of the stiff old Aristion, but 
 the difference is not in the theme. To those who insist that art 
 is wholly a matter of expression and the theme therefore irrel- 
 evant, this wonderful advance in expression will be the measure 
 of art progress, and the change of theme which we have soon to 
 note will be unimportant. We will not attempt to settle this 
 age-long dispute, which in the last analysis is but a question of 
 terms. Along with the evolution of technical skill which we 
 have so often had occasion to note, there went unmistakably an 
 evolution of thought and sentiment which may be clearly traced 
 
Fig. 105. — Grave Relief of Dexileos. Ceramicus, Athens. 
 
The Diffusion of Art 255 
 
 in Greek art, and in which the Greek was certainly deeply 
 interested. Whether art is concerned with both these evolu- 
 tions or only with one is largely a matter of words. Certainly 
 the Greeks were concerned with both and humanity is concerned 
 with both. It is with this broad human interest rather than with 
 the interests of a craft or profession that we are here concerned. 
 Technical occupations necessarily create an interest in processes, 
 methods, manner. Outside ignorance of these things forces 
 interest back upon life, upon actions, motives and moods which 
 our experience has rendered significant. The stage manager 
 will study the staging of the Iliad, but the spectator will see 
 only "the wrath of Achilles." Estrangement is easy, but 
 estrangement is fatal. That perfect cooperation between art 
 and life which is indispensable to the highest art is character- 
 . istic of Greek art as of no other. Professional interests did not 
 become the criterion of Greek art until the time of the decadence 
 — and that is why it was the decadence. 
 
 Sometime in the age of the philosophers, perhaps toward the 
 middle of the fourth century, the theme of ^ the grave reliefs 
 changes. Up to this time the artist has only told us about the 
 person when living. He does not think it necessary to tell us 
 that he died. The grave and the gravestone are enough to suggest 
 that. Moreover, the fact seems not to have appealed to him 
 as a theme for art. He never makes death his theme, and at 
 best only suggests it as incidental to some other theme, a com- 
 bat for instance. In this rigorous exclusion of death as a theme, 
 Greek art is unique. 
 
 Why did the Greeks avoid this theme so carefully? Other 
 peoples have not done so. In Christian art death is repre- 
 sented with great frequency and often with realistic emphasis. 
 Not only the martyrdom of Jesus and many of the saints gave 
 occasion for the theme, but it was sometimes dragged in with 
 morbid predilection. Thus, in St. Denis, the burial place of 
 the French kings, Catherine de Medicis and her royal spouse 
 are represented in effigy upon their tomb as corpses, naked, 
 
256 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 shrunken and cadaverous in the extreme. We are perhaps 
 tempted to explain our revulsion of feeling at this loathsome 
 sight as due to its realism. An ideal representation would have 
 been very different. 
 
 We have not far to go to test the suggestion. In the nearby 
 cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris is a tomb whose motive is a 
 half-opened cofhn from which the distressed corpse seems en- 
 deavoring to escape, while death, in the form of a skeleton, clad 
 in long robes, holds down the lid. Westminster Abbey offers 
 another example in the well-known tomb of Lady Nightingale, 
 so thoughtfully criticized by Washington Irving. Lady Night- 
 ingale died of heart failure, falling into her husband's arms. 
 The cleverest sculptor of the time has represented this swoon 
 upon a high base somewhat resembling a mantelpiece, while 
 from below two heavy doors fly open and Death, clad as before, . 
 darts suddenly out, turns and hurls at the fainting woman a 
 javelin which the terrified husband vainly attempts to ward 
 off with outstretched arm. 
 
 These two tombs are not realistic. They represent ideas rather 
 than actualities, and these ideas are clear and significant. Yet 
 we do not enjoy them, and if we call them art it is only at the 
 expense of robbing the word of half its charm. It takes more 
 than idealism to make art. The trouble with these tombs is 
 that they represent ideas which are not beautiful. The idea 
 is the irrevocableness of death. 
 
 " No life shall live forever. 
 The dead can come back never." 
 
 That is what makes us hate death. The race would perish 
 if we did not hate death with a supreme hatred. It cannot be 
 too often insisted that the correlative of art is beauty. Hate- 
 ful and ugly things can never make art, no matter how beauti- 
 fully represented. To be sure, beauty is a very variable thing, 
 and some of its forms are austere and forbidding, winning our 
 sympathy only in rare moods and on closer acquaintance. There 
 
The Di fusion of Art 257 
 
 are few categories which can be so greatly enlarged by education 
 and deeper insight as the category of things beautiful, and it is 
 to this enlargement of the beauty sense rather than to the ap- 
 preciation of technical cleverness that art education should be 
 directed. But that which the mind refuses to recognize as 
 beautiful no skill can make art, as the tombs we have cited 
 illustrate. Death is the most irreconcilable of the heart's foes. 
 
 But recalling the fact that we are now in the Age of Praxiteles 
 arid^opas, we shall slowly appreciate that the old tradition of 
 the grave reliefs was inadequate. It was an age of philosophy 
 and sentiment, an age of poetry and spiritual suggestion. It is 
 all very charming to tell us in so beautiful a way of the prowess 
 of Dexileos and the wealth of Hegeso, but in spite of everything 
 our hearts refuse to burn within us at the recital of these facts. 
 They are facts of that immediate and prosaic character which 
 this age disparaged. Socrates had cheerfully drunk the hem- 
 lock rather than be disloyal to his ideals of citizenship, and Plato 
 was discoursing of the perfect state and giving reasons for a 
 faith in immortality which have never been surpassed. As the 
 philosophy and poetry of the time forgot the wanderings of 
 Ulysses and dreamed of the Great Beyond, and the art of Scopas 
 taught his sensitive countrymen to see a new beauty in pathos, 
 how inevitable that the artist of the grave reliefs should tire of 
 the humdrum prose of social rank and function and seek a deeper 
 and more poetical meaning in the dangerous theme which a 
 wholesome instinct had hitherto taught him to avoid. 
 
 In the new reliefs of the period we miss the familiar facts so 
 often referred to and see instead a farewell, a journey to "that 
 undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns." 
 Figure 106 is a singularly beautiful example of a grave relief 
 of this new type. The group represents a family circle, a wholly 
 ideal one beyond doubt. The departing member, a woman, 
 stands in an unmistakable attitude of leave-taking and gazes 
 with mild tenderness at a sitting figure, whose hand she clasps 
 and who gazes at her with intense but self-contained emotion. 
 
Fig. 106. ^ Grave Relief . The PareweU. 
 National Museum, Athens. 
 
The Diffusion of Art 259 
 
 A man with bowed head, whose attention is similarly directed, 
 stands behind the sitting figure. It seems unnecessary to 
 inscribe, as is sometimes done, the word "Farewell" upon the 
 tombstone. 
 
 Again, as in the case of the Hegeso, our judgment of the theme 
 is complicated by the superlative beauty of execution. Not 
 only are figures and draperies perfect, but the superb restraint 
 with which this scene of intense emotion is represented, so 
 admirably appreciative of the fine decorum of the marble, makes 
 an impression which might reconcile us even to an unworthy 
 theme. No need here to take the will for the deed. The deed 
 is perfect as the will, and shows that the exquisite sentiment 
 of Praxiteles and Scopas fell as seed into good soil in this ground 
 prepared by the philosophers. 
 
 But allowing for all possible bias of this kind, the theme is 
 undeniably beautiful. Why is it that this relief, with its plain 
 suggestion of death, appeals to our sympathy, while we shudder 
 at a like allusion in the tomb of Lady Nightingale ? 
 
 The reason is perfectly plain. These creations of a misguided 
 modern art represent with diabolical cleverness the brutal 
 harshness of death and our helplessness in its unpitying presence. 
 Death appears as a terrifying calamity unassuaged by love and 
 unatoned by heaven. In the Greek relief, on the contrary, 
 death is suggested but incidentally to the representation of 
 human love and sympathy, which is the real theme of the work. 
 It is significant that the most hateful of all themes, the specter 
 which no philosophy and no faith can make beautiful, is indis- 
 solubly linked with the most beautiful thing we know, human 
 love and sympathy, which are its only alleviation. Throw the 
 grinning skeleton into the foreground and let love shrink 
 affrighted away, and all the blandishments of the artist cannot 
 reconcile us to the dread specter. But tell ever so haltingly the 
 story of love that endures beyond the parting, and the somber 
 background of the great shadow will but enhance its beauty. 
 
 This theme of the leave-taking once begun, elaboration was 
 
Pig. 107. — Grave Relief of Protonoe. Ceramicus, Athens. 
 
Fig. 108. — Grave Relief. Mistress with Servants. 
 National Museum, Athens. 
 
Fig. 109. — Grave Relief. Three Figures with Infant. 
 National Museum, Athens. 
 
The Diffusion of Art 263 
 
 possible without limit. While the simple group above de- 
 scribed remains common, the introduction of new members and 
 special relations varies the motive indefinitely. Of especial 
 interest is the child who gazes dazed at the grief of the depart- 
 ing mother which she cannot understand. Or the situation is 
 reversed when the relief commemorates the death of a child 
 who stands smiling and unconscious in the midst of the sad 
 circle who bestow upon her the caress appropriate to childhood 
 (Fig. 107). Nor is the affection for the household servant for- 
 gotten. In Figure 108 the departing mistress dismisses the 
 grieved bearer of the jewel box, laying her hand in benediction, 
 the while, upon the head of another servant who, lacing her san- 
 dals, performs the last sad oflEices for the journey. When we 
 remember that these servants were slaves we have a sidelight, 
 confirmed by much other evidence, upon the status of slavery 
 among this enlightened people. The bearer of the jewel box 
 appears frequently, in obvious imitation of the beautiful Hegeso 
 monument, but always now with a new significance. The box 
 is held by the dutiful maid, but it remains closed, and is held as 
 though the accustomed service had been declined. How pro- 
 found this trifling difference ! What more prosaic than the 
 tying of a shoe string. Yet how charged with emotion when 
 performed as a last service for one who is departing forever ! 
 
 Still other variations may be noted. Figure 109 shows us the 
 usual group of three as in Figure no. The departing woman 
 does not give the sitting woman her right hand, but grasps her 
 wrist with the left, meanwhile emphasizing with a gesture of the 
 right the words which she impressively utters and which the 
 other leans forward to hear. "Farewell, and don't fail to take 
 good care of. . ." How this touch of solicitude makes the 
 far-off ages kin ! 
 
 In Figure in we have two figures, a young man and an old. 
 The former is nude and gazes dazed and distraught down the 
 road which he is to travel, his dog snufiing the path, while the 
 older man, evidently his father, gazes upon him with a look of 
 

 
 l^^^f: 
 
 *■*«; 
 
 
 Fig. 110. — Grave Relief. Parting Admonitions. 
 National Museum, Athens. 
 
Fig. 111. — Grave Relief. 
 National Museum, 
 
 Father and Son. 
 Athens. 
 
266 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 inconsolable grief. The motive is altogether new. There is 
 no farewell, none of the usual arrangement or characters. 
 Why nude ? Prose has been prompt with its interpretation of 
 poetry. The youth is an athlete we are told, who was killed 
 in the contest, as not infrequently happened. As he wrestled 
 naked, he is here represented nude. An admirable explana- 
 tion for a century or two before, in the days of the shoemaker 
 and the grasshopper, but in oversight of the entire character 
 and spirit of fourth-century art. It was an age of poetry, an 
 age of metaphor and subtle suggestion, an age which saw books 
 rather than stones in the running brooks. If nudity here 
 means only nakedness, it is" a unique example of crude Hteralism 
 in an age of figurative and poetic speech. And the figurative 
 meaning is so easy and plain. The youth has shuffled off this 
 mortal coil as we lay aside a garment, and he stands now, too 
 absorbed and apprehensive to realize the desolation that his 
 departure causes. 
 
 Figure 112 carries the thought farther. Again we have youth 
 departing and old age bereaved. Again the stricken youth is 
 troubled, this time deeply so, for death which may well be a 
 relief to the old comes as a calamity to the young. And now — 
 master stroke of the heart reader — the father forgets his bereave- 
 ment and comforts the stricken son. Can love go farther? 
 Is there another chapter in the great drama of the heart which 
 Greek art did not write ? Above all, is there aught of moment 
 which our two thousand Christian years have added to this 
 message of the Greek ? 
 
 From the halls of the great museums where are ranged these 
 monuments of Greek sentiment and taste, we have but to cross 
 a single threshold to find a significant contrast. Here are monu- 
 ments of another and more opulent people. No paltry head- 
 stones these, but vast sarcophagi, rich with sculptured orna- 
 ment and storied rehef. What have we represented here on 
 these ample spaces? A larger group and more varied senti- 
 ment? An ampler message of sympathy and sorrow? Not 
 

 
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 Fig. 112. — Grave Relief. Father comforting his Son. 
 National Museum, Athens. 
 
268 The Message of Greek, Art 
 
 so. A succession of chubby children holding grapes dance 
 heavily across the scene, or bolster one another up in maudlin 
 intoxication. A drunken Bacchanal with children as the actors ! 
 Why? 
 
 We can best understand this Roman version of Greek memorial 
 art, if we picture the Roman inheritance in figure. 
 
 An absentee kinsman inherits the Attic estate. Called to 
 his inheritance he lands at the Piraeus and journeys toward 
 Athens, gazing at its wonders as he passes. His road leads him 
 through the cemetery, where the Greeks, mindful of the mes- 
 sage of the dead to the living, have placed their memorials in 
 full view of the wayfarer. The newcomer has never seen the 
 like. "Pretty pictures,- those," he ponders. "When I get 
 round to it, I will have some for my cemetery lot." The time 
 comes and the artist is summoned. He is impoverished in these 
 fallen days — and tractable. " I want a sarcophagus with some 
 of these pictures of yours on it." " Certainly ! what shall they 
 be ?" " Oh, I don't know. I am not so very particular. How 
 would Crusoe and his man Friday do ?" 
 
 Let us draw the curtain before this picture of misguided but 
 well-meaning patronage, that patronage from whose lavished 
 millions Athens suffered so much. Under this patronage the 
 beautiful headstones were multiplied but completely travestied. 
 The simple ideal group by which the Greek expressed affec- 
 tion and farewell promptly became, with the Roman, a group 
 of famUy portraits, with the feeble charms and the ephemeral 
 interest which such a theme implies. Ideal themes went off 
 on the tangent of vulgar irrelevancy. Art had been to the Greek 
 a spiritual necessity, the expression of his deepest feeling and his 
 noblest aspirations. Every people has such a need and finds 
 some way of satisfying it. The Roman had found another way. 
 Greek art was therefore to him not a necessity but a superfluity. 
 He made it a plaything, a thing to jest with, to caricature and 
 to parody. We do the same with an art not born of our own 
 spiritual necessities. A moment of dilettante attention, of 
 

 Fig. 113. — Detail from Grave Relief. 
 !^ational Museum, Athens. 
 
270 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 shallow curiosity, a patronizing recognition of grace and pret- 
 tiness, and we regard with complacency our homage to the art 
 of Hellas. 
 
 It is impossible to leave these incomparable monuments 
 without noticing the type of countenance and character which 
 has slowly found recognition. Figure 113 is representative 
 of a type of woman which not inadequately reflects the match- 
 less Demeter (frontispiece) and which speaks volumes for the 
 ideal of Athens. No other age or people has left a record of 
 an ideal so sensitive, so fine, so noble. "But," it may be ob- 
 jected, "these are ideal representations, mere imaginings of the 
 artist. We have no proof that there ever was such a woman in 
 Athens." Certainly, and if there were such, that in itself would 
 mean nothing. It would not prove that she was admired or 
 preferred in marriage or society. But the fact that these crafts- 
 men, working for customers to whose taste they must defer, 
 slowly wrought out this ideal as a passport to favor, is profoundly 
 significant. It is the ideal and not the real which judges a 
 people and shapes its destiny. 
 
 We have thus far traced the evolution of the grave reliefs in 
 their prosaic and their poetic forms, citing such examples as 
 best serve to illustrate this development. A few others remain 
 which by reason of their beauty or their exceptional significance 
 deserve consideration in their own right. 
 
 Figure 114 represents a yoimg woman bearing a graceful 
 water pitcher; nothing else. The relief is of a comparatively 
 late period, yet it tells us nothing of the usual theme of love and 
 death. At first it seems to be merely a graceful figure of sur- 
 passing beauty. The graceful pitcher, however, has a meaning 
 which a Greek would have been quick to recognize. The girl 
 is one who bore water for a ceremonial lustration connected with 
 the Panathenaic festival, a ceremony which doubtless became 
 a mere form in the later day, but which gave to the maiden chosen 
 for the part that charming and innocent publicity which made 
 her the envy of her companions. The girl to be Queen of the 
 
Fig. 114. — Grave Relief. Water Carrier. Ceramicus, Athens. 
 
Pig. 115. — Orpheus and Eurydice. National Museum, Naples. 
 
The Diffusion of Art 273 
 
 May or to break the bottle at the launching of a battleship will 
 suggest the envied honor. Our monument commemorates such 
 a favored maiden. At her untimely death this honor, perhaps 
 a recent one, was remembered, and the older theme returns 
 to recall the honor to the living rather than sorrow and love 
 for the dead. Such cases served to keep the older tradition 
 alive in these later days of poetry and sentiment, whenever some 
 fact connected with the life of the individual is of a character to 
 meet the emotional requirements of the age. 
 
 Another relief of this period (Fig. 115) is of such beauty and 
 meaning as to give it a unique place in Greek sculpture. It is 
 by no means certain that it was intended as a grave relief, yet 
 its spirit and content, if they do not compel the conclusion that 
 it was executed as a memorial to the dead, at least justify its 
 consideration in this connection. It represents the parting of 
 Orpheus and Eurydice. The story is familiar. Orpheus lost 
 his beloved Eurydice for whom he mourned and searched dis- 
 consolate and finally found in the underworld, whither he 
 had made his way, having first charmed to sleep by his music 
 the three-headed Cerberus who guarded the entrance. The 
 king of the underworld, who had made Eurydice his bride, was 
 so astounded at the feat and so moved by the affection which it 
 implied, that he consented to the plea of Orpheus that he might 
 lead back Eurydice to life and light, on condition that in thread- 
 ing the dread pathway to the upper world he should not turn and 
 look at her. He promises and leads her forward under the 
 guidance of Hermes, conductor of souls, who is to see that he 
 fulfills the condition. But the way is hard and he is anxious as 
 to how she fares, and finally instinct betrays him into an 
 anxious glance behind. In that moment Hermes lays his hand 
 upon her arm and the two must part, Eurydice to return to the 
 realm of shades. It is this moment of parting which the artist 
 has given us. Of the beauty of the figures, the expressiveness 
 of attitude and gesture, too much cannot be said. The mingled 
 gentleness and inexorableness of the Hermes is the despair of 
 
274 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 later art. It should be noted that this combination is precisely 
 the one sought by the Christian artists in their oft-repeated at- 
 tempt to picture the expulsion from Eden and the angel with 
 the flaming sword — sought, and found but once if ever. 
 
 But most amazing is it to note that the theme of this beauti- 
 ful myth is precisely the same as that of the repellent tombs in 
 Westminster and Notre Dame, the irrevocableness of death. 
 Orpheus might penetrate to the realm of shades, but he might 
 not lead back Eurydice. But whoever found this relief revolt- 
 ing ? It is perhaps the best beloved of all extant works of Greek 
 art. Its message is not the limit of life but the illimitableness 
 of love. 
 
 One more relief (Fig. ii6) remains, a relief so strange, so 
 wonderful, that it dissociates itself from all its nearest kin. It 
 is considered here out of all chronological sequence for reasons 
 that will be apparent. As commonly interpreted it represents 
 Athena standing before a grave relief and leaning in sorrow 
 upon her spear.^ The relief is a small one, far too small ever to 
 have served as the headstone of a grave, but though doubtless 
 erected elsewhere, perhaps in a scarp of rock in a mortise such 
 as we see so often on the Pnyx, it can hardly be other than a 
 memorial to the dead. It may be safely referred to about the 
 middle of the fifth century, to a time a full century before Prax- 
 iteles and Scopas, when the development of sculpture in its 
 higher forms had as yet penetrated but little into the humbler 
 craft. Its location on the Acropolis suggests that it commem- 
 orates a person of some importance. 
 
 Peculiarities abound. The draperies are old-fashioned, hang- 
 ing straight and ungraceful. The figure leans forward, yet the 
 draperies do not adjust themselves, but their lines, like the 
 figure, incline at an angle, as though the whole were a statue 
 meant to stand erect but accidentally tipped. On the other hand 
 the feet, hands, arms and face are of amazing delicacy and 
 
 ' The writer is aware that other interpretations are proposed, but he is uncon- 
 vinced by the arguments advanced. 
 
Fig. 116. — Mourning Athena. Acropolis Museum, Athens. 
 
276 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 beauty, their perfection contrasting strongly with the archaic 
 features above referred to. The goddess stands before what 
 appears to be a gravestone, the edge of which is presented to our 
 view. 
 
 It must be remembered that this relief falls in the early part 
 of the period which we have denominated prosaic. The grave 
 reliefs tell us the status or function of the deceased during life, 
 and that without a touch as yet of poetry or romance. The 
 lovely water carrier and the intrepid Dexileos and the graceful 
 Hegeso with her jewels are still far away. Aristion in his 
 armor, the farmer with his grasshopper, and the shoemaker 
 with his shoe are the tradition up to date. 
 
 And now with this inheritance for his precedent, a young 
 artist called upon to commemorate a worthy citizen flings 
 tradition to the winds, gives us no hint of rank or calling, and 
 only a hint of a grave, to which Athena comes down as chief 
 mourner. The aptness of it is unrivaled, but the daring of it 
 takes our breath away. Here is poetry, not of the homely 
 hearthstone sort which graces with its quiet beauty the memorials 
 of a sensitive and cultured age, but poetry whose similes come 
 like a bolt from the blue, with the majesty and the creative 
 power of supreme genius, born full-grown like Athena from the 
 head of Zeus. 
 
 The defects noted above are always a thing to pardon in the 
 presence of such supreme genius. But are they certainly de- 
 fects? Is it not conceivable that in the days when the gods 
 were still revered, reverent art should hesitate to change their 
 wonted aspect, should even make them lean with no adjustment 
 of draperies as though they were in very truth the statues which 
 men had seen ? 
 
 Who could have made this relief and thought this thought ? 
 Who was alive in the first half of the fifth century ? Who made 
 the gods old-fashioned in order that no novel charm might lessen 
 our reverence ? Who saw the sun god rise from the sea and the 
 messengers waken the slumbering world ? 
 
The Diffusion of Art 277 
 
 The thought is enticing that we have in this beautiful relief 
 an early work of Phidias. The style, the spirit, the purposeful 
 mingling of old and new, above all the daring Olympian poetry 
 which is the gift of so few, all lend countenance to such a sug- 
 gestion. But it remains only a suggestion. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE MUTUAL CONQUEST. GREECE AND ALEXANDER. 338-3OO B.C. 
 
 The year ^8 b.c. is a conventional watershed in Greek 
 history. From this time on all streams seem to flow another way. 
 In this year Philip of Macedon realized the great ambition of 
 his life in the conquest of Greece at the battle of Chaeronea. 
 Most histories of Greece stop at this point. It is Greece up to 
 this point ; after that it is Macedon. For did not Philip con- 
 quer, and is not history "a gossip about kings" ? 
 
 No, history is not a gossip about kings, and Philip did not 
 conquer. The history of Greece no more ends with the battle 
 of Chffironea than with the banishment of Themistocles. Greece 
 went on just the same. Nay, rather, it went on with new 
 momentum. [While Philip was preparing to conquer Greece, 
 Athens was conquering Alexandey Aristotle, the keenest mind 
 of the age, the philosopher whose works in scarce altered form 
 are still studied in our universities, had been summoned from 
 Athens as tutor for the young Alexander, and for twelve years 
 the incomparable teacher wrought to fashion his incomparable 
 pupil according to the ideals of incomparable Athens. Philip 
 himself was no Greek, but he worshiped Athens from afar, and 
 refrained from setting foot upon its sacred soil even after his 
 conquest. His attitude was not unlike that of many a father 
 toward the halls of learning to which he reverently sends his 
 son, seeking for him a boon to himself denied. But as the 
 master and the patron of Hellas, it is by no means sure that the 
 patronage of the crafty, carousing, barbarian Philip would have 
 found a way, with all his veneration, to give to Hellenic civili- 
 zation a new lease of life. The pupil of Aristotle, who suc- 
 ceeded to the great task after but two brief years, found a way. 
 
 278 
 
The Mutual Conquest 279 
 
 The conquest of Greece was the most inevitable of historic 
 events. If it had not been Philip, it must needs have been an- 
 other. Greece had attained to her unique position by sheer 
 intellectual supremacy. She had mastered the art of war as 
 regards equipment, organization and tactics, and the result was 
 Marathon and Salamis. She had equally mastered the arts oi 
 peace and the higher domain of the spirit, and her supremacy 
 here was not less recognized. But this supremacy produced 
 two results which in the end inevitably destroyed it. 
 
 The first was that in conquering she taught.her. enemies .how 
 to conquer, precisely as Egypt had done before, as Rome did 
 later, and as Britain is doing to-day. Her secret could not 
 remain a monopoly. The barbarian Philip, for three years a 
 hostage at Thebes, where Epaminondas has just taught the 
 last lesson in military science, carried this lesson back with him 
 to Macedon. If we forget for a moment the superficial fact of 
 political boundaries and follow the fate of systems and civiliza- 
 tions, the true historic entities, it is clear that there was no 
 interruption, no check. The system, the science which con- 
 quered at Marathon, was the conqueror at Leuctra and at 
 Chaeronea, and Issus and Arbela were but sequels of Salamis. 
 Greece could not use her advantage without sharing it and 
 ultimately losing it. 
 
 And the second result was a change in her own temper as the 
 result of her higher occupations. We have noted the beautiful 
 ideal of woman which is repeated so often in the grave reliefs 
 and revealed in such transcendent beauty in the Demeter. The 
 infinite delicacy and spiritual sensitiveness of this ineffable 
 type commands our sympathy and admiration, expressing and 
 yet transcending our own ideal. But a glance at the warrior 
 in Figure 117 will show that the ideal was not confined to woman. 
 Breastpi'aTe and crested helm remind us of war, but the gen- 
 tleness and delicate sensitiveness of the face contradict their 
 message. The face is not little or womanish or weak. It sug- 
 gests manhood of a type that we have learned justly to call noble. 
 
28o The Message of Greek Art 
 
 But merely as a type of the brute assertion which is epit- 
 omized in war, such a soldier does not inspire confidence. 
 Such a soldier might be compassionate to a conquered Lesbos, 
 or cite philosophy to a carousing conqueror at Chseronea, but 
 the hand of the hoplite is unnerved forever. Is it any wonder 
 that Demosthenes exhorted in vain that Athens should rouse 
 herself for a new Marathon ? The days of Marathon were past. 
 It was not to such unnerved and spiritualized soldiers as these 
 that Philip brought back the secret of Epaminondas. The 
 victory of Macedon was inevitable. 
 
 The; victory _ olJjrreece over hen conquerors was far less a 
 matter of course. Some such counterconquest is inevitable 
 when hardy barbarism conquers civilization. If the history of 
 Alaric and Attila had been written from the barbarian point of 
 view, it would doubtless appear as an era of unrivaled progress. 
 But looked at from the standpoint of worsted civilization it ap- 
 pears as a ghastly tragedy. Rome, alas, had no Aristotle at 
 the court of Attila. Such a catastrophe of loss and disaster is 
 usual, when a new race relieves an old in the guardianship of 
 civilization. It is the marvel of history that in this case such loss 
 was so largely averted, that the culture leadership of Greece 
 scarce suffered momentary disturbance as she passed to her 
 larger task of hellenizing the barbarian. It is to the combined 
 genius of Aristotle and Alexander that we owe this most success- 
 ful, as it is the most momentous, of all the transitions of history. 
 
 Alexander was a conqueror. The world has never known such 
 another. The lightning rapidity with which his genius imposed 
 Greek rule over the known world is still the miracle of history, 
 and a whole mythology centered about his name still bears wit- 
 ness to the impression which his blinding meteoric career made 
 for a moment on the somnolent East. That night before Arbela 
 shows us the true Alexander. With Parmenio, his veteran 
 marshal and counsellor, he looks out over the plain where like 
 sands upon the seashore he camped the hosts of Persia. The 
 field is of Persia's choosing. For months every device has been 
 
Fig. 117. — Warrior. Fragment from Grave Relief. 
 Glyptothek ny Carlsberg, Copenhagen. 
 
282 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 exhausted to convert it into a death trap for the enemy. What 
 organization can avail against such numbers? What phalanx 
 can withstand the fury of the scythe-armed chariots or the vast 
 bulk of the charging elephants ? And now comes a messenger 
 from Darius offering peace and a half of his empire. The 
 scarred lieutenant of Philip, who has weighed the awful chances, 
 judges humanly that it would be madness to refuse. "I would 
 accept, if I were Alexander." " So would I, if I were Parmenio." 
 And Alexander is conqueror at Arbela. 
 
 Alexander the conqueror, so much the world has seen. But 
 Alexander the conquered, Alexander undeterred by the pru- 
 dence of a Parmenio, yet led captive by the genius of Aristotle, 
 the world has scarce heeded. But this is the significance of this 
 chapter in the world's history. Alexander is the protagonist of 
 Hellenism in the new world era. Not only in Greece, but in 
 the Greek cities of Asia which he won from Persia and in those 
 new centers which his foresight planted at strategic points in 
 his empire, he was the munificent patron of Greek art, Greek 
 letters and Greek civilization. His empire did not endure as a 
 political structure, but his Hellenism did. When his empire 
 broke up into small kingdoms, they were Greek kingdoms. In 
 the measure that was humanly possible their rulers and their 
 culture leaders were guided by Greek ideals. The superficial 
 reading of history is : Alexander tried to make the world Mace- 
 donian, and he failed. The true reading is: Alexander tried 
 to make the world Greek, and he succeeded. No man has yet 
 measured the magnitude of that success. 
 
 At home, Greek art was hardly conscious of change as the 
 resulLpLChaeronea. The defeat which extinguished the liberties 
 of Greece forever, involved no protracted and exhausting strug- 
 gle, and the new overlordship was both considerate and en- 
 lightened. It is probable that Praxiteles and Scopas were still 
 alive. It is certain that some of their distinguished contem- 
 poraries, colaborers on the great temple at Ephesus and the 
 Mausoleum, were at their best. Sculpture in every form, from 
 
The Mutual Conquest 283 
 
 temple statues to grave reliefs and gems and bric-a-brac, was 
 represented by artists and craftsmen who in numbers and ability 
 had never been surpassed. They foimd in the new order of 
 things new opportunity, possibly even new inspiration. As a 
 matter of convenience we call the art of this new period not 
 Hellenic (Greek) but Hellenistic (Grecian), but for a generation, 
 perhaps even for a century, the distinction is artificial. Art 
 chang^^hutonly gradually, as it had changed before and as it 
 would have changed in any case. Not until the growth of the 
 Qew-_cen.ters -established, by Alexander, with Greek ideals but 
 with for eign material, had created new conditions of far-reaching 
 moment, did Greek art undergo fundamental change. 
 
 Among the artists of the earlier regime who certainly con- 
 tinued into the new is Leochares, who is mentioned as one of 
 the four who carried to completion the Mausoleum of Halicar- 
 nassus. Of his work in this connection we have no certain trace. 
 When, after the battle of Chaeronea, Philip of Macedon decided 
 to erect a monument to himself and family at Olympia, 
 Leochares was intrusted with the work. The effrontery of the 
 parvenu was manifest in Philip's choice of a templelike struc- 
 ture and of the usually consecrated gold and ivory for the 
 representation of himself, his father, his famous son and Olym- 
 pias, the mother of Alexander. Among the many extant busts 
 of Alexander it is extremely probable that we have copies of this 
 famous work by Leochares, but which, it is now impossible to 
 determine. Some indications point to a fine bust in Munich 
 as a copy of this important original. 
 
 A small marble group in the Vatican brings us to much more 
 certain ground. It is a Roman copy representing Ganymede 
 carried off by the eagle (Fig. ii8}^_^A description by Pliny 
 leaves us in no doubt as to the identity, though the imperfections 
 of the copy leave us somewhat in the dark as to its value. The 
 subject is a not unbeautiful myth, and the difiiculty of treating 
 it with dignity and in a way not to wound our sensibilities has 
 been skillfully overcome. There is just a hint that the artist 
 
Fig. 118. — Ganymede and the Eagle. Vatican, Rome. 
 
The Mutual Conquest 285 
 
 prized these difficulties as offering an opportunity for his skill, 
 an unworthy and dangerous motive, but conclusions of this 
 sort demand more certain evidence. 
 
 More important but less certain is the case of one magnifi- 
 cent work which, despite much disfigurement, we must regard 
 as a masterpi ece of the great days, the Apollo Belvedere (Fig. 
 iig}. The work has been longer known than almost any other, 
 having been in our possession nearly four hundred years. To 
 this fact as well as to the attention paid the work by Winckel- 
 mann, first of seers in this field of revelation, the work owes its 
 great name. Again we are dealing with a poor Roman copy. 
 Mannerisms in the treatment of the hair and other characteris- 
 tics, quickly recognized by the expert, disguise and disfigure 
 one of the noblest of ancient works. The fact that both hands 
 were missing in the original and have been restored, the right 
 hand in offensive, spectacular style, adds new elements both of 
 disfigurement and uncertainty, for the left hand and the object 
 which it holds furnish the key to the interpretation of the statue. 
 The restorer has assumed, probably correctly, that the left 
 hand held a bow (merely symbolized in the marble copy), the 
 right hand having just twanged the bowstring. The incident 
 is thus the well-known story of the slaying of the Python. The 
 story is that when the invaders of the North came to Delphi they 
 found a monster, the Python, in possession of this beautiful 
 spot and Apollo sped an arrow which slew the Python, and then 
 ordained that he should be worshiped in its stead. The myth 
 is a characteristic record of the appropriation of an ^Egean 
 shrine by the invaders, with substitution of their own divinity 
 for a much disparaged divinity of the other race. Other peoples' 
 gods are always Pythons and monsters. 
 
 The work has been criticized by some on the ground that the 
 limbs do not seem to bear the body or adequately to feel its 
 weight. The suggestion is made that this is intentional. Apollo 
 here stands upon a base and his figure is strengthened by a tree 
 trunk, but neither the one nor the other is a part of the concep- 
 
Pig. 119. — Apollo Belvedere. Vatican, Rome. 
 
The Mutual Conquest 287 
 
 tion ; they are merely supports for the marble, not for the god, 
 who is to be imagined floating in the air. Hence his limbs do 
 not bear his weight. 
 
 Assuming this to be the artist's intent, we have an important 
 point in common with the Ganymede, the first attempt, so far 
 as we know, to represent a floating figure. Other characteristics 
 of a technical nature likewise suggest a kinship. Such vague 
 resemblances would at first seem to amount to very little. A 
 simultaneous attempt on the part of two sculptors to represent so 
 general a theme seems most likely. But if we recall earlier 
 studies we shall see a surprising tendency to repetitions of this 
 kind, even on the part of creative and original artists. Nothing 
 could seem more natural and non-essential than the easy way 
 in which Hermes leans upon the tree trunk, yet Praxiteles alone 
 uses this attitude, and that in almost every known example of 
 his works. We have seen how the posing of one foot upon the 
 toes became not only a habit with Polyclitus, but a dogma. If, 
 therefore, we are right in seeing in this a floating rather than a 
 standing figure, we have much reason to believe that we have 
 here a copy of the famous Apollo which Leochares is said to have 
 executed in bronze and which it is recorded was later taken to 
 Sicily. Roman copies of such a work would be inevitable. 
 Extant remains indicate that such copies are numerous, a sure 
 indication of the popularity of the original. 
 
 The reader of German should not fail to read Wi&ckelmann's 
 allusion to this statue, which was to him a source of extreme 
 inspiration. As he gazes upon this Lord of Delphi, kingly in 
 bearing, disdainful of his base antagonist, the glories of 
 Parnassus and of the god whose shrine for so long held Greece in 
 its keeping, burst upon his inspired vision, and he voices his 
 emotion in words which are a veritable hymn to Apollo, defying 
 adequate translation. 
 
 Chief among the sculptors of this age and among the most 
 creative artists of any age is the great Lysiggus of Sicyon, later 
 head of the Argive school. He was a younger contemporary of 
 
288 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Praxiteles and Scopas and uniquely favored as a personal friend 
 of Alexander, the only one to whom the conqueror sat for his 
 portrait. His fertility, of which incredible stories are told, must 
 have been enormous. He is said to have left fifteen hundred 
 bronze statues, an exaggeration, no doubt, but a suggestion both 
 of his enormous productivity and of the opportunity opened to 
 art by the conquest of Alexander. Among these statues was a 
 group representing the battle of Issus which contained thirty- 
 six life-size equestrian statues. 
 
 Of all these works not one remains. We know Lysippus 
 chiefly in two copies, the one an excellent Greek marble of good 
 period and the other a Roman copy of less excellence but after 
 a fine original. Both represent athletes. The statue of Agias 
 in the Museum of Delphi (Fig. 120) doubtless renders accurately 
 the bronze original, as far as marble can. A comparison with 
 the nearly contemporaneous Hermes of Praxiteles is instructive. 
 Both are nudes, but there the resemblance ceases. The con- 
 trast is striking and significant. The Hermes is the uttermost 
 suggestion of repose, a repose which becomes positive and in- 
 violable, guarding a sacred tranquillity of spirit. Agias stands 
 quiet but alert, like a cat ready to spring. No muscle, no faculty 
 is on a furlough. The senses are focused into tense attention. 
 The nude is correspondingly modified. In the Hermes all 
 muscles are softened, all transitions lightened, the whole body 
 etherealized by a pianissimo touch. Flesh is transfigured and 
 becomes akin to spirit. In the Agias the nude is exact and 
 positive. Something akin to the diagrammatic precision of 
 Polyclitus, though far more purposeful and true, again calls body 
 back from spirit. The Agias is a dramatic study of the athlete 
 on the qui vive for action. Nothing has happened as yet, but 
 all the resource, physical and psychic, which the athlete possesses 
 is in readiness, obedient to the artist's subtle power of suggestion. 
 
 The Apoxyomenos of the Vatican (Fig. 121) is an inferior 
 copy of an equally admirable work. It is an excellent pendant 
 to the Agias, representing the athlete at the close of the contest, 
 
Fig. 120. Agias. Museum, Delphi. 
 
Pig. 121. — Apoxyonuuios. Vatican, Rome. 
 
The Mutual Conquest 291 
 
 his forces disbanded, his alertness dismissed. With the strigil 
 or scraper he scrapes ofi the oil and sand with which his body is 
 covered after the bout, flinging the contents from the strigil 
 with the studied grace which was a part of his art. There is 
 an easy confidence about him which betokens the victor, but 
 the beauty is that of strength in relaxation rather than alert. 
 But again there is the subtlest and most expressive contrast 
 with the Hermes. This is relaxation, but it is still body, not 
 spirit. The copy is too uncertain in these finer points to permit 
 us to note exactly the difference between the corporeal and the 
 spiritual, but it is clear that such was the difference. 
 
 There is a tantalizing suggestion in the record that to Lysippus 
 alone Alexander sat for his portrait. The portrait of such a man 
 by such an artist could hardly fail to be of interest. Most of 
 the extant portraits cannot claim to represent the character of 
 the one or the art of the other. ' It was the delight of a later 
 spectacular age to present the world hero in sentimental, melo- 
 dramatic guise like a Guide's Ecce Homo or Mater Dolorosa. 
 One alone, a mutilated marble copy of an original bronze, has 
 the dignity, the quiet ^ power, and unassuming manner which 
 comport with greatness. Even without the claimed confirma- 
 tion of technical characteristics, a comparison of Figures 122 
 and 123 will leave us in little doubt that we have in the former 
 the real Alexander as he appeared to one from whose eye the true 
 reality never escaped. 
 
 It will be apparent at a glance that Lysippus maintains the 
 Argive tradition of Myron and Polyclitus. He gives us none of 
 the daring poetry of Phidias or thq dreamy sentiment of Prax- 
 iteles or the dramatic pathos of Scopas. He is infinitely more 
 subtle than Myron ; his athletes are brainy as well as muscular, 
 and the difference of mental attitude between the different phases 
 of the athlete's experience are as real to him as the attitudes of 
 the body itself. He has none of the mechanized procedure of 
 Polyclitus. But superior as is his athlete to that of Myron or 
 Polyclitus, he is an athlete still. And beyond this theme he 
 
Fig. 122. — Head of Alexander. Lou-\Te, Paris. 
 
Fig. 123. — Head of Alexander (Helios). 
 Capitoline Museum, Eome. 
 
294 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 reaches out — not into myth and romance — but to history, as 
 in the battle of Issus, to portrait, to realities of the objective 
 world rather than to creatures of the imagination. The Athenian 
 tells us what he sees with his eyes shut, the Argive what he sees 
 with his eyes open. That the eyes of Lysippus were so amazingly 
 open, and his perception of the subtler realities so keen did not 
 change the principle. Nor did the fact that he frequently rep- 
 resented the conventional theme of the gods, as Polyclitus had 
 done before him, necessarily make him their prophet. His 
 enlargement of the Argive theme along historic and portrait lines 
 is significant in part of new tendencies. Myth is outgrown, 
 religion has lost its interest, history has become inspiring, per- 
 sonality assumes new proportions; old things are done away, 
 all things are become new. 
 
 But we must not be too quick to assume that Athens and her 
 idealist tradition were obsolete in this new order. Despite 
 the powerful influence of Lysippus and the many points of con- 
 tact between the Argive tradition and the new order of things, 
 Athens remained supreme, and the great majority of the statues 
 that interest us in the first century of Hellenistic art are essen- 
 tially Athenian, though details of date and authorship are scanty. 
 Of these works three may be noted as embodying the spirit of 
 this later Attic art. 
 
 The first is a work, or rather a series of works, which now 
 form the unrivaled glory of the Constantinople Museum. A 
 few years ago a peasant, plowing in his field near Sidon, lost 
 an ox by a cave-in of the earth. Investigation revealed the 
 mausoleum of the Sidonian kings, with sarcophagi covering a 
 period of several centuries. The earliest examples are Egyptian 
 in design and probably in execution. Then suddenly, in the 
 sixth century, there is a significant change to work unmistakably 
 Attic. Pisistratus was contesting with Egypt the markets of 
 the Mediterraruean. These early examples of Athenian work- 
 manship, however, present Asiatic rather than Attic designs. 
 Athens had no models as yet for the purpose. These were the 
 
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296 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 days of the Aristion (Fig. 103), days of real sculpture but of 
 inchoate memorial art. 
 
 We cannot trace the whole evolution. Suffice it to say, Athens 
 kept the place she had won, and the beauty of the Athenian 
 fourth-century grave reliefs is reflected in the lovely Sarcophagus 
 of the Mourning Women (Fig. 124), which dates from the time 
 of Praxiteles and Scopas and- plainly shows their influence. 
 The sarcophagus is in the form of an Ionic temple, between the 
 columns of which stand or sit women in varied but harmonious 
 attitudes, all with unmistakable expressions of grief. This 
 is an adaptation of the often-noted poetic motive of the grave 
 reliefs to the new and more difficult requirements of the sar- 
 cophagus. Something is lost, for these women are isolated, and 
 group motives, so expressive on the Attic headstones, thus be- 
 come impossible. Grief, too, is somewhat less restrained, and 
 therefore more hazardous as a theme for permanent expression 
 in marble. But the work is a unique expression of the Attic 
 spirit of about the middle of the fourth century. 
 
 The culminating member of this wonderful series, however, 
 the so-called Alexander Sarcophagus (Fig. 125), which of itself 
 justffies a pilgrimage to Constantinople, must be assigned to 
 near the end of this century. It certainly is not the sarcophagus 
 of Alexander himself, who, we know, was buried in Alexandria, 
 but it is worthy to have served so high a purpose. It is un- 
 doubtedly the tomb of some one closely associated with him and 
 high in his favor. The prominence given to Alexander in all 
 the scenes depicted upon this wonderful sarcophagus is easily 
 accounted for, if we suppose it to have been executed as the tomb 
 of a devoted follower in the generation following his death, 
 when, more and more, divinity seemed to gather about his 
 memory. The sarcophagus is again templelike in character 
 as regards its gabled roof and splendid cornice, but the columns 
 are wisely omitted, the broad surfaces of sides and ends being 
 merely set in splendid frames of sculptured molding whose 
 workmanship is unsurpassed by anything in the history of Greek 
 
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298 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 art. Perhaps there is a trifle of wantonness in this prodigality 
 of skill, a bit of desire to carry the well-known conventional 
 ornaments into dangerously fragile delicacy, but skill does not 
 yet riot or play havoc with sobriety and taste. 
 
 The glory of the whole, however, is the relief decoration 
 of the panels, a battle between Macedonians and Persians on 
 the one side and on the other a hunting scene in which the now 
 reconciled enemies participate, while kindred scenes occupy the 
 shorter panels of the two ends. It is impossible to tell what to 
 praise most in these splendid reliefs, the amazing lifelikeness and 
 vigor of the action, the perfect balance and spacing of the compo- 
 sition, or the perfection and delicacy of detail. Alexander of 
 course is everywhere supreme. In this, art need make no 
 apology to history. Whether it were a question of culture 
 leadership, or genius in organization or daredevil bravery, 
 Alexander was easily first in his unrivaled company. 
 
 Of unique interest to the student of art's procedure at this 
 time is the coloring of these panels, by far the most perfect 
 specimen that has come down to us from the art of the later 
 time. It is useless to discuss this without having it before us. 
 Sufiice it to say that in delicacy it justifies all that has been said 
 regarding the perfection of the colorist's skill at art's zenith 
 and leaves us almost persuaded — but unconvinced. 
 
 It will be clear at a glance that the settled theme of the Greek 
 memorial is here abandoned. How could it be otherwise with a 
 man who adored Alexander? Imagine a boon companion of 
 Napoleon ordering mourning women or grieving farewells for his 
 tomb. That would do very well for those for whom life held no 
 supreme memory. 
 
 This incomparable monument, which can hardly have been 
 unknown in ancient times, may have been primarily responsible 
 for a new style of memorial which was destined to degenerate 
 into the most absurd irrelevancy. A battle scene sarcophagus 
 — that was the thing — for soldier, for merchant, lawyer, priest, 
 even for women. That was the latest novelty in burial fashions. 
 
The Mutual Conquest 299 
 
 Meaningless ? Ridiculous ? Which, being interpreted, mean- 
 eth fashion. 
 
 Two other representative works of this period are the proud 
 possession of the Museum of the Louvre. The first, the Nike 
 of Samothrace, is the culmination of a great series of representa- 
 tions of this enticing and difficult theme of which we may briefly 
 notice two earlier examples. The first is a quaint winged figure 
 found under conditions which perhaps associate it with a pedestal 
 bearing the name of Archermos, of whom it is recorded that he 
 made a much admired figure of the winged Nike. It is amusing 
 at first to seek in this figure the occasion of this early admiration. 
 The figure is not flying, but running, the missing wings, of 
 which we have many counterparts in contemporary bronze 
 figurines, having been purely ornamental appendages. The 
 legs, which were never even approximately mates, are in a 
 position to suggest kneeling rather than running, a convention 
 of which we have numerous early examples. The body takes 
 the usual quarter turn at the waist, the lower part being in 
 profile, and the upper part in front view. The features, though 
 the work is in marble, clearly betray the soft-stone habits, and 
 the face is animated by the usual archaic smile. All this is 
 easy to see and unprofitable to dwell upon. 
 
 But it is not easy to see what the people of the sixth century 
 saw and rejoiced in, a suggestion of the rushing motion which 
 characterized this goddess and which heralded to the artist's 
 contemporaries a new era in sculpture. It is well for us to recog- 
 nize the long struggle which art must endure before she escapes 
 from these early conventions, but it is more important that we 
 recognize her new thought and her effective though inadequate 
 expression of it. 
 
 A century or more passes, and we have another Nike (Fig. 
 126), this time from Paeonius, a contemporary and companion 
 of Phidias. The work was erected in Oljnnpia about 423 B.C. 
 The artist's conception will be best understood from an ex- 
 cellent restoration of the much mutiliated work. Nike, it 
 
Fig. 126. — Nike of Paeonius. (Restoration.) 
 Museum, Olympia. 
 
The Mutual Conquest 301 
 
 must be remembered, was a winged goddess who was believed 
 to descend from the skies and aUght on the prow of the vic-- 
 torious ship or in front of the victorious army, thus sealing the 
 fate of the day. Paeonius has represented the goddess as in 
 full flight downward. The statue, as a matter of physical 
 necessity, is supported by a very high pedestal, so that it was 
 seen above the spectator. The wings, real wings now, are out- 
 spread in flight. An eagle, dimly hinted in a mass of marble 
 beneath her feet, is a well-known Greek symbol of the air. The 
 goddess holds, streaming out behind, a garment which serves 
 the double purpose of counterbalancing the leaning statue by 
 its weight, and furnishing by its tinted surface a background 
 for the statue much less glaring than the sky would have been. 
 The delicate draperies, blown against the figure, are a most 
 expressive suggestion of motion. 
 
 Paeonius seems not to have been regarded as a great sculptor 
 by the ancients. Our first impression, as we see his resourceful- 
 ness and daring originality, is to accord him a higher rank. But 
 on second thought we let the verdict stand. His daring passes 
 somewhat into bravado. He is working in protest against the 
 limitations of his marble rather than in harmony with its nature. 
 No artist who does this, who defies the limitations of his art 
 instead of welcoming them, who arouses our astonishment rather 
 than our sympathy and admiration, ever attains the highest 
 place in art. The artist must not do stunts. Paeonius is but 
 moderately open to this criticism, but it is impossible to forget 
 it altogether. 
 
 Again something more than a century passes and we have 
 the great Nike^of the Louvre (Fig. 127). This was erected 
 by Demetrius, one of Alexander's generals, to commemorate 
 a naval victory over Ptolemy, his former conpanion in arms, 
 won in the year 306 B.C. The statue is thus approximately 
 contemporary with the great sarcophagus. It stands upon a 
 large pedestal representing the prow of a ship, and thus repre- 
 sents the goddess not in flight, like that of Paeonius, but at the 
 
Fig. 127. — Nike of Samotkrace. Louvre, Paris. 
 
The Mutual Conquest 303 
 
 moment of alighting, the suggestion of motion still present, 
 but with no attempt to suggest the suspension of the heavy 
 figure in the air, a far saner conception. The wings are directed 
 backward and are largely concealed from front view, as though 
 about to be folded from flight. 
 
 The marvel of this work, which is of the highest rank, lies 
 chiefly in the draperies, which display a mastery of this difficult 
 theme which has never been surpassed. Draperies illustrate 
 better than any other feature in sculpture the famihar paradox 
 that art must be unnatural to seem natural. Nothing can be 
 more inadequate than the common assumption of the novice 
 that the sculptor has but to reproduce the shape of things in 
 order to make them look natural. The reason is that things 
 have more than shape. Other elements are color, texture and, 
 in living things, motion or change. The sculptor can imitate 
 nature's color if he wishes, but only with disastrous results which 
 we need not here discuss. The Greek, even when he colored 
 his statues, never did so in imitation of nature. Here then is one 
 limitation. 
 
 It is even more obvious that the sculptor cannot reproduce 
 texture or motion. Marble and bronze have a texture of their 
 own which it will not do to ignore, for it is obvious and familiar 
 to every .one. It is utterly unlike the texture of cloth or flesh. 
 Motion, of course, is altogether excluded. These things which 
 the artist cannot express he must suggest, and obviously he can 
 suggest them only by changes in form, that being his only medium. 
 
 Hang a curtain in folds and it will, of course, look like cloth. 
 The folds identify it. Copy it in marble, and it will look like 
 cloth. Now stretch the curtain smooth, eliminating all folds. 
 It will still look like cloth. The texture identifies it. But if 
 now we copy it in marble it will not look like cloth at all. 
 Neither folds nor texture are there to identify it. If we wish it 
 to look like cloth we must put back, not texture, for this is 
 impossible, but folds, for of these our marble is capable. The 
 earlier sculptors do not appreciate this. They copy exactly the 
 
304 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 plain, heavy garments of the time with their broad, smooth sur- 
 faces, but these do not look like cloth. They are more like the 
 smooth, rounded surfaces of gingerbread figures (compare Fig. 
 25). Only later do the sculptors learn that while real garments 
 may look all right with smooth surfaces, sculptured garments 
 will not. Lacking texture they must have folds if they are to 
 seem really like fabrics. Hence the multiplication and refine- 
 ment of folds in later sculpture. Witness the Three Fates 
 (Fig. 54) or the Sandal-binding Nike (Fig. 71). 
 
 To suggest motion the artist can of course choose a transi- 
 tional attitude. In fact he does not do so, but invents a com- 
 posite attitude which we conventionally associate with motion, 
 with the result that we find kodak pictures of moving figures 
 very strange. But do his best, the sculptor makes a feeble im- 
 pression of motion by manipulation of attitudes. Hence he 
 falls back on other means of suggestion, notably on draperies. 
 By representing draperies as blown by the wind of motion, he 
 suggests motion jar more effectively than by any choice of atti- 
 tudes, though a considerable hyperbole is usually required for 
 the purpose. 
 
 Our figure is the finest example extant of the use of draperies 
 in quite artificial form to suggest both the softness and flexi- 
 bility of cloth and the motion of the figure. Such draperies 
 bear little form resemblance to actual fabric forms under analo- 
 gous conditions, but as a result of their skillful manipulation, 
 the figure is infinitely more true to the artist's conception. 
 Unnaturalness has suggested nature. 
 
 Our draperies are even yet not quite explained. Not only are 
 the folds many and subtle, but they are all curved. Real folds, 
 on the contrary, always tend toward straight lines, interrupted 
 by angles. But straight lines suggest harshness and strength, 
 and the artist wishes to suggest grace, which is fundamentally 
 associated in our minds with the curve. So all the folds are 
 thrown into curves which we feel but do not think about, much 
 less reject as unnatural. 
 
The Mutual Conquest 305 
 
 Here again the artist is merely fencing against the limitations 
 of his art. If we had a real moving figure before us, we should 
 not only get actual motion and have no need of blown draperies 
 to suggest it, but we should get our impression of grace from this 
 same motion, no matter how straight or angular the momentary 
 folds of the draperies might be. Not having either real motion 
 or real grace, we fall back on our willing draperies to do a duty 
 not required of them by nature, and we get both motion and 
 grace. 
 
 These considerations will prepare us to appreciate the enormous 
 subtlety of art at this period. The evolution of art may con- 
 ceivably go farther, but only at the risk of faring worse. It 
 cannot be denied that there is danger in such a subtle science of 
 counterpoise and check as we have in the art of this age. Such 
 cleverness and science are always in danger of becoming un- 
 manageable and going oft into business on their own account. 
 They did so in the succeeding age. 
 
 It may not be amiss to recall the fate of this wonderful theme, 
 which has now become preeminently the embodiment of grace 
 in Greek art. When Christianity later brought its Hebrew 
 conceptions to a people steeped in Greek art, it inevitably 
 sought in that art its medium of expression. Among these 
 conceptions was the angelus, or messenger of the Lord. The 
 noun is masculine, and the concept was certainly that of a male 
 wingless figure. ' But this winged female figure was too apt and 
 too beautiful, not to serve. Phidias had perhaps set the ex- 
 ample of using Nike as a messenger. And so the angelus be- 
 comes a woman with wings, the most familiar symbol of Chris- 
 tian art, but best represented by the statue before us. It alone, 
 of all the symbols of a rejected faith, survives through the Chris- 
 tian ages in hallowed use. It is no small tribute to the power of 
 Greek art that it won clemency for its most beautiful creation 
 from the ruthless iconoclasts who swept out all else with the 
 besom of destruction. 
 
 The Aphrodite of Melos (Fig. 128) is perhaps the most popular 
 
Fig. 128. — Apliroditc of Melos. Louvre, Paris. 
 
The Muhial Conquest 307 
 
 Greek statue in existence. It is superbly placed in a widely 
 known museum. It was early the subject of appreciative and 
 felicitous comment, to which have been added poetry and ro- 
 mance. These, in addition to its undeniable beauty, have won 
 for it an affectionate regard hardly equaled by any other statue, 
 anciejit or modem. It deserves its popularity, though there 
 are unnoticed works which deserve far more. It is interesting 
 to recall, as suggesting the changed attitude of our time, that 
 when it was presented to the French king less than a century ago 
 it was thought necessary to forge a famous name upon the ped- 
 estal to insure its acceptance and preservation. 
 
 The statue is in the main well preserved, but lacks both arms, 
 which were seemingly in a suggestive or significant attitude, a 
 fact which has given rise to endless conjecture and various 
 unfortunate attempts at restoration. The result of all such 
 attempts is unsatisfactory and generally brings the would-be 
 restorer to the conclusion that the statue is an inferior work, as 
 it is in truth when he gets through with it. No better proof 
 could be cited of the folly of restoration, once so generally prac- 
 ticed, than the confessed unsatisfactoriness of all these conjec- 
 tural restorations. Among motives suggested are the well- 
 known theme of the holding of a mirror, a theme excluded by 
 the attitude of the head and by sculptural considerations, a 
 union of some sort with another figure, a leaning upon a pillar 
 or other support, etc. The character of the pedestal, complete 
 enough for this single figure, yet certainly pieced in the original, 
 indicates pretty conclusively the presence of something more, 
 whether figure or pillar we do not know. Meanwhile the loss 
 of the arms in no sense destroys the beauty or deeper significance 
 of the work. Perhaps it enhances it. It behooves us to take 
 the statue as it stands. 
 
 "All other Venuses are beautiful women ; the Milo Venus is a 
 goddess." So runs a time-honored and significant criticism. - 
 The words are true, but to our modern mind misleading. What 
 did the Greeks mean by a goddess ? Their conception of divin- 
 
3o8 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 ity is so far removed from our own that it is only in the exceptional 
 conceptions of Phidias and Plato that we recognize our familiar 
 ideal. To the modern or Christian mind God is a parent, neither 
 existing nor needing to exist for his own sake, but concerned 
 wholly with his children or creatures and "fraught with heart 
 care in our behalf." To the Greek the gods were a race of 
 superior beings living their own lives as we do ours, neither 
 malignant towards beings of our lower order, nor yet subordinat- 
 ing their own paramount interests to our welfare. Relations 
 between such beings and humans were notoriously precarious 
 and difficult. Epicurus had taught the Greeks that while the 
 gods existed and relations with them were undoubtedly possible, 
 such relations might better be avoided. Thus we might imagine 
 a sage old squirrel discoursing to his younger kin: "There are 
 such beings as men, undoubtedly, but give them a wide berth. 
 They are not greatly concerned for our interest. At the best 
 they will pet and enslave us; at the worst, destroy us." We 
 can hardly regard this conception of divine self-interest and self- 
 sufficiency as immoral, unless we are willing, with Hindu sensi- 
 tiveness, to impute like immorality to our own relation to lesser 
 creatures. Our own conception of the divine lays supreme 
 emphasis upon the single quality of love or altruism, of course 
 with great theoretic stimulus to the social virtues. The Greek 
 conception did not. Every impulse or characteristic which he 
 recognized as an integral and constructive element in character 
 the Greek attributed to the gods, redefining and emphasizing 
 as experience brought its light. The gods were supermen, 
 their human characteristics merely projected along the vaster 
 orbit of the illimitable. Special characteristics were prominent 
 in particular divinities, exactly as in individual men, dignity and 
 kingliness in Zeus, intellect in Athena, tenderness in Demeter, 
 etc. Their religion was less focused upon a single virtue than 
 ours, but it offered an exceptional opportunity for the all-round 
 idealization of human character. It is something to say of a 
 religion that it lent no countenance to the fanatic or the mono- 
 
The Mutual Conquest 309 
 
 maniac, and this is not the only thing that can be said for the 
 Greek religion. 
 
 In this sense, therefore, the Aphrodite is a goddess. Rounded 
 and perfectly developed womanhood, no quality in excess, 
 but the whole based upon that fine Greek principle of "nothing 
 too much" which is the glory of the race. Rounded and bal- 
 anced womanhood, but womanhood transcendent, untrammeled 
 by the human blight of limitation. That is the human thing, 
 its absence the divine thing. That which balanced impulse 
 prompts, divine self-sufficiency can accomplish. It is this con- 
 sciousness of impulse flowing unhindered into achievement that 
 is the dream of humanity and the essence of the divine. The 
 Aphrodite of Melos is a goddess. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 DISPERSION AND TRANSFUSION. ALEXANDRIA, RHODES AND 
 PERGAMON. 300-146 B.C. 
 
 To one who praised the victory of a great conqueror, Napoleon 
 is said to have remarked, "What did he do the day after?" 
 It is the day after which puts the conqueror to the test, which 
 distinguishes a Caesar, a William of Normandy, a Napoleon, 
 from an Attila, a Tamerlane, or a Mahdi. It is the day after 
 which makes Alexander supreme among conquerors. We are 
 so much more interested in the destroying of cities than in their 
 building that we see his work in false perspective. We do not 
 remember that he built ten cities where he destroyed one, still 
 less that the cities which he built were part of a colossal plan 
 of world reconstruction which was infinitely more daring than 
 his plan of world conquest. 
 
 When Baron Haussmann was prefect of the Seine, he took 
 the map of Paris and drew right over this plan of Paris as it 
 was his new plan of Paris as it was to be. There were new 
 thoroughfares and broad boulevards and new squares and centers 
 of beauty and convenience. To this new plan all rebuilding 
 has since conformed, until Paris is a new city in which Saint 
 Louis or even Jean Valjean would be puzzled to find his way. 
 
 In something the same way Alexander redrew the map of 
 his suddenly acquired world, exploring its rivers and passes 
 and circumnavigating its unknown coasts to secure the data 
 for the new system of trade routes, markets and' harbors, which 
 the brushing away of traditional barriers now made possible. 
 When we remember that he reigned but thirteen years, and that 
 most of this time was spent in active campaigning with enor- 
 mous drain upon the energy of both himself and his people, we 
 
 310 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 311 
 
 cannot but be amazed both at the magnitude of his plan and the 
 measure of his success. His plan stood the test. It was Httle 
 more than a project when he died, but though his empire col- 
 lapsed, the old barriers could never be reerected or the new 
 trade routes closed. The new cities grew and prospered. 
 Egypt may suffer a hundred cataclysms, but nothing destroys 
 Alexandria. The new plan was nature's plan. That it was so 
 far successful was due to the greatness of its projector and to 
 the skill of the body of Greek scientists and engineers with 
 whom he had the wisdom to surround himself. We are begin- 
 ning in our day to develop the new profession of city planning 
 which traces its tradition back to Baron Haussmann. We 
 scarcely realize that we are but reviving a science which attained 
 its highest development in the planning of Priene and Rhodes 
 by Hippodamus of Miletus. 
 
 But this was only a part of Alexander's plan. It was as neces- 
 sary to break down intellectual barriers and open new thorough- 
 fares for thought as to create new trade routes and build new 
 markets. This, to a disciple of Aristotle, could mean only the 
 triumph of Hellenism. The word had ceased to stand for a 
 local system whose merits were to be weighed against those 
 of another. It was synonymous with enlightenment. Greek 
 thought had become comparatively rational and untrammeled. 
 Superstition with its deadly ban upon thought and action had 
 been largely overcome. Science and philosophy had grappled 
 fearlessly with the largest problems. Humane instincts and 
 constructive action had become distinctly congenial to the Greek 
 mind and brutality and destructive impulses distasteful. Above 
 all, the imagination had become creative, and man had learned 
 to dream of illimitable power to create the utiUty which he 
 needed and the beauty which he loved. To the enlightened 
 among the Greeks these things were the essence of Hellenism. 
 Its accidents of form and fancy were but convenient vehicles 
 for the transmission of this essence. 
 
 In this more difficult part of his plan, Alexander was also 
 
312 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 measurably successful. Considering the shortness of his career 
 and the collapse of his political organization, he was amazingly 
 so. This success must be attributed to the inherent power of 
 Greek civilization and to the abiUty of his Greek associates, 
 whose influence did not terminate with his life. The kingdoms 
 into which his empire broke up were heirs of his ideals, and their 
 kings, long his associates, shared his enthusiasms, employed his 
 counsellors, and as far as the troubled conditions of the time 
 permitted, continued his projects. 
 
 Bearing in mind this twofold reconstruction of the ancient 
 world, we are now prepared to note two great changes which pro- 
 foundly affected the evolution which we have been studjdng. 
 These changes took place slowly and were hardly appreciable 
 until a generation or two after the conqueror's death. Their 
 full effect was hardly noted before the second century. It is 
 the development of perhaps a century and a half that we have 
 now to characterize. 
 
 The first change was a redistribution of commerce and in- 
 dustry, following the opening of the new trade routes and the 
 location of new markets. In this redistribution, old centers 
 lost their trade and new centers gained it. Such changes, of 
 course, are always going on. Note the decay of Bristol, England, 
 whose foreign commerce once exceeded that of Liverpool, or 
 that of Chester, whose very existence as a port is now forgotten. 
 But this change just now was unusually rapid and far-reaching. 
 Within a century from its foundation Alexandria numbered 
 more Greeks than Athens, while other races were similarly and 
 perhaps equally represented. Other new centers were hardly 
 less successful. 
 
 Much of this gain was sheer world growth, the result of better 
 organization and development, but some of the gain to the new 
 cities was loss to the old. Chief among the losers was Athens. 
 From Pisistratus to Alexander she had held the first place in 
 commerce and industry, and her preeminence in higher things 
 had been the result of her economic supremacy. In this little 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 313 
 
 earlier world her position was central and strategic. In the new 
 world of Alexander it was so no longer. Alexandria now held 
 that position, and many a lesser upstart distanced Athens, which 
 now dropped to the level of a provincial town. In present 
 achievements, therefore, Athens was at a disadvantage, but in 
 past achievements her preeminence was worshipfuUy acknowl- 
 edged. The inevitable result was that Athens became retro- 
 spective, dwelling fondly upon the past in which she had been 
 supreme, and losing sympathy and touch with the present which 
 had unkindly withdrawn its favor. Slowly she became com- 
 mitted to the thesis that art is of the ancients. There was 
 much on that hill of Athena to justify the thesis, but that much 
 was not enough, was not enough for her and is not enough for 
 us. If our study of Phidias and Praxiteles has filled us with 
 longing for the past and with distrust of the living present, let 
 us close the book forever. We must live with the living prin- 
 ciple of Greek art, not be buried with its corpse, and that 
 living principle is none other than this : Art is born of the pres- 
 ent, interpreting its ideals and epitomizing its experiences. 
 Art knows no past. True art, to be sure, always seeks to escape 
 from the limitations of the present, but not by exchanging them 
 for the limitations of the past. She knows only the present 
 and the eternal, which is the always present. We should give 
 short shrift alike to the modernist who says that art began with 
 Rodin, and the archaist who maintains that it ended with 
 Phidias. 
 
 As Athens thus lost touch with Ufe, she ceased to be creative. 
 The craft was still busy within her walls and the hand had lost 
 nothing of its cunning, but the imagination became reminiscent. 
 The tradition became 'classical.' The burden of past glory 
 was too much for the lessened virility of her artists. Athens 
 had done her work. The candlestick was removed from its place. 
 
 But whatever our confidence in the irrepressibility of the art 
 impulse, whatever our enthusiasm for the living present, it is 
 not without a pang that we record the passing of Athens. She 
 
314 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 still wears her crown, though it no longer implies dominion. 
 She still has her walls, but she does not man their battlements. 
 She has her citizens, but they no longer decide questions of 
 empire in the Assembly. She has her wealth, but it is an in- 
 heritance rather than a present creation. Philosophers still 
 discourse to the students who gather in her stoas, but they dis- 
 course of Plato and Aristotle, adding reverently, as though by 
 interpretation. Athens is the open forum for new ideas, but too 
 academic to be committed to any. Taste and culture are the 
 birthright of her citizens, but they look toward the ideals of 
 the past, and estrange her from the ruder present. Athens passes, 
 but not her work. When ours is done, and the nation of which 
 we are so proud shall pass, is there anything that we would rather 
 the recording angel would write of us than that which Dionysius 
 of Halicarnassus wrote of this city sacred to later Greek memory : 
 "The Athenians made gentle the life of the world." 
 
 The second great fact of the time is the obvious counterpart 
 of the first. The creative forces of Greek life and culture are 
 transferred to the new centers. Mere transfer may mean little, 
 but there is always morte than mere transfer. If at any time 
 within the two preceding centuries art leadership had been 
 transferred from Athens to Argos, from Phidias and Praxiteles 
 to Myron and Polyclitus, it would have meant much. How 
 much more if transferred to Sparta or Bceotia, though all were 
 Greek. But these new cities were not Greek. They were cos- 
 mopolitan, with mixed population and heterogeneous traditions 
 and ideals, in which the Hellenic element had a just but far from 
 complete precedence. We can imagine how the Jews of Alex- 
 andria, for instance, more numerous than those of Jerusalem, 
 affected the character of that city. They were not uninfluenced 
 by Greek culture — indeed, it was notorious that the rabbis of 
 Jerusalem regarded them as apostates, and one of their number 
 deliberately attempted to fuse Plato and the Hebrew prophets 
 into a harmonious philosophical system. But just imagine that 
 Pericles had had to reckon with them in the Athenian Assembly. 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 315 
 
 And they were but one of a number of powerful foreign elements 
 who, in the aggregate, must have been in the immense majority 
 in this as in every other Hellenistic city. These were foreign 
 cities which were trying to be Greek, or rather, whose rulers 
 and dominant elements were trying to make them so. The 
 nearest counterpart will be found in such quasi-English cities 
 as Calcutta and Bombay. If now we can imagine the break-up 
 of the British Empire, and the continuance of India as an in- 
 dependent kingdom under British rulers with a powerful but 
 small British minority in the population, we shall have a close 
 analogue with the Greek situation two hundred years before 
 Christ. If we further assume that the break-up leaves England 
 weak and London commercially stranded, while Bombay and 
 Calcutta become commercial centers for the world under a new 
 distribution of commerce, we shall have as close a parallel as 
 the conditions permit. English would of course become the 
 language of Bombay, and to a less degree of the country as a 
 whole, but it would be a modified English. English literature 
 would be widely studied, praised and imitated, but with some 
 peculiar results. English architecture, English dress, English 
 customs, in short every phase of English civilization would be 
 widely introduced, much modified and yet in a degree arbitrarily, 
 not to say awkwardly, preserved. The native strain would crop 
 out when least expected, too instinctive for the most abject 
 imitation to repress, and would unite at times- with quaintly mis- 
 placed elements from the civilization of the dominant race. 
 Our illustration is extreme on account of the greater difference 
 of climate, but this is offset by the vastly greater facility of 
 propaganda and assimilation which we possess in this age of the 
 railroad and printing press. 
 
 It is clear that a transfer of the headquarters of British civi- 
 lization to India, even under a ruling British minority, must 
 profoundly afifect its character. The change would be noticed 
 in a multitude of Uttle accidents and excrescences which would 
 be quaintly conspicuous, but the real change would lie deeper 
 
3i6 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 in things not so readily noticed. The anglicized Hindu would 
 do the British thing, but he would not understand the British 
 reason for doing it. And failing this reason he would not really 
 do the British thing. The guiding principle being lost, the im- 
 pulses, the restraints, the discipline and ultimately the true 
 character of British civilization would disappear. 
 
 This is precisely what happened in this century and a half of 
 Hellenistic civilization. The Greek tradition is everywhere in 
 the ascendant. In every country there are of course dyed-in- 
 the-wools who resent the new order, but their case is hopeless. 
 Jerusalem is stiff-necked, 'but is forsaken by its votaries. Am- 
 mon sulks in Thebes, but Egypt is ruled from Alexandria. 
 Marduk and Mithra and Baal are no longer names to conjure 
 with. The movement is not, so much one of open revolt and 
 avowed conversion as of insinuating change of sympathies. It 
 may be compared to the recent movement in Japan in favor of 
 the occidental civilization. 
 
 The great leaders in this movement were Alexandria, Rhodes 
 and Pergamon. The first two were powerful commercial centers 
 whose growth was inevitable under the new Alexandrian system. 
 Alexandria was the new center of the commercial world for 
 reasons which a study of the trade foutes will make perfectly 
 plain. Rhodes, situated at the corner of Asia and at the en- 
 trance to the .lEgean, with its new harbor located and planned 
 by the great Milesian engineer, was a close second. Pergamon, 
 on the other hand, seems to have been a historic accident. 
 Her importance was military rather than commercial, and but 
 for the wars which followed the death of Alexander she would 
 hardly have attained importance. As it was, an accident gave 
 her a start, which was utilized by a dynasty of great ability to 
 make her the capital of a considerable kingdom. Her impor- 
 tance was immensely increased by her successful resistance to 
 the first of those barbarian invasions which were later to desolate 
 this region, and by her later astute alliance with the hardly less 
 barbaric power of Rome, to whom her dominion was the first in 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 317 
 
 these regions to pass. From first to last, therefore, her signifi- 
 cance was military. 
 
 To these new centers of wealth and enterprise now migrated 
 the Greek artists, carrying their traditions and their skill, but 
 necessarily, also, a large deference for their new patrons. These 
 patrons were sometimes Greeks, sometimes barbarians, the 
 latter hellenized, the former barbarized, by the inevitable inter- 
 mingling of these cosmopolitan centers. These patrons are the 
 real guides in the further development of Greek art. Their 
 guidance becomes the more significant from the fact that art 
 in these days quite changes its function. Great public works 
 such as characterize Athenian art of the fifth century are now 
 comparatively rare. On the other hand private luxury has enor- 
 mously increased and has created a new place for art in the em- 
 bellishment of palatial private dwellings. It is clear, however, 
 that art under such circumstances is far more at the mercy of 
 individual caprice than in great public or religious works, where 
 conservative tradition would be much more powerful. 
 
 The influence of Alexandria upon this development of art may 
 well have been the most considerable, but it is least known to 
 us. Of the many Hellenistic works which we are unable to 
 locate not a few may be of Alexandrian origin, but there is 
 little which we can assign even with probability to the new 
 metropolis. There are some indications that marble reliefs of 
 a pictorial and even of a landscape character were a specialty 
 of this center. If so, the relaxation of Greek discipline is mani- 
 fest. Picture is a thing utterly different from sculpture. The 
 one deals with perspective, that is, with apparent spaces and 
 forms, and the other with real spaces and forms. Picture is 
 possible in sculpture, as the marvelous work of Ghiberti has so 
 abundantly demonstrated, but picture is the appropriate goal 
 of painting, whose mastery of light and shade, so far exceeding 
 that of the sculptor, is enhanced by freedom in the use of color. 
 Picture is normal and easy in painting and abnormal and diffi- 
 cult in sculpture. 
 
Fia. 129. — Head of a Woman. Museum, Boston. 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 319 
 
 Now it is a safe and obvious rule in art, as in every line of 
 human endeavor, that we should follow the line of least resist- 
 ance, for this is the line of greatest achievement. It is possible 
 for a pipe organ to imitate a violin, but the only result is to 
 convert a first-class organ into a third-class fiddle. All cross 
 imitation between the arts involves a waste of energy which is 
 to be deprecated, even though the result is at times exceedingly 
 clever. One of the wonderful things about Greek art is its 
 persistent refusal to yield to this seductive temptation. We 
 are not in a position to judge of their painting, but sculpture, 
 at least, was always sculpture. But under the new patronage, 
 sculpture slips the leash and the true boundaries of these sister 
 arts are obscured. 
 
 There are other evidences of the influence of painting on sculp- 
 ture even in the round. A beautiful head in the Boston Museum 
 (Fig. 129) and another from Pergamon now in Berlin appear 
 with all outlines and details softened or hazed. These heads 
 are ' atmosphered ' in the sense famiUar to painters. This 
 use of atmosphere to blur and subdue certain objects is primarily 
 a device in perspective, a means of making some things look 
 farther away than others, though something very similar to it 
 is often used rather arbitrarily to subordinate even foreground 
 objects to which the artist does not wish to direct primary atten- 
 tion. It is difficult to see how either of these purposes can con- 
 cern the sculptor. As here applied, it would seem to be an affec- 
 tation. The development of painting which, in the hands of 
 masters like Parrhasius and Apelles, certainly went to very 
 great lengths at this time, interested the public in these atmos- 
 phered effects and the sculptor saw a chance for a new experi- 
 ment. The effect is not unpleasing, for the resulting vagueness 
 has the merit of suggestiveness which the sculptor seeks in many 
 ways, but the result is an accidental coincidence. Our judgment 
 is further obscured by the fact that the faces thus thinly veiled 
 are exquisitely beautiful. Any kind of veil looks beautiful on 
 the right kind of face. When all is said, however, it is plain 
 
Fig. 130. — Parnese Bull. National Museum, Naples. 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 321 
 
 that our sculptors are not quite clear as to the nature of their 
 art. 
 
 Our knowledge of the art' of Rhodes is more considerable, but 
 not more reassuring. She was certainly ambitious, to judge from 
 the erection in 280 b.c. of a bronze statue of the sun god one hun- 
 dred and five feet high, doubtless the largest bronze ever cast. 
 Whether it was great, or merely big, it is impossible to determine, 
 but the very size of the work, taken in connection with such 
 knowledge of Rhodian art as we possess from other sources, is sug- 
 gestive of a misdirected ambition. It stood but fifty-six years, be- 
 ing overthrown and destroyed by an earthquake in 224 B.C. The 
 fragments excited wonder for some nine hundred years, when 
 they were sold to a Jew, who employed nine hundred camels to 
 remove them. Without passing judgment upon a work of 
 which we know so little, we cannot avoid the suspicion that these 
 details of height, and the number of camels required to remove 
 it, supplemented by the absurd modern fiction that it once stood 
 astride the harbor entrance, give us the really impressive things 
 about the famous Colossus. It is pitiful that the exuberantr 
 wealth of this opulent parvenu should have been able to pur- 
 chase so little of the spiritual wares of Hellas. 
 
 Another large work in the Museum of Naples (Fig. 130), 
 which is certainly of Rhodian origin, represents the punish- 
 ment of Dirce, who was bound to the horns of a wild bull by 
 two young men whose mother she had mistreated. It is a fine 
 bull. 
 
 Altogether the best known of Rhodian works and perhaps 
 the best known ancient work of art is the Laocoon (Fig. 131). 
 It will be remembered that when the Greeks captured Troy by 
 the ruse of the wooden horse, Laocoon, a Trojan priest, protested 
 against drawing the horse inside the walls, whereupon two 
 serpents sent by a divinity friendly to the Greek cause destroyed 
 both him and his two sons. The group represents the death 
 agony of the doomed men. Despite certain errors in restora- 
 tion it gives an essentially correct idea of the sculptor's intention. 
 
 T 
 
FiQ. 131. — Laocoon. Vatican, Rome. 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 323 
 
 This intention is merely to represent a death agony under highly 
 dramatic conditions. The sculptor's skill is equal to the diffi- 
 cult task. The pathological anatomy of the group is marvelous, 
 the death agony appalling. Minor criticisms as to the adult 
 proportions of the youthful sons may well be waived. The skill 
 manifested is superlative. Praxiteles and Scopas could not 
 have done this. 
 
 And they wotdd not have done this. The message of Greek p 
 art has fallen upon deaf ears if we stUl call this Greek, if wel 
 still call this art. This is great sculpture, for those who enjoy 
 skill. This is great art for those who enjoy death agonies. 
 
 The Laocoon is the natural stepping-stone to the art of Per- 
 gamon, to which indeed this particular group is related, almost 
 to the extent of plagiarism. Beyond doubt Pergamon repre- 
 sents the best type of this later Hellenistic art. Her kings were 
 distinguished for their patronage of art and letters, and the 
 great Pergamon Library, for the decoration of which, as already 
 stated, a modernized copy of the Athena Parthenos had been 
 executed, developed such proportions that it aroused the 
 jealousy of the king of Egjrpt, whose pride was the famed Alex- 
 andrian Library, and he forbade the exportation of the neces- 
 sary papyrus, of which Egypt held a monopoly. Thereupon 
 Pergamon resorted to specially prepared sheepskins known 
 from this place of their origin as pergamentum, the origin of 
 our word parchment. Pergamon was not easily to be balked. 
 
 Patronage of art was equally munificent. Here, more than 
 in any other Hellenistic city, art was developed in connection 
 with vast public works. Some idea of the munificence 01 this 
 patronage, as well as the development at this date of a large 
 respect for the earUer or 'classical' art, may be gathered from 
 the statement that when Corinth was destroyed by Rome in 
 146 B.C. and her works of art put up at auction by the Roman 
 Mummius, the representative of Attains, king of Pergamon, 
 bid a thousand talents ($1,200,000) for a single picture. The 
 astonished Mummius diereupon withdrew the picture from the 
 
324 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 sale, thinking that a picture of such value should adorn his 
 triumph. Mummius apparently had modern standards of 
 appreciation. 
 
 This art development in Pergamon was both stimulated and 
 modified by a great historic event already referred to, the con- 
 quest of the Galatians. These barbarians had penetrated Asia 
 Minor in the third century, leaving desolation along their route, 
 and now were settled in the interior, where they were a -terror 
 to their civilized neighbors. King Attains I broke their power in 
 a great battle which was a deliverance both for Pergamon and 
 for all Asia. This supreme national exploit naturally appealed 
 strongly to the national imagination and became the theme 
 of a not uninspired art. This art left its modest but appro- 
 priate memorials in the Dying Gaul, one of the most famous of 
 existing antiques, and in the Votive Offering of Attalus to Athens. 
 These two works are extremely suggestive of the whole situa- 
 tion as regards art at this time, its living impulses and its 
 acknowledged and treasured affinities with the great past. 
 
 The Dying Gaul (Fig. 132) represents a mortally wounded 
 barbarian whom we recognize by unmistakable tokens as a 
 Gaul. He supports himself on one arm just before succumbing 
 to his wounds. The statue is distinguished by marvelous 
 fidelity to the nude, and by equal fidelity to the particular t3rpe 
 of barbarian with which the artist is concerned. Withal, the 
 vigorous realism thus involved is subordinated to a certain 
 nobility which redeems it from the vulgarity into which realistic 
 studies of essentially physical themes so easily fall. This is 
 thoroughly representative of Pergamenian art in this period. It is 
 a true art theme, for it recalls a great national achievement and 
 the artist both feels and evokes a genuine enthusiasm. On the 
 other hand the artist is inordinately conscious of his technical 
 skill, and the statue bristles with anatomy, a common fault of 
 the art of this period, perhaps due to the practice of dissecting 
 the human body which had grown up in the medical school of 
 Alexandria and which for a time exercised a baneful influence 
 
Fig. 132. — Dying Gaul. Capitoline Museum, Rome. 
 
 Fig. 133. — Fallen Giant. National Museum, Naples. 
 
 Fig. 134. — Dying Amazon. National Museum, Naples. 
 
326 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 upon art. It took the artists a long time to learn that it would 
 not do to parade their anatomical knowledge. These nudes 
 of the third and second centuries are a great deal more wonder- 
 ful than those of the fourth, but they are too wonderful. Anat- 
 omy shouts at you from the housetops. These X-ray studies 
 which turn the body inside out are altogether too specialized, 
 too technical, too scientific, to be really artistic. It is quite of a 
 piece with this excessive anatomical skill, that the artist is care- 
 ful about costumes, implements, hair, mustache, etc. He is 
 learned in ethnography as well as in anatomy. 
 
 In short, with a skill which is capable of anything, the artist 
 has come to rely on observation rather than on imagination, 
 upon science rather than upon art. It is 'noteworthy that a 
 student in a so-called art class (which never studies art, but al- 
 ways science) is always given one of these Hellenistic statues to 
 draw, either the Dying Gaul, or better, the so-called Borghese 
 Warrior, the finest example in existence of sculptor's science, 
 which has become utterly sterile as art. The artists of this 
 time can see, they can do, but they scarce think or dream 
 at all. 
 
 But if the modern sculptor, too often a victim of this same 
 Hellenistic tendency, is willing to rest the case of art with mere 
 science and skill, King Attalus was not. He remembered Athens 
 and delighted both to honor her and to honor himself in so doing. 
 It appealed to his pride to think of his victory over the barba- 
 rians as the last in the series of great triumphs which the gods 
 themselves had begun. He therefore sent to Athens a votive 
 offering consisting of four groups of sculpture, the first repre- 
 senting the battle of the gods with the giants, the second the 
 battle between the Greeks and the Amazons, the third the 
 struggle between the Greeks and the Persians, and the fourth 
 the battle between the Pergamenians and the Gauls. It is 
 significant that the limited idealism of the time should have 
 expressed itself in this one supreme ambition, to link the life and 
 achievements of the present to this heroic lineage. Several 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 327 
 
 figures copied from these groups still exist, some in Naples and 
 others in Venice. They represent without exception the fallen 
 enemies in the several combats, their position having doubtless 
 conduced to their preservation. They are but a small fraction 
 of the extremely numerous series. Among these a fallen giant 
 prostrate by a thunderbolt of Zeus and a dying Amazon, her 
 hair disheveled and her face imbued with an indescribable pathos, 
 are figures of very great power (Figs. 133 and 134). Of the 
 old-fashioned sobriety and decorum of Greek art there is no 
 trace. The artist now lets loose the floodgates of passion and 
 riots in his magnificent dramatic power. He asks no question 
 as to the calm gaze of the mighty Parthenon on this turmoil of 
 the soul. He knaws no conventions, no discipline. He is 
 not 'classical.' It is the tempest of Asian passion clothed in 
 the garb of Greek art. We would like to know what Scopas 
 would have said to this unrestrained expression of the pathos 
 which he interpreted so circumspectly. 
 
 It is more important to know what we think about it. Momen- 
 tary impressions are untrustworthy. A little of this sort of 
 thing is undoubtedly thrilling ; more of it becomes sensational, 
 even repellent. Above all, long-continued intimacy wearies 
 us. It has been justly said that our first impression of the 
 purer forms of Greek art is one of tameness, not to say insipidity. 
 It lacks 'ginger,' especially to the untraiiied and careless ob- 
 server. Only very slowly do we realize that this absence of the 
 adventitious, the sensational and striking is its very greatness, 
 and come to see in its deep impassiveness the suggestion of 
 eternal and unutterable things. With the staggering, the sen- 
 sational and stunning, it is the reverse. It arrests the most 
 indifferent attention, but its first moment is its best. Its pet- 
 rified passion ultimately becomes mere petrifaction and an- 
 noys us by a tension that refuses to relax. The reposeful is 
 a crescendo and the dramatic a diminuendo in the static arts. 
 
 Unfortunately sensational art usually exposes itself to a much 
 worse criticism, and to this the art of Pergamon is no exception. 
 
328 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 Relying upon momentary impressions and measuring its suc- 
 cess by the intensity of its impressions, it seldom discriminates 
 long between impressions of different kinds. There is grandeur 
 in the conception of the eternal struggle between Cosmos and 
 Chaos as suggested in the stricken Titan and the dying woman, 
 but another well-known Pergamenian work of this period is of 
 a different sort. It represented the story of Marsyas, the un- 
 couth Satyr whose skill in playing the pipes induced him to 
 challenge Apollo, champion of the lyre, to a contest. The 
 challenge was accepted, and with the condition that whoso 
 won should have his will with regard to the other. With sur- 
 prising magnanimity, Apollo consented that the shepherds, 
 friends of Marsyas, should be judges. Each played marvel- 
 ously, and the shepherds, more accustomed to the music of the 
 pipe, were inclined to give the palm to Marsyas, whereupon 
 Apollo turned his lyre upside down and having played mar- 
 velously upon it, demanded that Marsyas should do the same 
 with his pipe. When he confessed himself unable to do this, 
 Apollo urged that he had not met him on even ground and 
 claimed the victory, which the shepherds, now conscious with 
 whom they were dealing, hastened to give him. Thereupon 
 Apollo ordered him strung up to a tree trunk and skinned alive. 
 The story is a thoroughly horrid one, of Asiatic rather than of 
 Greek origin, but developed, it must be confessed, in Athens 
 in the later technical period with which we are now dealing. It 
 had a secondary meaning perfectly known to the Greeks which 
 largely redeemed it. It epitomized the age-long struggle be- 
 tween the Greek and the Asiatic civilizations, the one repre- 
 sented by the lyre and the other by the pipe. For this uncouth 
 devotee of the pipe nothing was too bad. Even in the great 
 age we find the story represented in a minor work executed 
 under the supervision of Praxiteles, but significantly enough, 
 the moment chosen is the one when Marsyas is blowing with all 
 his might, confident of victory, while Apollo, coldly dignified, 
 awaits the end. This is not a great theme, but taken in con- 
 
Fig. 135. — Marsyas. 
 Louvre, Paris. 
 
 Fig. 136. — Knife Grinder. 
 Ufflzi, Florence. 
 
330 The Message of Greek Art 
 
 nection with its secondary meaning, and as thus represented, 
 it is neither unpleasing nor without significance. 
 
 But in this age the theme has risen to new and quite uncanny 
 favor. The struggle between civilizations is quite forgotten, 
 and under existing conditions quite inappropriate. Nor is the 
 artist careful to choose the presentable moment. On the con- 
 trary, it is the unpresentable moment that tempts him. Mar- 
 syas, with his hands tied together above the tree limb from 
 which he is suspended (Fig. 135), offers an enticing study in the 
 new anatomy which now fascinates the craft, whUe the slave, 
 low-born, servile and obsequious, who eagerly grinds his knife, 
 glancing the while at the terrifying Apollo and the writhing 
 Marsyas, offers a psychological problem of hardly less interest. 
 A superb copy of the slave, the so-called Knife Grinder (Fig. 
 136), exists as a chief attraction in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence, 
 while copies of the Marsyas are found in several museums. An 
 idea of the abyss into which this sensational dramatic art ulti- 
 mately fell may be derived from the fact that this figure of the 
 writhing Marsyas, isolated from the group and therefore wholly 
 meaningless, seems to have been copied repeatedly as a prized 
 example of ancient art and presumably an ornament of Roman 
 villas and palaces. 
 
 Wars with her neighbors reduced Pergamon to a very low 
 state soon after the death of Attalus I, from which the favor of 
 Rome, who found in her a faithful and much needed ally, raised 
 her again to very great wealth and splendor. It was in these 
 latter days of her greatness that she undertook the vast public 
 works which are to the Hellenistic age what the monuments of 
 the Acropolis are to the Greek. Chief among these is the great 
 Zeus Altar, the reconstruction of which in a great museum solely 
 devoted to this work is the greatest attempt in the way of ar- 
 chaeological reconstruction in any age. This altar consisted of 
 an immense platform about a hundred feet square, approached 
 on one side by a broad flight of steps and surmounted on the 
 other three sides by a high balustrade wall with rich interior 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 331 
 
 and exterior decorations. The great platform itself was sur- 
 rounded by a magnificent band of sculpture in high relief, about 
 eight feet high and more than three hundred feet in length. The 
 subject is the battle of the gods and giants, and the allusion is 
 again to the triumph of Pergamon over the Gauls, a victory 
 which it was plainly the ambition of this splendid age fittingly 
 to commemorate (Fig. 137). 
 
 This is beyond question the supreme triumph of Pergamenian 
 art, and in some ways it is an unsurpassable masterpiece. The 
 artists have certainly not wrought for nothing in the preceding 
 years. They know perfectly what they are about, and under- 
 stand exactly how to produce the results which they desire. The 
 modeling is high, the lines of demarcation bold, the contrasts of 
 light and shadow tremendous. They are working for magnifi- 
 cent effects at long range and they perfectly calculate their 
 means. Passion, too, and action are as powerful as are the 
 means by which they are represented. These earth-born rebels 
 against the supreme powers throb with passions that are akin 
 to the tempest and the volcano. They writhe in their agony 
 and storm in tumultuous endeavor, while the gods bear off an 
 easy victory which scarce disturbs their serenity. All this is 
 great, after the Pergamenian ideal of greatness. In skill it is 
 above all praise. 
 
 But it is significant that the giants have assumed a long cast- 
 off guise. Human figures have wings, or their heads are Hon 
 heads, or their legs pass off into serpent bodies whose heads 
 and writhing forms mingle in the attack and add new terrors 
 to the fray. Such devices of the sculptor and such imaginings 
 of the poet are things of the long ago. Four hundred years 
 before, Greek art had pronounced them unworthy and limited 
 itself to soberer, saner means. Why this return? Does the 
 dramatic craving of the time require serpent terrors for its in- 
 tenser sensations, or have these things again found lodgment 
 in the beliefs of the people ? Something of both. The art that 
 can gloat on the agonies of a Marsyas will hardly hesitate to 
 
Dispersion and Transfusion 333 
 
 spice its confections with the ranker condiments. The taste 
 is tor ginger of the most biting sort, and such a taste is death 
 to subtler flavors. But why this taste ? Largely because this 
 is not Greece. It is barbarism under a Greek veneer. Even 
 Greece is hardly Greek now, for it has been overwhelmed by the 
 vast world which it is attempting to refine. 
 
 If these things are in the Pergamon Altar, what may we ex- 
 pect of the art in private homes in Pergamon, in lesser and 
 coarser towns, in later and remoter days ? Sensation increased, 
 taste declined, cleverness sought more doubtful occasion. The 
 drunken Satyr in Naples is amazingly drunk, the drunken 
 Faun of Munich beastly drunk, the drunken woman of Rome 
 shockingly, shamefully drunk. The genre art which attains 
 such vogue scruples at no degree of triviality or commonplace- 
 ness. The art that once heralded the birth of a goddess now 
 records the realism of the streets. Yet through the period with 
 which we are dealing there is no loss of skill. Scopas would 
 have stood astounded before the Pergamon Altar. It did things 
 that he never dreamed. 
 
 But he dreamed things that it never dreamed nor did. The 
 vision had changed. In the larger world of Alexander were 
 mingled torrential streams that plunged from many and distant 
 watersheds, and the great flood ran foaming and turbid to the 
 sea. The Athenian stream might still be limpid, but it had 
 dwindled to a rivulet and was lost in the turbid current. Some- 
 where, far down the current which we are following still, let us 
 hope the stream will again run clear. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Acropolis, 71, 73, 76, 78, 133-186. 
 
 /Egean Civilization, 10-49, 7i> 76> 246, 
 285. 
 
 ^gina, 60, 74, 117, 162, 163. 
 
 /Eschylus, 218. 
 
 Agias, 288-289. 
 
 Alexander, 278, 280-333. 
 
 Alexandria, 312, 314, 316, 324. 
 
 Amazon, 194, 203—205, 234, 326; dead, 
 32s, 327- 
 
 Antenor, 94, 95, 112. 
 
 Aphrodite, 12, 170, 181, 242; of Cnidus, 
 224-228; of Melos, 305-309. 
 
 Apollo, 110-112, 236, 328; Belvedere, 
 285-287 ; of Melos, 106 ; of the Om- 
 phalos, 118-120, 197; of Orchoraenos, 
 102; Sauroctonos, 224; Strangford, 
 108; of Tenea, 111-112; of Thera,i04. 
 
 Apoxyomenus, 288, 290, 291. 
 
 Architecture, 55-61, 134, I37-I57- 
 
 Architrave, 56, 57, 60. 
 
 Argos, 10, 195, 200, 210. 
 
 Aristides, 121— 123, 125, 218. 
 
 Aristogiton, 112, 115, 116. 
 
 Aristophanes, 218-220. 
 
 Aristotle, 278, 280. 
 
 Artemis, 181, 203, 234, 236, 237; Brau- 
 ronian, 50, 148, 194. 
 
 Aspasia, 193. 
 
 Athena, 78, 79, 118, 166, 168, 181, 182, 
 197; Lemnia, 158-160; Mourning, 
 274-276; Nike, Temple of, 186; Par- 
 thenos, 54, 156, 189, igo, 323; Polias, 
 50; Promachus, 158. 
 
 Athens, 28, 33, 71-194, 211, 212, 218, 
 219, 220, 312-314. 
 
 Athletics, 105-109. 
 
 Atlas, 118. 
 
 Attalus, 324, 326. 
 
 Calf Bearer, 83, 84. 
 Canon, 200-202, 209. 
 Caryatid, 150-155. 
 Cella, 59, 135. 
 
 Ceramicus, 243, 250. 
 Chseronea, 278. 
 Cnidus, 153, 212, 224. 
 Cnossus, J3, 25. 
 
 Cult Statues, 49, 50, 54, 55, 135, 186- 
 194, 210. 
 
 Delian League, 121-132. 
 
 Delos, 27, 50, 51, 121, 124, 203. 
 
 Delphi, 27, 153, 285. 
 
 Demeter, 105; of Cnidus, Frontispiece, 
 
 212, 230, 233. 
 Discobolus, 196, 197. 
 Dorian invasion, 26. 
 Doryphonis, 200-201. 
 Dying Gaul, 324-325. 
 
 Egypt, 13, 17, 25, 36, 44, 49, 52, 80, 81, 
 
 100, 218, 244-248, 294, 316, 323. 
 Entasis, 140-144. 
 
 Ephesus, 50, 153, 203, 234, 236, 237. 
 Erechtheum, 149, 150, 152-157. 
 Eros, 181, 229-231. 
 Euripides, 218. 
 
 Frieze, 60, 76, 77, 135, 158, 174, 176-184. 
 
 Ganymede, 283-284. 
 
 Gods and giants, battle between, 78, 80, 
 
 194, 326, 330-332. 
 Grave reliefs, 243-277. 
 
 Harmodius, 112, 115, 116. 
 Hekatompedon, 76, 134, 150, 162. 
 Heracles, 61, 62, 63, 67, 118, 162, 164. 
 Hermes, 186, 213-224, 273, 288. 
 Hestia, 97—98. 
 Hipparchus, 96. 
 Hippias, 96, 115. 
 Homer, 29, 30, 42, 71. 
 Hydra, 61, 62, 63, 67, 162. 
 
 Ionia, 71. 
 
 Ionic order, 145, 150, 152, 153. 
 
 33S 
 
336 
 
 Index 
 
 Knife Grinder, 329-33°- 
 
 Laocoon, 321-323. 
 Leochares, 283-287. 
 Lysippus, 287-294. 
 
 Macedon, 278-280. 
 
 Maiden Porch, 150-152, 155, 156. 
 
 Marathon, 78, 98, 121, 125. 
 
 Marble Faun, 223-224. 
 
 Marsyas, 197, 198, 328-330. 
 
 Mausoleum of HaHcamassus, 234-235, 
 
 283. 
 Metope, 57, 60, 98, 135, I73> I7S- 
 Minos, 25, 30. 
 Mycenae, 10, 25; Lion Gate, 13, 25, 28, 
 
 47, 48. 
 Myron, 195-200, 207. 
 
 Nestor's Cup, 16, 29. 
 
 Nike, 169, 183, 18s, 186; of Achermos, 
 
 299 ; of Pteonius, 299-301 ; of Samo- 
 
 thrace, 299, 301-303. 
 Niobe, 236, 238-242. 
 Nude in art, 100-112, 199, 206-207. 
 
 Olympia, 59, 98, 105, 117, 118, 163-166, 
 
 19s, 213, 299. 
 Orpheus and Eurydice, 272-273. 
 
 Painting: Greek use of color, 53, 64-70, 
 
 87, 89, 92, 298, 319. 
 Panathenaic festival, 174, 270. 
 Parthenon, 65, 128, 131, i35-i4S> i49, 
 
 158, 160-194. 
 Pediment, 57, 61-64, 78, 80, 98, 117, 13s, 
 
 161-173. 
 Pergamon, 190, 316, 323-333. 
 Pericles, 126, 127-135, 158, 192-194. 
 Persians, 44, 78, 121-123, 134, 326. 
 Phidias, 130-132, 135, 158-194, 203. 
 Philip of Macedon, 278-280. 
 Piraeus, 134, 149, 243. 
 Pisistratus, 15, 73-98, 112, 148. 
 
 Plato, 188, 218. 
 
 Polyditus, 182, 19s, 200-207, 210. 
 
 Pottery, 14-17, 31-39- 
 
 Praxiteles, 70, 212-232, 328; age of, 257. 
 
 Propylaea, 56, 145-149, 154, 156, 157. 
 
 Rampin head, 81, 82. 
 
 Religion, Greek, 54, 65. 
 
 Rhodes, 40, 41, 311, 316, 321. 
 
 Roman art, 69, loi, 109, 143, 156, 214, 
 268; copies, 115, 197, 200, 202, 203, 
 224, 236, 239, 240, 283, 285, 288, 330; 
 patronage, 31, 109, 203, 323. 
 
 Sabouroff head, 81—82. 
 
 Salamis, 98, 115, 121, 125, 133, 134, 138. 
 
 Sarcophagus of Alexander, 296-298; of 
 
 Mourning Women, 294-296. 
 Satyr, 197, 198, 223-224, 328-329. 
 Scopas, 232-242. 
 Socrates, 188, 218, 220, 222. 
 Solon, 72-74. 
 Sophocles, 218. 
 Sparta, 26, 28, 121, 154. 
 
 Temple, 55-61, 67-69, 135. 
 
 Themistocles, 133-135, 149. 
 
 Theseum, 173. 
 
 Tiryns, 10. 
 
 Triglyphs, 57, 
 
 Triton, 63, 64. 
 
 Typhon, 63, 64, 67, 81, 87, 162. 
 
 Tyrannicides, 112, 115— 116. 
 
 Vaphio cups, 20, 24. 
 
 Vases, .(Egean, 15-17 ; black-figured, 35- 
 36 ; geometric, 31-32 ; Proto-Corin- 
 thian, 33, 34; red-figured, 36, 37. 
 
 Xerxes, 61, 115. 
 
 Zeus, 54, 164, 166, 182; Altar, Perga- 
 mon, 330-332 ; of Phidias, 54. 186- 
 188. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 REVIEW QUESTIONS 
 
 Chapter I. ±. In what respects does our civilization seem superior to 
 that of the Greeks ? 2. How does our author compare the record of Greece 
 with our own to the advantage of the former? 3. What effect has the 
 widespread revolt against classical studies produced upon our people? 
 4. How does the scientific attitude of our age necessarily affect our study 
 of Greek art? 5. What gave to Greek art its marvelously significant 
 character ? 
 
 Chapter II. i. What picture of modern Greece is presented as the 
 opening of this chapter? 2. What explanation is suggested by the dis- 
 covery of the fragment of obsidian ? 3. What do we know of the ancient 
 people who used it ? 4. What do we infer as to the state of their civiliza- 
 tion under King Minos ? s- ^^ what respects was their work unlike that 
 which was characteristic of the Greeks? 6. What circumstances of their 
 ■ daily life are revealed in their pottery? 7. Why is the decoration of the 
 iEgean vases, rather than their form, of particular value and interest ? 8. 
 Describe the use of the spiral. 9. How did the potter use his _suggestions 
 from animal forms? 10. In what respects is the skill of the goldworker 
 noteworthy? 11. From the quaUties of their art, what do we infer as to 
 the nature of the people ? 
 
 Chapter in. i. What striking changes in the ^gean civilization are 
 we able to detect about 1500 b.c ? 2. Describe the coming of the Spartans. 
 3. Show how this contrasted with the general features of the "Dorian 
 Invasion." 4. What Greek leader finally ruled in the famous ^gean for- 
 tress of the Lion Gate at Mycenae? 5. How does Homer's narrative show 
 how different was his point of view from that of the earlier jEgean peoples ? 
 6. Show how Athens strove to emulate the skill of Corinth by her black 
 figure vases. 7. How did the style of the Greek vases change in the fifth 
 century b.c. ? 8. What further change came about which sent the pottery 
 of Athens into the background ? 
 
 Chapter IV. 1. Describe in general the territory taken possession of by 
 
 the Greeks who followed the ^Egeans. 2. How did it happen that the 
 
 iEgean civilization secured no hold in Asia Minor? 3. What did the 
 
 Greeks gain from their control of the coast of Asia Minor in the beginnings of 
 
 2 337 
 
338 Appendix 
 
 their Hellenic unity? 4. Show how the Greek race differed from the 
 iEgean. 5. What part did the Greek language play in their union? 6. 
 Why did not the Greeks necessarily form a political unity ? 7. What were 
 the chief occupations of the Greek people and why? 8. How was their 
 artistic sense developed through their handicrafts? 9. What advantage 
 had the Greeks in their supply of marble ? 10. What does the Lion Gate 
 indicate as to its age and difference in character from earliest Greek sculp- 
 ture? II. Describe the methods of the early Greek sculptor whether in 
 wood or stone. 
 
 Chapter V. i. What was the simplest form of the early Greek temple 
 and what its material? 2. Show how architrave and crossbeams were 
 early and important features. 3. Show how the later 'triglyphs and met- 
 opes', developed. 4. Define the four types of Greek temple commonly 
 used and the reasons for each. 5. How did the Greek temple suggest 
 possibilities for decorative sculpture ? 6. What would you say were strong 
 points in the sculpture of Heracles and the Hydra (Fig. 18) ? 7. What 
 is the commonest explanation for the Greek use of color in marble decora- 
 tion? 8. What historic reason can we find for this quality of Greek art? 
 g. What colors are used in the Heracles group and how ? 10. How were the 
 early wooden Greek temples probably colored? 11. Was it likely that 
 color would be given up when the temple was first made of stone ? 12. How 
 did the quality of the color change as the Greeks made progress in their art ? 
 13. What seems to have been the nature of the process by which the paint- 
 ing of statues attained its highest result ? 
 
 Chapter VI. 1. What did Athens gain from the Ionian invasion? 
 .i. What did Solon do for the city? 3. How was the state transformed 
 by his policy ? 4. What able qualities gave Pisistratus the acknowledged 
 leadership? 5. How was art fostered under his direction ? 6. What rare 
 good fortune has left us some of the works of his time ? 7. How do the early 
 sculptures (Fig. 23) show how Greek art was growing in its perception of 
 beauty? 8. Why does the Calf Bearer (Fig. 25) interest us for several 
 reasons? g. What are the general characteristics of the draped female 
 figures? 10. What had Greek art of the sixth century still to learn? 11. 
 Compare their coloring with that of the " Typhon " period. 12. What does 
 the skillful and elaborate pattern embroidery teach us as compared with the 
 sculptor's very limited attention to higher forms of expression ? 
 
 Chapter VII. i. What changes of the government of Athens took 
 place following the death of Pisistratus ? 2. How is the change in art ideals 
 shown in the figures of Hestia and those from the Olympia pediment ? 3. 
 What did even Mr. Ruskin regard as the probable reason for the extensive 
 use of male nudes by the Greeks? 4. Describe a Greek athletic contest 
 and its effect upon the spectators. 5. How extensive was the use of male 
 
Appendix 339 
 
 nudes in the earlier periods of Greek art ? What was their character ? 6. 
 What circumstances led to the erection of a statue to the 'Tyrannicides' ? 
 7. What was the later history of this work of art? 8. What two great 
 works of art belong to the period just before and after the battle of Salamis ? 
 9. Describe the striking features of the temple of ^Egina. 10. Contrast 
 with its sculptures the still higher standard of the Olympia achievement. 
 II. What impression does the Apollo of the Omphalos (Fig. 41) make 
 upon you ? 
 
 Chapter VIII. 1 . Under what circumstances did Athens become leader 
 of the Greek federation ? 2. What importance was attached to the Island 
 of Delos ? 3. In what way was the Delian league a tribute to the high char- 
 acter of Aristides ? 4. By what stages did Athens become possessed of the 
 Delian treasure? 5. Show how the change in the quaUty of her political 
 leaders also affected her new point of view. 6. Analyze the character of 
 Pericles. 7. How did Athens in her fall leave with the world convincing 
 proof of her marvelous powers ? 8. What world-famous names do we recall 
 as we gaze on the great view from the Acropolis ? 9. What was the nature 
 of the influence of Phidias ? 10. How would you contrast the work of the 
 sculptors of the Parthenon with that of Phidias? 11. What limits did 
 Pericles place upon the program which he planned for the glorification of 
 Athens ? 
 
 Chapter IX. i. What was the shape of the Acropolis as leveled by 
 Themistocles and Cimon ? 2. How does the rapid completion of the Parthe- 
 non stand out in contrast with other famous monuments? 3. What are 
 the chief architectural and sculptural features of the Parthenon ? 4. What 
 great quaUties of the building stand out when viewed from a distance ? 5. 
 Give instances of the 'Greek refinements' in the building. 6. How did 
 the Roman misunderstand the Greek when he attempted to copy the subtle 
 curve of the column? 7. What features of the Parthenon might be elimi- 
 nated without utterly destroying its underlying character ? 8. What was the 
 plan of the proposed Propylsea? 9. What blocked its progress? 10. 
 What striking diflferences in style were planned for the Erechtheum? 11. 
 Describe the Maiden Porch. 12. Compare the purpose of the Erechtheum 
 with the Parthenon. 13. How is the Asiatic connection of the Athenians 
 suggested by the chief features of the Erechtheum ? 14. How is the skill 
 of the sculptor shown in his treatment of the Porch of the Maidens? 15. 
 Describe the events which culminated in the overthrow of the Greeks at 
 Syracuse. 16. What was the tragic fate of Parthenon, Erechtheum and 
 Propylsea ? 
 
 Chapter X. 1. Describe the early statues of Athena attributed to 
 Phidias. 2. What was Phidias' probable relation to the sculptures of the 
 Parthenon? 3. What problem was presented by the pediment and how 
 
340 Appendix 
 
 has it been solved in various temples ? 4. What was the theme of the east 
 Pediment of the Parthenon and how was it handled? 5. What has been 
 the fate of the west pediment? 6. What subjects fill the metopes? 7. 
 Discuss the management of the frieze. 8. The probable artists. 9. What 
 artistic spirit is evident in the Temple of Athena Nike? 10. Describe 
 Phidias' Zeus at Olympia and Athena in the Parthenon. 11. How was the 
 art of the great cult statues democratic ? 
 
 Chapter XI. i. Describe the work of Myron, .i. Of Polyclitus. 3. 
 What was the canon of Polyclitus ? 4. How was it obeyed in his figures ? 
 
 5. Account for his popularity. 6. Discuss science and art. 
 
 Chapter XH. 1. Account for the diffusion of art. 2. What were some 
 of the changes in technique? 3. Describe the Hermes of Praxiteles. 4. 
 Summarize the development of this period, and connect it with the Hermes. 
 S- Describe other figures of Praxiteles. 6. In what two famous statues is 
 the influence of Praxiteles shown? 7. Compare the work of Scopas with 
 ,that of Praxiteles. 8. What are the chief examples of Scopas' chisel ? 9. 
 What figure from another hand is marked by his influence ? 
 
 Chapter XIII. i. Why is the art of the people worthy of study? 2. 
 What has been the evolution of the upright headstone, and what sort of 
 subjects were sculptured upon it? 3. How did theme and technique im- 
 prove? 4. Compare Greek with Roman taste, s- Compare the spirit 
 of the Orpheus relief with the tombs in Notre Dame's Westminster Abbey. 
 
 6. Why does the author attribute to Phidias the last relief described ? 
 Chapter XIV. i. What is the importance of the date 338 b.c. ? 2. 
 
 How had the temper of Greece changed ? 3. Discuss Alexander's Hellen- 
 ism. 4. Describe the work of Leochares. 5. Describe the Ganymede of 
 the Vatican, and the Apollo Belvedere. 6. Discuss the work of Lysippus. . 
 
 7. Describe examples of Athenian Hellenistic sculpture. 8. Compare the 
 three Nikes. 9. Discuss the expression of texture and of motion in sculp- 
 ture. 10. Discuss the Aphrodite of Melos. 
 
 Chapter XV. 1. How extensive were Alexander's twofold plans? i. 
 How did Athens fare? 3. What is the living principle of Greek art? 4. 
 To what centers were the creative forces of Greek life transferred ? 5. To 
 what was art applied? 6. How did painting influence sculpture? 7. 
 Recall the art of Rhodes. 8. To what extent was art developed in Perga- 
 mon and what are its best extant examples ? 9. Compare classical and sen- 
 sational art. Illustrate.