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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..12316d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54773 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54773) diff --git a/old/54773-0.txt b/old/54773-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fecd4f1..0000000 --- a/old/54773-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8794 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Excursions in Art and Letters, by William Wetmore Story - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Excursions in Art and Letters - -Author: William Wetmore Story - -Release Date: May 23, 2017 [EBook #54773] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Curnow, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -Books by Mr. Story. - - - POEMS. I. PARCHMENTS AND PORTRAITS. II. MONOLOGUES AND LYRICS. 2 - vols. 16mo, $2.50. - - HE AND SHE; or, A POET’S PORTFOLIO. 18mo, illuminated vellum, $1.00. - - FIAMMETTA. A Novel. 16mo, $1.25. - - ROBA DI ROMA. New Revised Edition, from new plates. With Notes. 2 - vols. 16mo, $2.50. - - CONVERSATIONS IN A STUDIO. 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50. - - EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS. 16mo, $1.25. - - - HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. - BOSTON AND NEW YORK. - - - - - EXCURSIONS IN ART - AND LETTERS - - - BY - WILLIAM WETMORE STORY - - D.C.L. (OXON.) - COMM. CORONA ITALIA, OFF. LEG. D’HONNEUR, ETC. - - - [Illustration] - - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY - The Riverside Press, Cambridge - 1893 - - - - - Copyright, 1891, - BY WILLIAM WETMORE STORY. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - THIRD EDITION. - - - _The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._ - Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - MICHEL ANGELO 1 - - PHIDIAS, AND THE ELGIN MARBLES 49 - - THE ART OF CASTING IN PLASTER AMONG THE ANCIENT GREEKS AND ROMANS 115 - - A CONVERSATION WITH MARCUS AURELIUS 190 - - DISTORTIONS OF THE ENGLISH STAGE AS INSTANCED IN “MACBETH” 232 - - - - -EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS. - - - - -MICHEL ANGELO. - - -The overthrow of the pagan religion was the deathblow of pagan Art. The -temples shook to their foundations, the statues of the gods shuddered, -a shadow darkened across the pictured and sculptured world, when -through the ancient realm was heard the wail, “Pan, great Pan is dead.” -The nymphs fled to their caves affrighted. Dryads, Oreads, and Naiads -abandoned the groves, mountains, and streams that they for ages had -haunted. Their voices were heard no more singing by shadowy brooks, -their faces peered no longer through the sighing woods; and of all the -mighty train of greater and lesser divinities and deified heroes to -whom Greece and Rome had bent the knee and offered sacrifice, Orpheus -alone lingered in the guise of the Good Shepherd. - -Christianity struck the deathblow not only to pagan Art, but for a time -to all Art. Sculpture and Painting were in its mind closely allied -to idolatry. Under its influence the arts slowly wasted away as with -a mortal disease. With ever-declining strength they struggled for -centuries, gasping as it were for breath, and finally, almost in utter -atrophy, half alive, half dead,—a ruined, maimed, deformed presence, -shorn of all their glory and driven out by the world,—they found a -beggarly refuge and sufferance in some Christian church or monastery. - -The noble and majestic statues of the sculptured gods of ancient Greece -were overthrown and buried in the ground, their glowing and pictured -figures were swept from the walls of temples and dwellings, and in -their stead only a crouching, timid race of bloodless saints were seen, -not glad to be men, and fearful of God. Humanity dared no longer to -stand erect, but groveled in superstitious fear, and lashed its flesh -in penance, and was ashamed and afraid of all its natural instincts. -How then was it possible for Art to live? Beauty, happiness, life, and -joy were but a snare and a temptation, and Religion and Art, which can -never be divorced, crouched together in fear. - -The long black period of the Middle Ages came to shroud everything in -ignorance. Literature, art, poetry, science, sank into a nightmare of -sleep. Only arms survived. The world became a battlefield, simply for -power and dominion, until religion, issuing from the Church, bore in -its van the banner of chivalry. - -But the seasons of history are like the seasons of the year. Nothing -utterly dies. And after the long apparently dead winter of the Middle -Ages the spring came again—the spring of the Renaissance—when liberty -and humanity awoke, and art, literature, science, poesy, all suddenly -felt a new influence come over them. The Church itself shook off -its apathy, inspired by a new spirit. Liberty, long downtrodden and -tyrannized over, roused itself, and struck for popular rights. The -great contest of the Guelphs and Ghibellines began. There was a ferment -throughout all society. The great republics of Italy arose. Commerce -began to flourish; and despite all the wars, contests, and feuds of -people and nobles, and the decimations from plague and disease, art, -literature, science, and religion itself, burst forth into a new and -vigorous life. One after another there arose those great men whose -names shine like planets in history—Dante, with his wonderful “Divina -Commedia,” written, as it were, with a pen of fire against a stormy -background of night; Boccaccio, with his sunny sheaf of idyllic tales; -Petrarca, the earnest lover of liberty, the devoted patriot, the -archæologist and philosopher as well as poet, whose tender and noble -spirit is marked through his exquisitely finished canzone and sonnets, -and his various philosophical works; Villari, the historian; and all -the illustrious company that surrounded the court of Lorenzo the -Magnificent—Macchiavelli, Poliziano, Boiardo, the three Pulci, Leon -Battista Alberti, Aretino, Pico della Mirandola, and Marsilio Ficino; -and, a little later, Ariosto and Tasso, whose stanzas are still sung -by the gondoliers of Venice; and Guarini and Bibbiena and Bembo,—and -many another in the fields of poesy and literature. Music then also -began to develop itself; and Guido di Arezzo arranged the scale and -the new method of notation. Art also sent forth a sudden and glorious -coruscation of genius, beginning with Cimabue and Giotto, to shake off -the stiff cerements of Byzantine tradition in which it had so long been -swathed, and to stretch its limbs to freer action, and spread its wings -to higher flights of power, invention, and beauty. The marble gods, -which had lain dethroned and buried in the earth for so many centuries, -rose with renewed life from their graves, and reasserted over the world -of Art the dominion they had lost in the realm of Religion. It is -useless to rehearse the familiar names that then illumined the golden -age of Italian art, where shine preëminent those of Leonardo, the -widest and most universal genius that perhaps the world has ever seen; -of Michel Angelo, the greatest power that ever expressed itself in -stone or color; of Raffaelle, whose exquisite grace and facile design -have never been surpassed; and of Titian, Giorgione, Veronese, and -Tintoretto, with their Venetian splendors. Nor did science lag behind. -Galileo ranged the heavens with his telescope, and, like a second -Joshua, bade the sun stand still; and Columbus, ploughing the unknown -deep, added another continent to the known world. - -This was the Renaissance or new birth in Italy; after the long -drear night of ignorance and darkness, again the morning came and -the glory returned. As Italy above all other lands is the land of -the Renaissance, so Florence above all cities is the city of the -Renaissance. Its streets are haunted by historic associations; at -every corner, and in every byplace or piazza, you meet the spirits -of the past. The ghosts of the great men who have given such a charm -and perfume to history meet you at every turn. Here they walked and -worked centuries ago; here to the imagination they still walk, and -they scarcely seem gone. Here is the stone upon which Dante sat and -meditated,—was it an hour ago or six centuries? Here Brunelleschi -watched the growing of his mighty dome, and here Michel Angelo stood -and gazed at it while dreaming of that other mighty dome of St. -Peter’s which he was afterwards to raise, and said, “Like it I will -not, and better I cannot.” As one walks through the piazza of Sta -Maria Novella, and looks up at the façade that Michel Angelo called -his “sposa,” it is not difficult again to people it with the glad -procession that bore Cimabue’s famous picture, with shouts and pomp -and rejoicing, to its altar within the church. In the Piazza della -Signoria one may in imagination easily gather a crowd of famous men -to listen to the piercing tones and powerful eloquence of Savonarola. -Here gazing up, one may see towering against the sky, and falling as it -were against the trooping clouds, the massive fortress-like structure -of the Palazzo Publico, with its tall machicolated tower, whence the -bell so often called the turbulent populace together; or dropping -one’s eyes, behold under the lofty arches of the Loggia of Orcagna -the marble representations of the ancient and modern world assembled -together,—peacefully: the antique Ajax, the Renaissance Perseus of -Cellini, the Rape of the Sabines, by John of Bologna, and the late -group of Polyxines, by Fedi, holding solemn and silent conclave. In -the Piazza del Duomo at the side of Brunelleschi’s noble dome, the -exquisite campanile of Giotto, slender, graceful, and joyous, stands -like a bride and whispers ever the name of its master and designer. -And turning round, one may see the Baptistery celebrated by Dante, and -those massive bronze doors storied by Ghiberti, which Michel Angelo -said were worthy to be the doors of Paradise. History and romance -meets us everywhere. The old families still give their names to the -streets, and palaces, and _loggie_. Every now and then a marble slab -upon some house records the birth or death within of some famous -citizen, artist, writer, or patriot, or perpetuates the memory of some -great event. There is scarcely a street or a square which has not -something memorable to say and to recall, and one walks through the -streets guided by memory, looking behind more than before, and seeing -with the eyes of the imagination. Here is the Bargello, by turns the -court of the Podestà and the prison of Florence, whence so many edicts -were issued, and where the groans of so many prisoners were echoed. -Here is the Church of the Carmine, where Masaccio and Lippi painted -those frescoes which are still living on its walls, though the hands -that painted and the brains that dreamed them into life are gone -forever. Here are the _loggie_ which were granted only to the fifteen -highest citizens, from which fair ladies, who are now but dust, looked -and laughed so many a year ago. Here are the _piazze_ within whose -tapestried stockades gallant knights jousted in armor, and fair eyes, -gazing from above, “rained influence and adjudged the prize.” Here are -the fortifications at which Michel Angelo worked as an engineer and -as a combatant; and here among the many churches, each one of which -bears on its walls or over its altars the painted or sculptured work -of some of the great artists of the flowering prime of Florence, is -that of the Santa Croce, the sacred and solemn mausoleum of many of -its mighty dead. As we wander through its echoing nave at twilight, -when the shadows of evening are deepening, we may hold communion with -these great spirits of the past. The Peruzzi and Baldi Chapels are -illustrated by the frescoes of Giotto. The foot treads upon many a -slab under which lie the remains of soldier, and knight, and noble, -and merchant prince, who, centuries ago, their labors and battles and -commerce done, were here laid to rest. The nave on either side is lined -with monumental statues of the illustrious dead. Ungrateful Florence, -who drove her greatest poet from her gates to find a grave in Ravenna, -_patriis extorris ab urbe_, here tardily and in penitence raised to him -a monument after vainly striving to reclaim his bones. Here, too, among -others, are the statues and monuments of Michel Angelo, Macchiavelli, -Galileo, Lanzi, Aretino, Guicciardini, Alfieri, Leon Battista Alberti, -and Raffaelle Morghen. - -Of all the great men who shed a lustre over Florence, no one so -domineers over it and pervades it with his memory and his presence as -Michel Angelo. The impression he left upon his own age and upon all -subsequent ages is deeper, perhaps, than that left by any other save -Dante. Everything in Florence recalls him. The dome of Brunelleschi, -impressive and beautiful as it is, and prior in time to that of -St. Peter’s, cannot rid itself of its mighty brother in Rome. With -Ghiberti’s doors are ever associated his words. In Santa Croce we all -pause longer before the tomb where his body is laid than before any -other—even that of Dante. The empty place before the Palazzo Vecchio, -where his David stood, still holds its ghost. All places which knew -him in life are still haunted by his memory. The house where he lived, -thought, and worked is known to every pilgrim of art. The least -fragment which his hand touched is there preserved as precious, simply -because it was his; and it is with a feeling of reverence that we enter -the little closet where his mighty works were designed. There still -stands his folding desk, lit by a little slip of a window; and there -are the shelves and pigeon-holes where he kept his pencils, colors, -tools, and books. The room is so narrow that one can scarcely turn -about in it; and the contrast between this narrow, restricted space and -the vastness of the thoughts which there were born, and the extent of -his fame which fills the world, is strangely impressive and affecting. -Here, barring the door behind him to exclude the world, he sat and -studied and wrote and drew, little dreaming that hundreds of thousands -of pilgrims would in after-centuries come to visit it in reverence from -a continent then but just discovered, and peopled only with savages. - -But more than all other places, the Church of San Lorenzo is identified -with him; and the Medicean Chapel, which he designed, is more a -monument to him than to those in honor of whom it was built. - -Here, therefore, under the shadow of these noble shapes, and in the -silent influence of this solemn place, let us cast a hurried glance -over the career and character of Michel Angelo as exhibited in his life -and his greatest works. To do more than this would be impossible within -the brief limits we can here command. We may then give a glance into -the adjoining and magnificent Hall, which is the real mausoleum of the -Medici, and is singularly in contrast with it. - -Michel Angelo was born at Caprese, in the Casentino, near Florence, on -March 6, 1474 or 1475, according as we reckon from the nativity or the -incarnation of Christ. He died at Rome on Friday, February 23, 1564, at -the ripe age of eighty-nine or ninety. He claimed to be of the noble -family of the Counts of Canossa. He certainly was of the family of the -Berlinghi. His father was one of the twelve Buonomini, and was Podestà -of Caprese when Michel Angelo was born. From his early youth he showed -a strong inclination to art, and vainly his father sought to turn him -aside from this vocation. His early studies were under Ghirlandajo. -But he soon left his master to devote himself to sculpture; and he was -wont to say that he “had imbibed this disposition with his nurse’s -milk”—she being the wife of a stone-carver. Lorenzo the Magnificent -favored him and received him into his household; and there under his -patronage he prosecuted his studies, associating familiarly with some -of the most remarkable men of the period, enriching his mind with -their conversation, and giving himself earnestly to the study not -only of art, but of science and literature. The celebrated Angelo -Poliziano, then tutor to the sons of Lorenzo, was strongly attracted -to him, and seems to have adopted him also as a pupil. His early -efforts as a sculptor were not remarkable; and though many stories -are told of his great promise and efficiency, but little weight is -to be given to them. He soon, however, began to distinguish himself -among his contemporaries; and his Cupid and Bacchus, though wanting -in all the spirit and characteristics of antique work, were, for the -time and age of the sculptor, important and remarkable. After this -followed the Pietà, now in St. Peter’s at Rome, in which a different -spirit began to exhibit itself; but it was not till later on that the -great individuality and originality of his mind was shown, when from -an inform block of rejected marble he hewed the colossal figure of -David. He had at last found the great path of his genius. From this -time forward he went on with ever-increasing power—working in many -various arts, and stamping on each the powerful character of his mind. -His grandest and most characteristic works in sculpture and painting -were executed in his middle age. The Sistine Chapel he completed when -he was thirty-eight years old, the stern figure of the Moses when he -was forty, the great sculptures of the Medici Chapel when he was from -fifty to fifty-five; and in his sixty-sixth year he finished the Last -Judgment. Thenceforth his thoughts were chiefly given to architecture, -with excursions into poetry—though during this latter period he painted -the frescoes in the Pauline Chapel; and after being by turns sculptor, -painter, architect, engineer, and poet, he spent the last years of his -life in designing and superintending the erection of St. Peter’s at -Rome. - -One of his last works, if not the last, was the model of the famous -cupola of St. Peter’s, which he never saw completed. In some respects -this was departed from in its execution by his successors; but in every -change it lost, and had it been carried out strictly as he designed -it, it would have been even nobler and more beautiful than it is. - -Here was a long life of ceaseless study, of untiring industry, of -never-flagging devotion to art. Though surrounded by discouragements -of every kind, harassed by his family, forced to obey the arbitrary -will of a succession of Popes, and, in accordance with their orders, -to abandon the execution of his high artistic conceptions and waste -months and years on mere mechanic labor in superintending mines and -quarries—driven against his will, now to be a painter when he desired -to be a sculptor, now to be an architect when he had learned to be -a painter, now as an engineer to be employed on fortifications when -he was longing for his art; through all the exigencies of his life, -and all the worrying claims of patrons, family, and country, he kept -steadily on, never losing courage even to the end—a man of noble -life, high faith, pure instincts, great intellect, powerful will, and -inexhaustible energy; proud and scornful, but never vain; violent of -character, but generous and true,—never guilty through all his long -life of a single mean or unworthy act: a silent, serious, unsocial, -self-involved man, oppressed with the weight of great thoughts, and -burdened by many cares and sorrows. With but a grim humor, and none -of the lighter graces of life, he went his solitary way, ploughing a -deeper furrow in his age than any of his contemporaries, remarkable as -they were,—an earnest and unwearied student and seeker, even to the -last. - -It was in his old age that he made a drawing of himself in a child’s -go-cart with the motto “Ancora imparo”—I am still learning. And one -winter day toward the end of his life, the Cardinal Gonsalvi met him -walking down towards the Colosseum during a snowstorm. Stopping his -carriage, the Cardinal asked where he was going in such stormy weather. -“To school,” he answered “to try to learn something.” - -Slowly, as years advanced, his health declined, but his mind retained -to the last all its energy and clearness; and many a craggy sonnet -and madrigal he wrote towards the end of his life, full of high -thought and feeling—struggling for expression, and almost rebelliously -submitting to the limits of poetic form; and at last, peacefully, after -eighty-nine long years of earnest labor and never-failing faith, he -passed away, and the great light went out. No! it did not go out; it -still burns as brightly as ever across these long centuries to illumine -the world. - -Fitly to estimate the power of Michel Angelo as a sculptor, we must -study the great works in the Medicean Chapel in the Church of San -Lorenzo, which show the culmination of his genius in this branch of art. - -The original church of San Lorenzo was founded in 930, and is one of -the most ancient in Italy. It was burned down in 1423, and reërected in -1425 by the Medici from Brunelleschi’s designs. Later, in 1523, by the -order of Leo X., Michel Angelo designed and began to execute the new -sacristy, which was intended to serve as a mausoleum to Giuliano dei -Medici, Duke of Nemours, brother of Leo X., and younger son of Lorenzo -the Magnificent; and to Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, and grandson of the -great Lorenzo. Within this mausoleum, which is now called the Medici -Chapel, were placed the statues of Giuliano and Lorenzo. They are both -seated on lofty pedestals, and face each other on opposite sides of -the chapel. At the base of one, reclining on a huge sarcophagus, are -the colossal figures of Day and Night, and at the base of the other -the figures of Aurora and Crepuscule. This chapel is quite separated -from the church itself. You enter from below by a dark and solemn -crypt, beneath which are the bodies of thirty-four of the family, -with large slabs at intervals on the pavement, on which their names -are recorded. You ascend a staircase, and go through a corridor into -this chapel. It is solemn, cold, bare, white, and lighted from above -by a lantern open to the sky. There is no color, the lower part being -carved of white marble, and the upper part and railings wrought in -stucco. A chill comes over you as you enter it; and the whole place is -awed into silence by these majestic and solemn figures. You at once -feel yourself to be in the presence of an influence, serious, grand, -impressive, and powerful, and of a character totally different from -anything that sculpture has hitherto produced, either in the ancient -or modern world. Whatever may be the defects of these great works, and -they are many and evident, one feels that here a lofty intellect and -power has struggled, and fought its way, so to speak, into the marble, -and brought forth from the insensate stone a giant brood of almost -supernatural shapes. It is not nature that he has striven to render, -but rather to embody thoughts, and to clothe in form conceptions -which surpass the limits of ordinary nature. It is idle to apply here -the rigid rules of realism. The attitudes are distorted, and almost -impossible. No figure could ever retain the position of the Night at -best for more than a moment, and to sleep in such an attitude would be -scarcely possible. And yet a mighty burden of sleep weighs down this -figure, and the solemnity of night itself broods over it. So also the -Day is more like a primeval titanic form than the representation of a -human being. The action of the head, for instance, is beyond nature. -The head itself is merely blocked out, and scarcely indicated in its -features. But this very fact is in itself a stroke of genius; for the -suggestion of mystery in this vague and unfinished face is far more -impressive than any elaborated head could have been. It is supposed -he left it thus, because he found the action too strained. So be -it; but here is Day still involved in clouds, but now arousing from -its slumbers, throwing off the mists of darkness, and rising with a -tremendous energy of awakening life. The same character also pervades -the Aurora and Crepuscule. They are not man and woman, they are types -of ideas. One lifts its head, for the morning is coming; one holds its -head abased, for the gloom of evening is drawing on. There is no joy -in any of these figures. A terrible sadness and seriousness oppresses -them. Aurora does not smile at the coming of the light, is not glad, -has little hope, but looks upon it with a terrible weariness, almost -with despair—for it sees little promise, and doubts far more than it -hopes. Twilight, again, almost disdainfully sinks to repose. The day -has accomplished almost nothing: oppressed and hopeless, it sees the -darkness close about it. - -What Michel Angelo meant to embody in these statues can only be -guessed—but certainly no trivial thought. Their names convey nothing. -It was not beauty, or grace, or simple truth to nature, that he sought -to express. In making them, the weight of this unexplained mystery of -life hung over him; the struggle of humanity against superior forces -oppressed him. The doubts, the despair, the power, the indomitable will -of his own nature are in them. They are not the expressions of the -natural day of the world, of the glory of the sunrise, the tenderness -of the twilight, the broad gladness of day, or the calm repose of -night; but they are seasons and epochs of the spirit of man—its doubts -and fears, its sorrows and longings and unrealized hopes. The sad -condition of his country oppressed him. Its shame overwhelmed him. His -heart was with Savonarola, to whose excited preaching he had listened, -and his mind was inflamed by the hope of a spiritual regeneration -of Italy and the world. The gloom of Dante enshrouded him, and the -terrible shapes of the “Inferno” had made deeper impression on his -nature than all the sublimed glories of the “Paradiso.” His colossal -spirit stood fronting the agitated storms of passions which then shook -his country, like a rugged cliff that braves the tempest-whipped -sea—disdainfully casting from its violent and raging waves, and longing -almost with a vain hope for the time when peace, honor, liberty, and -religion should rule the world. - -This at least would seem to be implied in the lines he wrote under his -statue of Night, in response to the quatrain written there by Giovan’ -Battista Strozzi. These are the lines of Strozzi:— - - “La notte che tu vedi in si dolci atti - Dormire, fu da an angelo scolpita - In questo sasso; e, perchè dorme, ha vita - Destala, se no ’l credi, e parleratti.” - -Which may be thus rendered in English:— - - “Night, which in peaceful attitude you see - Here sleeping, from this stone an angel wrought. - Sleeping, it lives. If you believe it not, - Awaken it, and it will speak to thee.” - -And this was Michel Angelo’s response:— - - “Grato mi è il sonno, e piu l’ esser de sasso - Mentre che il danno e la vergogna dura - Non veder non sentir m’ è gran ventura - Però, non mi destar; deh! parla basso.” - -Which may be rendered:— - - “Grateful is sleep—and more, of stone to be; - So long as crime and shame here hold their state, - Who cannot see nor feel is fortunate— - Therefore speak low, and do not waken me.” - -This would clearly seem to show that under these giant shapes he meant -to embody allegorically at once the sad condition of humanity and the -oppressed condition of his country. What lends itself still more to -this interpretation is the character and expression of both the statues -of Lorenzo and Giuliano, and particularly that of Lorenzo, who leans -forward with his hand raised to his chin in so profound and sad a -meditation that the world has given it the name of Il Pensiero—not even -calling it Il Pensieroso, the thinker, but Il Pensiero, thought itself; -while the attitude and expression of Giuliano is of one who helplessly -holds the sceptre and lets the world go, heedless of all its crime and -folly, and too weak to lend his hand to set it right. - -But whatever the interpretation to be given to these statues, in power, -originality, and grandeur of character they have never been surpassed. -It is easy to carp at their defects. Let them all be granted. They -are contorted, uneasy, over-anatomical, untrue to nature. Viewed with -the keen and searching eye of the critic, they are full of faults, -_e pur si muove_. There is a lift of power, an energy of conception, -a grandeur and boldness of treatment which redeems all defects. They -are the work of a great mind, spurning the literal, daring almost the -impossible, and using human form as a means of thought and expression. -It may almost be said that in a certain sense they are great, not in -despite of their faults, but by very virtue of these faults. In them is -a spirit which was unknown to the Greeks and Romans. They sought the -simple, the dignified, the natural; beauty was their aim and object. -Their ideal was a quiet, passionless repose, with little action, -little insistence of parts. Their treatment was large and noble, their -attitude calm. No torments reach them, or if passion enter, it is -subdued to beauty:— - - “Calm pleasures there abide, majestic pains.” - -Their gods looked down upon earth through the noblest forms of Phidias -with serenity, heedless of the violent struggles of humanity—like -grand and peaceful presences. Even in the Laocoön, which stepped to -the utmost permitted bounds of the antique sculpture, there is the -restraint of beauty, and suffering is modified to grace. But here in -these Titans of Michel Angelo there is a new spirit—better or worse, -it is new. It represents humanity caught in the terrible net of Fate, -storming the heavens, Prometheus-like, breaking forth from the bonds of -convention, and terrible as grand. But noble as these works are, they -afford no proper school for imitation, and his followers have, as has -been fitly said, only caught the contortions without the inspiration -of the sibyl. They lift the spirit, enlarge the mind, and energize the -will of those who feel them and are willing only to feel them; but they -are bad models for imitation. It is only such great and original minds -as Michel Angelo who can force the grand and powerful out of the wrong -and unnatural; and he himself only at rare intervals prevailed in doing -this violence to nature. - -Every man has a right to be judged by his best. It is not the number -of his failures but the value of his successes which afford the just -gauge of every man’s genius. Here in these great statues Michel -Angelo succeeded, and they are the highest tide-mark of his power as -a sculptor. The Moses, despite its elements of strength and power, is -of a lower grade. The Pietà is the work of a young man who has not as -yet grown to his full strength, and who is shackled by his age and his -contemporaries. The David has high qualities of nobility, but it is -constrained to the necessities of the marble in which it is wrought. -The Christ in the Church of the Minerva is scarcely worthy of him. But -in these impersonations of Day, Night, Twilight, and Dawn, his genius -had full scope, and rose to its greatest height. - -These statues were executed by Michel Angelo, with various and annoying -interruptions, when he was more than fifty-five years of age, and while -he was in ill-health and very much overworked. Indeed, such was his -condition of health at this time that it gave great anxiety to his -friends, and Giovanni Battista Mini, writing to his friend Bartolommeo -Valori on the 29th of September, 1531, says: “Michel Angelo has fallen -off in flesh, and the other day with Buggiardini and Antonio Mini we -had a private talk about him, and we came to the conclusion that he -will not live long unless things are remedied. He works very hard, eats -little and that little is bad, sleeps not at all, and for a month past -his sight has been weak, and he has pains in the head and vertigo, and, -in fine, his head is affected and so is his heart, but there is a cure -for each, for he is healthy.” He was so besieged on all sides with -commissions, and particularly by the Duke of Urbino, that the Pope at -last issued a brief, ordering him, under pain of excommunication, to do -no work except on these monuments,—and thus he was enabled to command -his time and to carry on these great works to the condition in which -they now are, though he never was able completely to finish them. - -Of the same race with them are the wonderful frescoes of the sibyls -and prophets and Biblical figures and Titans that live on the ceiling -of the Sistine Chapel. And these are as amazing as, perhaps even more -amazing in their way than, the sculpture of the Medicean Chapel. He -was but thirty-four years of age when, at the instigation of Bramante, -he was summoned to Rome by Pope Julius II. to decorate the ceiling. It -is unpleasant to think that Bramante, in urging this step upon the -Pope, was animated with little good-will to Michel Angelo. From all -accounts it would seem he was jealous of his growing fame, and deemed -that in undertaking this colossal work failure would be inevitable. -Michel Angelo had indeed worked in his youth under Ghirlandajo, but -had soon abandoned his studio and devoted himself to sculpture; and -though he had painted some few labored pictures and produced the -famous designs for the great hall of the municipality at Florence, -in competition with his famous rival Leonardo da Vinci, yet these -cartoons had never been executed by him, and his fame was chiefly, if -not solely, as a sculptor. Michel Angelo himself, though strongly urged -to this undertaking by the Pope, was extremely averse to it, and at -first refused, declaring that “painting was not his profession.” The -Pope, however, was persistent, and Michel was forced at last to yield, -and to accept the commission. He then immediately began to prepare his -cartoons, and, ignorant and doubtful of his own powers, summoned to his -assistance several artists in Florence, to learn more properly from -them the method of painting in fresco. Not satisfied with their work on -the ceiling, he suddenly closed the doors upon them, sent them away, -and, shutting himself up alone in the chapel, erased what they had done -and began alone with his own hand. It was only about six weeks after -his arrival in Rome that he thus began, and in this short space of time -he had completed his designs, framed and erected the scaffolds, laid -on the rough casting preparatory to the finishing layer, and commenced -his frescoes. This alone is an immense labor, and shows a wonderful -mastery of all his powers. The design is entirely original, not only -in the composition and character of the figures themselves, but in the -architectural divisions and combinations in which they are placed. -There are no less than 343 figures, of great variety of movements, -grandiose proportions, and many of them of colossal size; and to the -sketches he first designed he seems to have absolutely adhered. Of -course, within such a time he could not have made the large cartoons -in which the figures were developed in their full proportions, but he -seems only to have enlarged them from his figures as first sketched. -With indomitable energy, and a persistence of labor which has scarcely -a parallel, alone and without encouragement he prosecuted his task, -despite the irritations and annoyances which he was forced to endure, -the constant delays of payment, the fretful complaints of the impatient -Pope, the accidents and disappointments incident to an art in which he -had previously had no practice, and the many and worrying troubles from -home by which he was constantly pursued. At last the Pope’s impatience -became imperious; and when the vault was only one half completed, he -forced Michel Angelo, under threats of his severe displeasure, to -throw down the scaffolding and exhibit it to the world. The chapel was -accordingly opened on All Saints’ Day in November, 1508. The public -flocked to see it, and a universal cry of admiration was raised. In -the crowd which then assembled was Raffaelle, and the impression he -received is plain from the fact that his style was at once so strongly -modified by it. Bramante, too, was there, expecting to see the failure -which he had anticipated, and to rejoice in the downfall of his great -rival. But he was destined to be disappointed, and, as is recounted, -but as one is unwilling to believe, he used his utmost efforts to -induce the Pope to discharge Michel Angelo and commission Raffaelle to -complete the ceiling. It is even added that Raffaelle himself joined -in this intrigue, but there is no proof of this, and let us disbelieve -it. Certain it is that in the presence of the Pope, when Michel Angelo -broke forth in fierce language against Bramante for this injurious -proposal, and denounced him for his ignorance and incapacity, he did -not involve Raffaelle in the same denunciation. Still there seems to -be little doubt that the party and friends of Raffaelle exerted their -utmost influence to induce the Pope to substitute him for Michel -Angelo. They did not, however, succeed. The Pope was steadfast, and -again the doors were closed, and he was ordered to complete the work. - -When again he began to paint there is no record. Winter is unfavorable -to fresco-painting, and when a frost sets in, it cannot be carried -on. In the autumn of 1510 we know that he applied to the Pope for -permission to visit his friends in Florence, and for an advance of -money; that the Pope replied by demanding when his work would be -completed, and that the artist replied, “As soon as I shall be able;” -on which the Pope, repeating his words, struck him with his cane. -Michel Angelo was not a man to brook this, and he instantly abandoned -his work and went to Florence. The Pope, however, sent his page -Accursio after him with pacific words, praying him to return, and with -a purse of fifty crowns to pay his expenses; and after some delay he -did return. - -Vasari and Condivi both assert that the vault of the Sistine Chapel was -painted by Michel Angelo “alone and unaided, even by any one to grind -his colors, in twenty months.” But this cannot be true. He certainly -had assistance not only for all the laying of the plaster and the -merely mechanical work, but also in the painting of the architecture, -and even of portions of the figures; and it now seems to be pretty -clear that the chapel was not completed until 1512. But this in itself, -considering all the breaks and intervals when the work was necessarily -interrupted, is stupendous. - -The extraordinary rapidity with which he worked is clearly proved by -the close examination which the erection of scaffolding has recently -enabled Mr. Charles Heath Wilson and others to make. Fresco-painting -can only be done while the plaster is fresh (hence its name); and as -the plaster laid on one day will not serve for the next, it must be -removed unless the painting on it is completed. The junction of the -new plaster leaves a slight line of division when closely examined, and -thus it is easy to detect how much has been accomplished each day. It -scarcely seems credible, though there can be no doubt of the fact, that -many of the nude figures above life-size were painted in two days. The -noble reclining figure of Adam occupied him only three days; and the -colossal figures of the sibyls and prophets, which, if standing, would -be eighteen feet in height, occupied him only from three to four days -each. When one considers the size of these figures, the difficulty of -painting anything overhead where the artist is constrained to work in -a reclining position and often lying flat on his back, and the beauty, -tenderness, and careful finish which has been given to all parts, -and especially to the heads, this rapidity of execution seems almost -marvelous. - -Seen from below, these figures are solemn and striking; but seen -near by, their grandeur of character is vastly more impressive, and -their beauty and refinement, which are less apparent when seen from a -distance, are quite as remarkable as their power and energy. Great as -Michel Angelo was as a sculptor, he seems even greater as a painter. -Not only is the design broader and larger, but there is a freedom of -attitude, a strength and loftiness of conception, and a beauty of -treatment, which are beyond what he reached, or perhaps strove for, in -his statues. The figure of Adam, for instance, is not more wonderful -for its novelty and power of design than for its truth to nature. -The figure of the Deity, encompassed by angelic forms, is whirling -down upon him like a tempest. His mighty arm is outstretched, and from -his extended fingers an electric flash of life seems to strike into -the uplifted hand of Adam, whose reclining figure, issuing from the -constraint of death, and quivering with this new thrill of animated -being, stirs into action, and rises half to meet his Creator. Nothing -could be more grand than this conception, more certain than its -expression, or more simple than its treatment. Nothing, too, has ever -been accomplished in art more powerful, varied, and original than the -colossal figures of the sibyls and the prophets. The Ezekiel, listening -to the voice of inspiration; the Jeremiah, surcharged with meditative -thought, and weighed down with it as a lowering cloud with rain; -the youthful Daniel, writing on his book, which an angel supports; -Esaias, in the fullness of his manhood, leaning his elbow on his book -and holding his hand suspended while turning he listens to the angel -whose tidings he is to record; and the aged Zacharias, with his long -beard, swathed in heavy draperies, and intently reading,—these are the -prophets; and alternating with them on the span of the arch are the -sibyls,—the noble Erythrean, seated almost in profile, with crossed -legs, and turning the leaves of her book with one hand while the other -drops at her side, grand in the still serenity of her beauty; the aged -Persian sibyl, turning sideway to peruse the book which she holds -close to her eyes, while above her recline two beautiful naked youths, -and below her sleeps a madonna with the child Christ; the Libyan, -holding high behind her with extended arms her open scroll, and looking -down over her shoulder; the Cumæan, old, weird, Dantesque in her -profile, with a napkin folded on her head, reading in self-absorption, -while two angels gaze at her; and last, the Delphic, sweet, calm, -and beautiful in the perfectness of womanhood, who looks serenely -down over her shoulder to charm us with a peaceful prophecy. All the -faces and heads o£ these figures are evidently drawn from noble and -characteristic models,—if, indeed, any models at all are used; and some -of them, especially those of the Delphic and Erythrean, are full of -beauty as well as power. All are painted with great care and feeling, -and a lofty inspiration has guided a loving hand. There is nothing -vague, feeble, or flimsy in them. They are ideal in the true sense—the -strong embodiment of great ideas. - -Even to enumerate the other figures would require more time and space -than can now be given. But we cannot pass over in silence the wonderful -series illustrative of Biblical history which form the centre of the -ceiling, beginning with Chaos struggling into form, and ending with -Lot and his children. Here in succession are the division of light -from darkness—the Spirit of God moving over the face of the waters -(an extraordinary conception, which Raffaelle strove in vain to -reproduce in another form in the Loggie of the Vatican); the wonderful -creation of Adam; the temptation of the serpent, and the expulsion from -Paradise, so beautiful in composition and feeling; the sacrifice to -God; and finally the Flood. - -Besides these are the grand nude figures of the decoration, which have -never been equaled; and many Biblical stories, which, in the richness -and multitude of greater things, are lost, but which in themselves -would suffice to make any artist famous: as, for instance, the group -called Rehoboam, a female figure bending forward and resting her -hand upon her face, with the child leaning against her knee—a lovely -sculptural group, admirably composed, and full of pathos; and the -stern, despairing figure entitled Jesse, looking straight out into the -distance before him—like Fate. - -Here is no attempt at scenic effect, no effort for the picturesque, -no literal desire for realism, no pictorial graces. A sombre, noble -tone of color pervades them,—harmonizing with their grand design, but -seeking nothing for itself, and sternly subjected and restrained to -these powerful conceptions. Nature silently withdraws and looks on, -awed by these mighty presences. - -Only a tremendous energy and will could have enabled Michel Angelo to -conceive and execute these works. The spirit in which he worked is -heroic: oppressed as he was by trouble and want, he never lost courage -or faith. Here is a fragment of a letter he wrote to his brother while -employed on this work, which will show the temper and character of the -man. It is truly in the spirit of the Stoics of old:— - - “Make no friendship nor intimacies with any one but the Almighty - alone. Speak neither good nor evil of any one, because the end - of these things cannot yet be known. Attend only to your own - affairs. I must tell you I have no money.” (He says this in - answer to constant applications from his unworthy brother for - pecuniary assistance.) “I am, I may say, shoeless and naked. I - cannot receive the balance of my pay till I have finished this - work, and I suffer much from discomfort and fatigue. Therefore, - when you also have trouble to endure, do not make useless - complaints, but try to help yourself.” - -The names of Raffaelle and Michel Angelo are so associated, that that -of one always rises in the mind when the other is mentioned. Their -geniuses are as absolutely opposite as are their characters. Each is -the antithesis of the other. In the ancient days we have the same -kind of difference between Homer and Virgil, Demosthenes and Cicero, -Æschylus and Euripides; in later days, Molière and Racine, Rousseau -and Voltaire, Shakespeare and Sir Philip Sidney, Beethoven and Mozart, -Dante and Ariosto, Victor Hugo and Lamartine; or to take our own age, -Delacroix and Ary Scheffer, Browning and Tennyson. To the one belongs -the sphere of power, to the other that of charm. One fights his way to -immortality, the other woos it. - -Raffaelle was of the latter class—sweet of nature, gentle of -disposition, gifted with a rare sense of grace, a facile talent of -design, and a refinement of feeling which, if it sometimes degenerated -into weakness, never utterly lost its enchantment. He was exceedingly -impressionable, reflected by turns the spirit of his masters,—was first -Perugino, and afterwards modified his style to that of Fra Bartolommeo, -and again, under the influence of Michel Angelo, strove to tread in his -footsteps. He was not of a deep nature nor of a powerful character. -There was nothing torrential in his genius, bursting its way through -obstacles and sweeping all before it. It was rather that of the calm -river, flowing at its own sweet will, and reflecting peacefully the -passing figures of life. He painted as the bird sings. He was an artist -because nature made him one—not because he had vowed himself to art, -and was willing to struggle and fight for its smile. He was gentle and -friendly—a pleasant companion—a superficial lover—handsome of person -and pleasing of address—who always went surrounded by a corona of -followers, who disliked work and left the execution of his designs in -great measure to his pupils, while he toyed with the Fornarina. I do -not mean to undervalue him in what he did. His works are charming—his -invention was lively. He had the happy art of telling his story in -outline, better, perhaps, than any one else of his age. His highest -reach was the Madonna di S. Sisto, and this certainly is full of -that large sweetness and spiritual sensibility which entitles him to -the common epithet of “Divino.” But when he died at the early age of -thirty-seven, he had come to his full development, and there is no -reason to suppose that he would ever have attained a greater height. -Indeed, during his latter years he was tired of his art, neglected -his work, became more and more academic, and preferred to bask in the -sunshine of his fame on its broad levels, to girding up his loins to -struggle up precipitous ascents to loftier peaks. The world already -began to blame him for this neglect, and to say that he had forgotten -how to paint himself, and gave his designs only to his students to -execute. Moved by these rumors, he determined alone to execute a work -in fresco, and this work was the famous Galatea of the Palazzo Farnese. -He was far advanced in it, when, during his absence one morning, a -dark, short, stern-looking man called to see him. In the absence of -Raffaelle, this man gazed attentively at the Galatea for a long time, -and then taking a piece of charcoal, he ascended a ladder which stood -in the corner of the vast room, and drew offhand on the wall a colossal -male head. Then he came down and went away, saying to the attendant, -“If Signore Raffaelle wishes to know who came to see him, show him my -card there on the wall.” When Raffaelle returned, the assistant told -him of his visitor, and showed him the head. “That is Michel Angelo,” -he said, “or the devil.” - -And Michel Angelo it was. Raffaelle well knew what that powerful and -colossal head meant, and he felt the terrible truth of its silent -criticism on his own work. It meant, Your fresco is too small for the -room—your style is too pleasing and trivial. Make something grand and -colossal. Brace your mind to higher purpose, train your hand to nobler -design. I say that Raffaelle felt this stern criticism, because he -worked no more there, and only carried out this one design. Raffaelle’s -disposition was sweet and attractive, and he was beloved by all his -friends. Vasari says of him, that he was as much distinguished by his -_amorevolezza ed umanità_, his affectionate and sympathetic nature, -as by his excellence as an artist; and another contemporary speaks of -him as of _summæ bonitatis_, perfect sweetness of character. All this -one sees in his face, which, turning, gazes dreamily at us over his -shoulder, with dark, soft eyes, long hair, and smooth, unsuffering -cheeks where Time has ploughed no furrows—easy, charming, graceful, -refined, and somewhat feminine of character. - -Michel Angelo was made of sterner stuff than this. His temper was -violent, his bearing haughty, his character impetuous. He had none -of the personal graces of his great rival. His face was, as it were, -hammered sternly out by fate; his brow corrugated by care, his cheeks -worn by thought, his hair and beard stiffly curled and bull-like; his -expression sad and intense, with a weary longing in his deep-set eyes. -Doubtless, at times, they flamed with indignation and passion—for he -was very irascible, and suffered no liberties to be taken with him. -He could not “sport with Amaryllis in the shade, or with the tangles -of Neæra’s hair.” Art was his mistress, and a stern mistress she was, -urging him ever onward to greater heights. He loved her with a passion -of the intellect; there was nothing he would not sacrifice for her. He -was willing to be poor, almost to starve, to labor with incessant zeal, -grudging even the time that sleep demanded, only to win her favor. He -could not have been a pleasant companion, and he was never a lover of -woman. His friendship with Vittoria Colonna was worlds away from the -senses,—worlds away from such a connection as that of Raffaelle with -the Fornarina. They walked together in the higher fields of thought and -feeling, in the region of ideas and aspirations. Their conversation was -of art, and poesy, and religion, and the mysteries of life. They read -to each other their poems, and discoursed on high themes of religion, -and fate, and foreknowledge. The sonnets he addressed to her were in no -trivial vein of human passion or sentiment. - - “Rapt above earth” (he writes) “by power of one fair face, - Hers, in whose sway alone my heart delights, - I mingle with the Blest on those pure heights - Where man, yet mortal, rarely finds a place— - With Him who made the Work that Work accords - So well that, by its help and through His grace, - I raise my thoughts, inform my deeds and words, - Clasping her beauty in my soul’s embrace.” - -In his _soul’s_ embrace, not in his arms. When he stood beside her -dead body, he silently gazed at her, not daring to imprint a kiss on -that serene brow even when life had departed. If he admired Petrarca, -it was as a philosopher and a patriot,—for his canzone to Liberty, -not for his sonnets to Laura. Dante, whom he called _Stella di alto -valor_, the star of high power, was his favorite poet; Savonarola his -single friend. The “Divina Commedia,” or rather the “Inferno” alone, -he thought worthy of illustration by his pencil; the doctrines of the -latter he warmly espoused. “True beauty,” says that great reformer, -“comes only from the soul, from nobleness of spirit and purity of -conduct.” And so, in one of his madrigals, says Michel Angelo. “They -are but gross spirits who seek in sensual nature the beauty that -uplifts and moves every healthy intelligence even to heaven.” - -For the most part he walked alone and avoided society, wrapped up in -his own thoughts; and once, when meeting Raffaelle, he reproached him -for being surrounded by a _cortège_ of flatterers; to which Raffaelle -bitterly retorted, “And you go alone, like the headsman”—_andate solo -come un boia_. - -He was essentially original, and, unlike his great rival, followed -in no one’s footsteps. “Chi va dietro agli altri non li passa mai -dinanzi,” he said,—who follows behind others can never pass before -them. - -Yet, with all his ruggedness and imperiousness of character, he had -a deep tenderness of nature, and was ready to meet any sacrifice for -those whom he loved. Personal privations he cared little for, and sent -to his family all his earnings, save what was absolutely necessary to -support life. He had no greed for wealth, no love of display, no desire -for luxuries: a better son never lived, and his unworthy brother he -forgave over and over again, never weary of endeavoring to set him on -his right path. - -But at times he broke forth with a tremendous energy when pushed too -far, as witness this letter to his brother. After saying, “If thou -triest to do well, and to honor and revere thy father, I will aid thee -like the others, and will provide for thee in good time a place of -business,” he thus breaks out in his postscript:— - - “I have not wandered about all Italy, and borne every - mortification, suffered hardship, lacerated my body with hard - labor, and placed my life in a thousand dangers, except to aid - my family; and now that I have begun to raise it somewhat, thou - alone art the one to embroil and ruin in an hour that which I - have labored so long to accomplish. By the body of Christ, but it - shall be found true that I shall confound ten thousand such as - thou art if it be needful,—so be wise, and tempt not one who has - already too much to bear.” - -He was generous and large in his charities. He supported out of his -purse many poor persons, married and endowed secretly a number of -young girls, and gave freely to all who surrounded him. “When I die,” -asked he of his old and faithful servant Urbino, “what will become -of you?” “I shall seek for another master in order to live,” was the -answer. “Ah, poor man!” cried Michel Angelo, and gave him at once -10,000 golden crowns. When this poor servant fell ill, he tended him -with the utmost care, as if he were a brother, and on his death broke -out into loud lamentations, and would not be comforted. - -His fiery and impetuous temper, however, led him often into violence. -He was no respecter of persons, and he well knew how to stand up for -the rights of man. There was nothing of the courtier in him; and he -faced the Pope with an audacious firmness of purpose and expression -unparalleled at that time; and yet he was singularly patient and -enduring, and gave way to the variable Pontiff’s whims and caprices -whenever they did not touch his dignity as a man. Long periods of time -he allowed himself to be employed in superintending the quarrying of -marble at Carrara, though his brain was teeming with great conceptions. -He was oppressed, agitated, irritated on every side by home troubles, -by papal caprices, and by the intestine tumult of his country, and much -of his life was wasted in merely mechanical work which any inferior -man could as well have done. He was forced not only to quarry, but to -do almost all the rude blocking out of his statues in marble, which -should have been intrusted to others, and which would have been better -done by mere mechanical workmen. His very impetuosity, his very genius, -unfitted him for such work: while he should have been creating and -designing, he was doing the rough work of a stone-cutter. So ardent was -his nature, so burning his enthusiasm, that he could not fitly do this -work. He was too impatient to get to the form within to take heed of -the blows he struck at the shapeless mass that encumbered it, and thus -it happened that he often ruined his statue by striking away what could -never be replaced. - -Vigenero thus describes him:— - - “I have seen Michel Angelo, although sixty years of age, and - not one of the most robust of men, smite down more scales from - a very hard block of marble in a quarter of an hour, than three - young marble-cutters would in three or four times that space of - time. He flung himself upon the marble with such impetuosity - and fervor, as to induce me to believe that he would break the - work into fragments. With a single blow he brought down scales - of marble of three or four fingers in breadth, and with such - precision to the line marked on the marble, that if he had broken - away a very little more, he risked the ruin of the work.” - -This is pitiable. This was not the work for a great genius like him, -but for a common stone-cutter. What waste of time and energy to no -purpose,—nay, to worse than no purpose,—to the danger, often the -irreparable injury, of the statue. A dull, plodding, patient workman -would have done it far better. It is as if an architect should be -employed in planing the beams or laying the bricks and stones of the -building he designed. In fact, Michel Angelo injured, and in some -cases nearly ruined, most of his statues by the very impatience of his -genius. Thus the back head of the Moses has been struck away by one of -these blows, and everywhere a careful eye detects the irreparable blow -beyond its true limit. This is not the Michel Angelo whom we are to -reverence and admire; this is an _abbozzatore_ roughing out the work. -There is no difficulty in striking off large cleavings of marble at one -stroke—any one can do that; and it is pitiable to find him so engaged. - -Where we do find his technical excellence as a sculptor is when he -comes to the surface—when with the drill he draws the outline with such -force and wonderful precision—when his tooth-chisel models out, with -such pure sense of form and such accomplished knowledge, the subtle -anatomies of the body and the living curves of the palpitant flesh; -and no sculptor can examine the colossal figures of the Medici Chapel -without feeling the free and mighty touch of a great master of the -marble. Here the hand and the mind work together, and the stone is -plastic as clay to his power. - -It was not until Michel Angelo was sixty years of age that, on the -death of Antonio San Gallo, he was appointed to succeed him as -architect, and to design and carry out the building of St. Peter’s, -then only rising from its foundations. To this appointment he -answered, as he had before objected when commissioned to paint the -Sistine Chapel, “Architecture is not my art.” But his objections were -overruled. The Pope insisted, and he was finally prevailed upon to -accept this commission, on the noble condition that his services should -be gratuitous, and dedicated to the glory of God and of His Apostle, -St. Peter; and to this he was actuated, not only by a grand sentiment, -but because he was aware that hitherto the work had been conducted -dishonestly, and with a sole view of greed and gain. Receiving nothing -himself, he could the more easily suppress all peculation on the part -of others. - -He was, as he said, an old man in years, but in energy and power he -had gained rather than lost, and he set himself at once to work, -and designed that grand basilica which has been the admiration of -centuries, and to swing, as he said, in air the Pantheon. That mighty -dome is but the architectural brother of the great statues in the -Medicean Chapel, and the Titan frescoes of the Sistine Chapel. Granted -all the defects of this splendid basilica, all the objections of all -the critics, well or ill founded, and all the deformities grafted on it -by his successors—there it is, one of the noblest and grandest of all -temples to the Deity, and one of the most beautiful. The dome itself, -within and without, is a marvel of beauty and grandeur, to which all -other domes, even that of Brunelleschi, must yield precedence. It is -the uplifted brow and forehead that holds the brain of papal Rome, -calm, and without a frown, silent, majestic, impressive. The church -within has its own atmosphere, which scarcely knows the seasons -without; and when the pageant and the pomp of the Catholic hierarchy -passes along its nave, and the sunlight builds its golden slanting -bridge of light from the lantern to the high altar, and the fumes of -incense rise from the clinking censer at High Mass, and the solemn -thrill of the silver trumpets sounds and swells and reverberates -through the dim mosaicked dome where the saints are pictured above, -cold must be his heart and dull his sense who is not touched to -reverence. Here is the type of the universal Church—free and beautiful, -large and loving; not grim and sombre and sad, like the northern -Gothic cathedrals. We grieve over all the bad taste of its interior -decoration, all the giant and awkward statues, all the lamentable -details, for which he is not responsible; but still, despite them all, -the impression is great. When at twilight the shadows obscure all -these trivialities, when the lofty cross above the altar rays forth -its single illumination and the tasteless details disappear, and the -towering arches rise unbroken with their solemn gulfs of darkness, -one can feel how great, how astonishing this church is, in its broad -architectural features. - -At nearly this time Michel Angelo designed the Palazzo Farnese, -the Church of Sta Maria degli Angeli in the ruins of the Baths of -Diocletian, the Laurentian Library and the palaces on the Capitol, and -various other buildings, all of which bear testimony to his power and -skill as an architect. - -For St. Peter’s as it now stands Michel Angelo is not responsible. His -idea was to make all subordinate to the dome; but after his death, the -nave was prolonged by Carlo Maderno, the façade completely changed, and -the main theme of the building was thus almost obliterated from the -front. It is greatly to be regretted that his original design was not -carried out. Every change from it was an injury. The only point from -which one can get an idea of his intention is from behind or at the -side, and there its colossal character is shown. - -We have thus far considered Michel Angelo as a sculptor, painter, and -architect. It remains to consider him as a poet. Nor in his poetry do -we find any difference of character from what he exhibited in his other -arts. He is rough, energetic, strong, full of high ideas, struggling -with fate, oppressed and weary with life. He has none of the sweet -numbers of Petrarca, or the lively spirit of Ariosto, or the chivalric -tones of Tasso. His verse is rude, craggy, almost disjointed at times, -and with little melody in it, but it is never feeble. It was not his -art, he might have said, with more propriety than when he thus spoke of -painting and architecture. Lofty thoughts have wrestled their way into -verse, and constrained a rhythmic form to obey them. But there is a -constant struggle for him in a form which is not plastic to his touch. -Still his poems are strong in their crabbedness, and stand like granite -rocks in the general sweet mush of Italian verse. - -Such, then, was Michel Angelo,—sculptor, painter, architect, poet, -engineer, and able in all these arts. Nor would it have been possible -for him to be so great in any one of them had he not trained his mind -to all; for all the arts are but the various articulations of the -self-same power, as the fingers are of the hand, and each lends aid to -the other. Only by having all can the mind have its full grasp of art. -It is too often insisted in our days that a man to be great in one art -must devote himself exclusively to that; or if he be solicited by any -other, he must merely toy with it. Such was not the doctrine of the -artists of old, either in ancient days of Greece or at the epoch of the -Renaissance. Phidias was a painter and architect as well as a sculptor, -and so were nearly all the men of his time. Giotto, Leonardo, Ghiberti, -Michel Angelo, Verrocchio, Cellini, Raffaelle,—in a word, all the great -men of the glorious age in Italy were accomplished in many arts. They -more or less trained themselves in all. It might be said that not a -single great man was not versed in more than one art. Thence it was -that they derived their power. It does not suffice that the arm alone -is strong; the whole body strikes with every blow. - -The frescoes in the Sistine Chapel at Rome, and the statues in the -Medicean Chapel at Florence, are the greatest monuments of Michel -Angelo’s power as an artist. Whatever may be the defects of these great -works, they are of a Titanic brood, that have left no successors, -as they had no progenitors. They defy criticism, however just, and -stand by themselves outside the beaten track of art, to challenge -our admiration. So also, despite all his faults and defects, how -grand a figure Michel Angelo himself is in history, how high a -place he holds! His name itself is a power. He is one of the mighty -masters that the world cannot forget. Kings and emperors die and are -forgotten,—dynasties change and governments fall,—but he, the silent, -stern worker, reigns unmoved in the great realm of art. - -Let us leave this great presence, and pass into the other splendid -chapel of the Medici which adjoins this, and mark the contrast, and see -what came of some of the titular monarchs of his time who fretted their -brief hour across the stage, and wore their purple, and issued their -edicts, and were fawned upon and flattered in their pride of ephemeral -power. - -Passing across a corridor, you enter this domed chapel or mausoleum—and -a splendid mausoleum it is. Its shape is octagonal. It is 63 metres in -height, or about 200 feet, and is lined throughout with the richest -marbles—of jasper, coralline, persicata, chalcedony, mother-of-pearl, -agate, giallo and verde antico, porphyry, lapis-lazuli, onyx, oriental -alabaster, and beautiful petrified woods; and its cost was no less than -thirty-two millions of francs of to-day. Here were to lie the bodies -of the Medici family, in honor of whom it was raised. On each of the -eight sides is a vast arch, and inside six of these are six immense -sarcophagi, four of red Egyptian granite and two of gray, with the -arms of the family elaborately carved upon them, and surmounted with -coronets adorned with precious gems. In two of the arches are colossal -portrait statues,—one of Ferdinand III. in golden bronze, by Pietro -Tacca; and the other of Cosimo II. in brown bronze, by John of Bologna, -and both in the richest royal robes. The sarcophagi have the names of -Ferdinand II., Cosimo III., Francesco I., Cosimo I. All that wealth and -taste can do has been done to celebrate and perpetuate the memory of -these royal dukes that reigned over Florence in its prosperous days. - -And where are the bodies of these royal dukes? Here comes the saddest -of stories. When the early bodies were first buried I know not; but in -1791 Ferdinand III. gathered together all the coffins in which they -were laid, and had them piled together pell-mell in the subterranean -vaults of this chapel, scarcely taking heed to distinguish them one -from another; and here they remained, neglected and uncared for, and -only protected from plunder by two wooden doors with common keys, -until 1857. Then shame came over those who had the custody of the -place, and it was determined to put them in order. In 1818 there had -been a rumor that these Medicean coffins had been violated and robbed -of all the articles of value which they contained. But little heed was -paid to this rumor, and it was not until thirty-nine years after that -an examination into the real facts was made. It was then discovered -that the rumor was well founded. The forty-nine coffins containing the -remains of the family were taken down one by one, and a sad state of -things was exposed. Some of them had been broken into and plundered, -some were the hiding-places of vermin, and such was the nauseous odor -they gave forth, that at least one of the persons employed in taking -them down lost his life by inhaling it. Imperial Cæsar, dead and turned -to clay, had become hideous and noisome. Of many of the ducal family -nothing remained but fragments of bones and a handful of dust. But -where the hand of the robber had not been, the splendid dresses covered -with jewels, the silks and satins wrought over with gold embroidery, -the richly chased helmets and swords crusted with gems and gold, still -survived, though those who had worn them in their splendid pageants -were but dust and crumbling bones within them. - - “Here were sands, ignoble things, - Dropped from the ruined sides of kings.” - -In many cases, where all else that bore the impress of life had -vanished, the hair still remained almost as fresh as ever. Some bodies -which had been carefully embalmed were in fair preservation, but -some were fearfully altered. Ghastly and grinning skulls were there, -adorned with crowns of gold. Dark and parchment-like faces were seen -with their golden locks rich as ever, and twisted with gems and pearls -and costly nets. The Cardinal Princes still wore their mitres and -red cloaks, their purple pianete and glittering rings, their crosses -of white enamel, their jacinths and amethysts and sapphires—all had -survived their priestly selves. The dried bones of Vittoria della -Rovere Montefeltro (whose very name is poetic) were draped in a robe -of black silk of exquisite texture, trimmed with black and white lace, -while on her breast lay a great golden medal, and on one side were her -emblems and on the other her portrait as she was in life, as if to -say, “Look on this picture and on this.” Alas, poor humanity! Beside -her lay, almost a mere skeleton, Anna Luisa, the Electress Palatine -of the Rhine, and daughter of Cosimo III., with the electoral crown -surmounting her ghastly brow and face of black parchment, a crucifix of -silver on her breast, and at her side a medal with her effigy and name; -while near her lay her uncle, Francesco Maria, a mere mass of dust and -robes and rags. Many had been stripped by profane hands of all their -jewels and insignia, and among these were Cosimo I. and II., Eleonora -de Toledo, Maria Christina, and others, to the number of twenty. The -two bodies which were found in the best preservation were those of the -Grand Duchess Giovanna d’Austria, the wife of Francesco I., and their -daughter Anna. Corruption had scarcely touched them, and there they lay -fresh in color as if they had just died—the mother in her red satin, -trimmed with lace, her red silk stockings and high-heeled shoes, the -ear-rings hanging from her ears, and her blond hair fresh as ever. And -so, after centuries had passed, the truth became evident of the rumor -that ran through Florence at the time of their death, that they had -died of poison. The arsenic which had taken from them their life had -preserved their bodies in death. Giovanni delle Bande Nere was also -here, his battles all over, his bones scattered and loose within his -iron armor, and his rusted helmet with its visor down. And this was -all that was left of the great Medici. Is there any lesson sadder than -this? These royal persons, once so gay and proud and powerful, some -of whom patronized Michel Angelo, and extended to him their gracious -favor, and honored him perhaps with a smile, now so utterly dethroned -by death, their names scarcely known, or, if known, not reverenced, -while the poor stern artist they looked down upon sits like a monarch -on the throne of fame, and, though dead, rules with his spirit and by -his works in the august realm of art. Who has not heard his name? Who -has not felt his influence? And ages shall come, and generations shall -pass, and he will keep his kingdom. - - - - -PHIDIAS, AND THE ELGIN MARBLES. - - -The marble statues in the pediment of the Parthenon at Athens, as -well as the metopes and _bassi-relievi_ which adorned the temple -dedicated to Minerva, are popularly supposed to have been either the -work of Phidias himself, or executed by his scholars after his designs -and under his superintendence. This opinion, by dint of constant -repetition, has finally become accepted as an undoubted fact; but a -careful examination into the original authorities will show that it is -unsupported by any satisfactory evidence. - -The main ground upon which it is founded is that Phidias was appointed -by Pericles director of the public works at Athens, and occupied that -office during the building of the Parthenon. From being the director -he is supposed to have been the designer at least, not only of the -temple, but of all the works of art contained in it. This deduction -is certainly very broad to be drawn from so small a fact, even if -that fact should be established beyond doubt. It resembles the modern -instance of the popular attribution of so many nameless statues of -the Renaissance to Michel Angelo. And there seems to be about as much -reason to suppose that Phidias executed or designed all the sculpture -of the Parthenon, because he was the general superintendent of public -works at Athens, as to attribute to Michel Angelo the authorship of all -the statues in St. Peter’s, because he was mainly the architect and -superintendent of the work of that great Christian temple. - -The first fact to be opposed to this entirely gratuitous assumption is, -that during the execution of the great public works at Athens under the -administration of Pericles, Phidias himself was occupied on his great -chryselephantine statue of Athena, which was the chief ornament of the -Parthenon; and this alone, without considering the other great statues -in ivory, and gold, and bronze, on which he was probably engaged at or -near the same period, was amply sufficient to occupy his entire time -and thoughts. - -The next most important fact is that no ancient contemporary author -asserts that any of the sculptures of the Parthenon, with the exception -of the chryselephantine statue of Athena, were executed by him; and -considering his fame in his own and subsequent ages, it seems most -improbable, to say the least, that, had he been the author of any of -the other statues and _alti_ or _bassi-relievi_, not only no mention of -this fact, but no allusion to it, should ever have been made. - -In the next place, it will be found, on careful examination of the -ancient writers and of other facts bearing on the question, to be -exceedingly doubtful whether Phidias ever made any statues in marble. -If he did execute any works in this material, they were exceptions to -his general practice, his art being chiefly in toreutic work, and in -gold and ivory, or bronze. It was in these arts that he established his -fame; and there is no mention of any work by him in marble within five -hundred years of his death. - -Plutarch, in his Life of Pericles, says that “Phidias was appointed -by Pericles superintendent of all the public edifices, though the -Athenians had other eminent architects, and excellent workmen.” It -is plain, however, that even if Phidias was director of the works, -Plutarch does not mean to represent him as the architect or artist by -whom they were either designed or executed; for he immediately adds -that “the Parthenon was built by Callicrates and Ictinus.” Probably -also Carpion was another architect actively engaged upon it, for he and -Ictinus wrote a work upon it. Plutarch then goes on to enumerate other -buildings built by different artists at this very period during which -Phidias was director of public works. Afterwards he positively states -that “the golden statue of Minerva was the workmanship of Phidias, -and his name is inscribed on the pedestal;”[1] and adds that, “as we -have already observed, through the friendship of Pericles, he had the -direction of everything, and all the artists received his orders.” -But he does not say or intimate that Phidias himself made anything -in the Parthenon except the statue of Athena, unless “having the -direction of everything” is to be understood as equivalent to making -everything himself. Such an interpretation is, however, absolutely -in contradiction with his statements that the Parthenon was built by -Callicrates and Ictinus; that the Temple of Initiation at Eleusis was -begun by Corœbus, carried on by Metagenes, and finished by Xenocles -of Cholargos; that the vestibule of the Citadel was finished in five -years by Mnesicles; and that the Odeum was built under the direction of -Pericles, by which he incurred much ridicule. - -Strabo, however, would seem to differ from Plutarch on this point, -and to attribute to Pericles himself, and not to Phidias, the general -superintendence of the public works. Speaking of the Temple of the -Eleusinian Ceres at Eleusis, and the mystic inclosure, Σηκός, built by -Ictinus, he adds, “This person it was who made the Parthenon in the -Acropolis in honor of Minerva, when Pericles was superintendent of -the public works;” and in another passage he mentions “the Parthenon -built by Ictinus, in which is the Minerva in ivory, the work of -Phidias,”—thus clearly distinguishing the work of Phidias, and saying -not a word about the metopes, _bassi-relievi_, or statues in the -pediment, or indicating him as their author. - -But granting that Plutarch is right, it is quite manifest that -it was impossible for Phidias to have had more than an official -superintendence of these great works. The sole administration of public -affairs was conferred on Pericles in B. C. 444, and it was not until -then or subsequently that Phidias could have been appointed to this -office. Among the public works built at this period were the Propylæa, -the Odeum, the Parthenon, the Temples of Ceres at Eleusis, of Juno at -Argos, of Apollo at Phigaleia, and of Zeus at Olympia—the last being -finished in B. C. 433. Within these eleven years, therefore, Phidias is -supposed to have superintended all or a portion of these temples, with -their manifold sculptures and statues, and, in addition, to have made -the colossal chryselephantine statues of Athena in the Parthenon, Zeus -at Olympia, Aphrodite Urania at Elis, and also, perhaps, the Athena -Areia in bronze at Platæa. - -But excluding all consideration as to the other temples, and confining -ourselves solely to the Parthenon, let us see if it be possible, with -all his occupations, for him to have executed the Athena alone, and -also executed or even designed the other sculptures of the Parthenon. - -In the tympanum there are 44 statues, all of heroic size. There were 92 -metopes representing the battles of the Centaurs and Lapithæ, and the -frieze, which was covered with elaborate _bassi-relievi_ representing -processions of men, women, and horses with riders, was about 524 feet -in length. - -There seems to be no distinct statement of the exact time when the -Parthenon was begun; but it certainly was after the appointment of -Pericles in 444 B. C., and we know that it was finished and dedicated -in 438 B. C. This gives us six years as the outside possible limits -within which it was built. Now, if Phidias made, executed, or even -modeled or designed, only the 44 statues of the tympanum within this -period, he must have been a man of astonishing activity and rapidity in -his work. To do this he must have made more than seven heroic statues -in each year, or more than one statue every two months for six years. -This may safely be said to be impossible, unless we mean by the term -designing the making of small sketches in clay or terra cotta, with -little elaboration or finish. But if we add the 92 metopes and the -524 feet of figures in relief, the mere designing in clay of all the -figures and groups becomes impossible. - -But this is not enough: we know that he executed in this time the -colossal chryselephantine statue of Athena,—and to the other statues, -therefore, he could only have given the overplus of his time which -was not needed for his great work. Nor are we without data by which -we can estimate the probable time given to the Athena alone. At Elis -he was engaged exclusively from four to five years upon the Zeus, in -the temple at Olympia; and in the execution of this colossal work we -know that he had the assistance of other artists, and especially of -Kolotes; and we also know that he did nothing else in this temple, -the statues in the two tympana having been executed by Alcamenes -and Pæonios. In all probability about the same amount of time was -given to the Athena. Supposing, then, that he began his work on the -Parthenon immediately after the appointment of Pericles, which is most -improbable, he would have had about a year’s time in which to make all -the statues and reliefs in the Parthenon, and exercise supervision -of the public works. If he modeled the designs only of the tympana -in this period, he must have made a statue in eight days. If he also -modeled the designs of the metopes, 92 in number, of two figures each, -he must have given less than three days to each, without allowing any -time for the performance of his functions of general director, and -supposing him also to have worked without a day’s intermission. Such -suppositions must be rejected as approaching so near to impossibilities -as to render them utterly untenable. All probabilities are in favor -of the supposition that, during the period in which the Parthenon was -constructed, Phidias was employed solely upon the statue of Athena, and -upon the duties incident to his position as superintendent of public -works. - -This conclusion will seem all the more probable when we consider that -Phidias, far from being rapid in his execution, was, on the contrary, -a slow and elaborate worker, devoting much time to the careful and -minute finish of his statues. Themistius is reported by Plutarch as -saying of him, that “though Phidias was skillful enough to make in gold -or ivory” (it will be observed that he speaks of his work in no other -materials) “the true shape of god or man, yet he did require abundance -of time and leisure to his work; so he is reported to have spent much -time upon the base and sandals of his statue of the goddess Athena.”[2] - -We must also add another consideration, and it is this: that in the -time of Phidias it was necessary for a sculptor to do far more with -his own hand than it is now. Modern facilities have greatly abridged -the personal labor of the sculptor in marble or bronze. The present -method of casting in plaster, which was then unknown, or at least -unpracticed, enables the sculptor of our days to elaborate his work -to the utmost finish, in its full size, in the clay model; and when -this is completed and cast in such a permanent material as plaster, -the workman has an absolute model, which he may, to a certain extent, -copy with almost mathematical accuracy. The greater portion of the -work may therefore be now committed to inferior hands, as it requires -only mechanical dexterity and care; while it merely remains for the -sculptor himself to finish the work in marble, and add such elaboration -of detail and expression as he may desire. But in the time of Phidias -this method was unknown; and the sculptor himself was forced to do a -much greater part of his work in marble. In like manner, the modern -method of casting in bronze is so admirable that the labor of the -artist in finishing the cast is comparatively small; but in the earlier -period of bronze casting, there is no doubt that the cast originally -was far more imperfect, and the labor of the sculptor in finishing -far greater. These facts will in some measure seem to account for the -comparatively long time during which Phidias was engaged on his works. -As there evidently was no full-sized and completely finished model of -the Athena or Zeus for the workmen mechanically to copy, Phidias was -forced to work out the details of his great works with his own hands, -moulding and designing them as he went on; and this he was obliged to -do, not in a plastic material like clay, but in the final material of -his statue—whether gold, ivory, or bronze. Assistants of course he had, -and undoubtedly they were very numerous. Plutarch tells us that the -public works gave employment to carpenters, modelers, brass cutters -and stampers, chiselers and engravers, dyers, workers of ivory and -gold, and even weavers;[3] and some of these men certainly worked for -Phidias. In fact, he used the hands of others as much as he could—as -any sensible artist would; but a great part of his invention and work -was carried on in hard and difficult materials, instead of being -perfected in a facile clay, as it would be by a modern sculptor; and -this carried with it, of course, a great expense of time and labor. - -With these facts in view, and considering the great size and -elaboration of the ivory and gold statue of Athena, it is quite -evident that the few years which elapsed between the commencement of -the Parthenon and its dedication would have been amply occupied by -this work alone,—and with the other duties incident to his position -as superintendent of public works. More than this, we shall find it -difficult to fix the time when he made some other of his statues, -unless it was during these six years; and it would seem probable that -at or about this time he must have been engaged upon the Athena Areia -for the Platæans, or at least upon his chryselephantine statue of the -celestial Venus for the Eleans. - -Before proceeding farther in this argument, it may be as well to -give a glance at the artistic career of Phidias, and the various -works executed by him, or assigned to him by different writers of an -after-age. - -A good deal of discussion has arisen as to the age of Phidias at his -death. The date of his birth is distinctly given by no one, and is -purely a matter of conjecture. Thiersch, among others, supposes him to -have been already an artist of some distinction in the 72·3 Olympiad, -or about B. C. 490—the date of the battle of Marathon; and this opinion -he founds chiefly on the fact that the Athena Promachos, as well as -the group of statues at Delphi and the acrolith of Athena at Platæa -made by him, were cast, according to Pausanias, from the tithe of the -spoils taken from the Medes who disembarked at Marathon. Other writers -suppose him to have been born at about the date of the battle of -Marathon, and that the statues executed by him out of the spoils were -made some twenty-five years later. Mr. Philip Smith, in his “Dictionary -of Biography and Mythology,” taking this view, places his birth in the -73d Olympiad; and Müller is of the same opinion. Dr. Brunn, on the -contrary, thinks it probable that he was born about the 70th Olympiad, -and Welcker and Preller agree substantially with him. - -According to the supposition of Thiersch, placing his birth at 67·2 -Olympiad, or B. C. 510, he would have been twenty years of age at -the battle of Marathon (B. C. 490), seventy-two years of age when he -finished the chryselephantine statue of Athena in the Parthenon in 85·1 -Olympiad (B. C. 438), and seventy-seven years of age when he finished -the chryselephantine statue of Zeus at Olympia in 87·3 Olympiad (B. C. -433). This, if we suppose that five years elapsed after the battle of -Marathon before the group of statues at Delphi was executed, would -make Phidias twenty-five years old when he made them. - -Taking the supposition that he was born in the 72·3 Olympiad, and that -the statues at Delphi were modeled twenty-five years after, this would -make him also twenty-five years of age when he executed them; and -fifty-two years of age, instead of seventy-two, when he finished the -Athena of the Parthenon; and fifty-seven, instead of seventy-seven, -when he completed the Zeus—shortly previous to his death. - -Dr. Brunn’s supposition that he was born in the 70th Olympiad, which is -also held by Welcker and Preller, would make him fifty-six when he made -the Athena, and sixty-one when he made the Zeus. - -In opposition to these two later suppositions, there is this one -undisputed fact, that on the shield of the Athena of the Parthenon -he introduced his own likeness as well as that of Pericles, in which -he is described as representing himself as a bald old man (πρεσβύτου -φαλακρός) hurling a stone, which he lifts with both hands, while -Pericles is portrayed as a vigorous warrior in the full prime of -manhood. He must therefore have intended to represent himself as a much -older man than Pericles; and Pericles at this time was over fifty-two -years of age[4]—which is the age assigned to Phidias himself by some -writers. Besides, a man of fifty-two, or even of fifty-six, could -scarcely be accurately described as an “old man;” and an artist making -a portrait of himself at that age would be inclined to give himself -a little more youth than he really possessed. The mere fact that he -represents himself as old shows that he had in all probability arrived -at a more advanced period of life, when one accepts old age as too -notorious and well-established a fact to be disguised. The supposition -of Thiersch, therefore, would, in view of this fact alone, seem to be -the best founded, as this would make him seventy-two years old when the -Athena was completed,—an age which might fairly be called old. - -Mr. Smith seems to think it very improbable that at the age of -eighty-three Phidias could have undertaken to execute the Zeus; but the -fact is, that Thiersch’s conjecture would only make him seventy-three -when the Zeus was begun, and certainly at this age it is by no means -uncommon for sculptors to undertake large works. Tenerani, for -instance, in our own time, had passed that age when he executed the -monument of Pius VIII., one of his largest works, and consisting of -four colossal figures. Besides, it is to be taken into account that -the Zeus was the last work of Phidias, and that death overtook him -immediately after. - -On the whole, it would seem that the probabilities of the period of his -birth lie between the middle of the 67th Olympiad (B. C. 510) and the -beginning of the 70th Olympiad (B. C. 500). - -There is also another consideration which is entitled to weight in -this connection. Suppose Phidias to have commenced his artistic career -four years after the battle of Marathon—in B. C. 490 (Olymp. 72·3). -From that time to B. C. 444 (Olymp. 83·4), when he began the Athena -of the Parthenon, there are forty-five years; and during this time -he is supposed to have executed six colossal statues in bronze or -acrolith,—two of which, the Athena Promachos and the Athena Areia, were -from 50 to 60 feet in height—and one, the Athena Lemnia, was considered -as perhaps his most beautiful work. Besides this, he executed thirteen -statues at Delphi, the size of which is not stated. Nineteen statues -in forty-five years give a little over 2⅓ years to each; and if the -thirteen statues at Delphi were colossal, this will certainly seem -insufficient for their execution, when we keep in mind the facts—1st, -That Phidias was a slow and elaborate worker; 2d, That of necessity he -must have done a great part of the work in bronze personally; 3d, That -he was occupied four years on the Zeus alone; 4th, That two of these -statues, at least, were larger than the Athena of the Parthenon, though -not in the same material. It is, however, probable, that the thirteen -statues at Delphi were not of colossal proportions, but rather of -heroic size, and therefore requiring less time in their execution; and -this would enable us to assign a longer time to the mighty colossi of -Athena. - -Certainly, however, if we accept the theory that Phidias commenced -working twenty-five years after the battle of Marathon, we are in very -great straits as to time, unless the date when these colossal statues -were made be incorrect, and unless some of them were made after the -Athena of the Parthenon. This, again, we cannot accept; for, from the -date of the completion of the Athena of the Parthenon until his death, -there are only at most some seven years, four of which were dedicated -to the Zeus. We are then forced to believe that these nineteen statues -were made in twenty years; and this is certainly very improbable. - -In this view other difficulties also appear, which it would seem -impossible to overcome, if we accept all the statues attributed to -Phidias as having been executed by him; for in such case, not only must -he have made these nineteen statues in twenty years, but some fifteen -more at least. Taking, then, the longest supposition as to his age, and -giving him forty-five years of labor for some thirty-five statues, the -time will altogether be too restricted. It may be as well at this point -of the discussion to give a catalogue of the works which he is supposed -to have executed, and to examine into the probable authenticity of some -of them. The list is as follows:— - -1. The Athena, at Pellene, in Achaia. This was probably his first -great work, if we credit Pausanias, who says it was made before the -Athena of the Acropolis and the Athena at Platæa. “They say,” says -Pausanias, “that this statue was made by Phidias, and before he made -that for the Athenians, which is in their town, or that which is among -the Platæans.” - -2–14. Thirteen statues in bronze, made from the spoils of the Persian -war, and dedicated at Delphi as a votive offering by the Athenians, -representing Athena, Apollo, Miltiades, Erechtheus, Cecrops, Pandion, -Peleus, Antiochus, Ægeus, Acamas, Codrus, Theseus, and Phyleus. “All -these statues,” says Pausanias, “were made by Phidias;” and on his sole -authority the statement stands. He does not mention their size. - -15. The colossal Athena Promachos in bronze in the Acropolis. This -statue, which was from 50 to 60 feet in height, was made from the -spoils of Marathon. It represented the goddess holding up her spear and -shield in the attitude of a combatant, and was visible to approaching -vessels as far off as Sunium. “On the shield,” says Pausanias, “the -battle of the Centaurs and Lapithæ was carved by Mys; but Parrhasius, -the son of Evenor, painted this for Mys, and likewise the other figures -that are seen on the shield.” Pausanias, however, must be mistaken in -this, since Parrhasius lived about Olymp. 95 (B. C. 400), or about -thirty years after the death of Phidias; and it would scarcely be -probable that this shield would have remained uncarved and unpainted -for from seventy to eighty years after the statue was executed. - -16. The Athena Areia, at Platæa. This was an acrolith, also made from -the spoils of Marathon. “This statue,” says Pausanias, “is made of -wood, and is gilt, except the face and the extremities of the hands and -feet, which are of Pentelic marble. Its magnitude is nearly equal to -that of the Minerva, which the Athenians dedicated on their tower” (the -Promachos). “Phidias too made this statue for the Platæenses.” - -17. The Athena in bronze, in the Acropolis, called the Lemnia, which, -according to Pausanias, “deserves to be seen above all the works of -Phidias.” Lucian also speaks specially of its beauty. - -18. The Athena mentioned by Pliny as having been dedicated at Rome, -near the Temple of Fortune, by Paulus Æmilius. But whether this -originally stood in the Acropolis is unknown. Possibly or probably it -was the same statue as that last mentioned. - -19. The Cliduchus (Key-Bearer), also mentioned by Pliny, may have been -an Athena; but more probably it represented a priestess holding the -keys, symbolic of initiation into the mysteries. - -20. The Athena of the Parthenon, in ivory and gold. - -21. The Zeus at Olympia, in ivory and gold. - -22. The Aphrodite Urania, in ivory and gold, at Elis. This statue, -attributed by Pausanias to Phidias, “stands with one of its feet on a -tortoise.” - -23. A bronze figure of Apollo Parnopius, in the Acropolis. The -authority for this statue is Pausanias, who states that “it is said to -be the work of Phidias,”—λέγουσι Φειδίαν ποιῆσαι. Tradition alone gives -it to Phidias. - -24. Aphrodite Urania, _in marble_, in the temple near the Ceramicus. -This also is attributed by Pausanias to Phidias. - -25. A statue of the Mother of the Gods, sitting on a throne, supported -by lions, in the Metroum near the Ceramicus. This is attributed by -Pausanias and Arrian to Phidias. Pliny, on the contrary, says it is by -Agoracritos. - -26. The Golden Throne, so called, and supposed generally to be that of -the Athena. What this was is very dubious. It could not be the throne -of the Athena, for she had no throne, and probably was another name for -the Athena herself. Plutarch calls it “τῆς θεοῦ τὸ χρυσοῦν ἕδος,” and -Isocrates, “τὸ τῆς Ἀθηνὰς ἕδος.” - -27. Statue of Athena, at Elis, in ivory and gold. Pausanias says it is -attributed to Phidias,—“φασὶν Φείδιου,”—_they say_ it is by Phidias. -Pliny, however, says it was executed by Kolotes. - -28. Statue of Æsculapius, at Epidaurus. This is attributed to Phidias -by Athenagoras (Legat. pro Arist.); but by Pausanias to Thrasymedes of -Paros. - -29. At the entrance of the Ismenion, near Thebes, are two _marble_ -statues called Pronaoi—one of Athena, ascribed by Pausanias to Scopas, -and one of Hermes, ascribed by Pausanias to Phidias. - -30. A Zeus, at the Olympieum at Megara. The head of this statue was -made of gold and ivory, the rest of clay and gypsum. “This work _is -said_ (λέγουσι) to have been made by Theocosmos, a citizen of Megara, -with the assistance of Phidias,” says Pausanias, and it was interrupted -by the breaking out of the Peloponnesian war. Probably it was executed -solely by Theocosmos. - -31. The statue of Nemesis, at Rhamnus, _in marble_, attributed to -Phidias by Pausanias; but there can be little question that it was made -by Agoracritos. - -32. The Amazon. This statue, which is highly praised by Lucian, was, -according to Pliny, made by Phidias in competition with Polyclitus, -Ctesilaus, Cydon, and Phradmon; the first prize being given to -Polyclitus, the second to Phidias, the third to Ctesilaus, and the -fourth to Cydon. - -33, 34, 35. Three bronze statues mentioned by Pliny, the subjects not -stated, and placed by Catulus in the Temple of Fortune. - -36. The marble Venus in the portico of Octavia, which Pliny says “is -said to be by Phidias.” - -37. The Horse-Tamer, in marble, now existing, and standing before the -Quirinal in Rome. - -There are some other statues attributed to Phidias by various writers, -which may be at once rejected. Among them were the statues of Zeus and -Apollo at Patara, in Lycia, which were supposed by Clemens Alexandrinus -to have been by Phidias, but which are clearly settled to have been -by Bryaxis. So also the Kairos, or Opportunity, by Lysippus, was -attributed to Phidias by Ausonius; and the famous Venus of the Gardens -(ἐν κήποις), by Alcamenes, was said to have received its finishing -touches from him. - -It will, I think, be clear that many of the statues in the foregoing -list must also be rejected. In the last ten years of his life he -executed only two statues, each colossal—the Athena of the Parthenon, -and the Zeus at Olympia. Taking the earliest date of his artistic -career at five years before the battle of Marathon, according to the -theory of Thiersch, he would, as we have seen, have had forty-five -years only in which to execute the other thirty-five statues, besides -all the other and minute work to which, as we shall see, he gave his -genius. Several, at least, of these statues are colossal, several -elaborately wrought in ivory and gold; and it is in the highest degree -improbable that they could have been executed in this period of time. - -On examination of the list, three at least will be seen to rest purely -on tradition. The Apollo Parnopius and the Athena at Elis are mentioned -by Pausanias as being “said to be” by Phidias. The Venus of the portico -of Octavia “is said to be by Phidias,” says Pliny. Little weight can -be given to current and common opinion in respect to the authorship -of works of art executed many centuries before, about which there is -no written documentary proof. In our own time it is always exceedingly -difficult, and often impossible, to decide upon the authorship of -pictures and statues of one hundred years ago. Double that period, and -the difficulty would of course be enormously increased. Now Pausanias -wrote some six hundred years after the death of Phidias, and yet we are -ready to accept as authoritative his passing statement that a certain -statue “is said” to be by Phidias. How many statues at the present day -are said to be by Michel Angelo, which he never saw! How many spurious -Raffaelles and Titians adorn our galleries! Do we not know that every -traveler in Italy sees statues “said to be” by Michel Angelo in such -numbers that ten Michel Angelos could not have made them all? There -is scarcely a church that does not boast of something from his hand. -There is no reason to suppose that the case was not similar in Greece -fifteen hundred years ago, and none to suppose that Pausanias was -superior in artistic knowledge and acumen to any average intelligent -traveler of his day. He did not stop to investigate the grounds upon -which the popular or accidental account given him as to the authorship -of any work was founded, nor does he pretend to have done so. He took -it for what it was worth. “They say the statue is by Phidias.” He had, -besides, as far as we know, no written authority for what he said,—at -least he cites none. - -Again, in respect to the authorship of some of the statues of which -he speaks, he at times differs from other writers, and at times -unquestionably mistakes. Thus, to cite only examples in the case of -Phidias, the statue of Athena, at Elis, he attributes to Phidias, -while Pliny says it was by Kolotes. Again, the statue of Æsculapius, -at Epidaurus, he attributes to Thrasymedes of Paros, while Athenagoras -says it was the work of Phidias. In like manner, the statue of the -Mother of the Gods, which Pausanias and Arrian give to Phidias, -Pliny declares to be the work of Agoracritos. Still more, Pausanias -distinctly affirms that the Nemesis at Rhamnus was executed by Phidias; -while Pliny, on the contrary, asserts it to be the work of Agoracritos. -And in this assertion Pliny is borne out by Zenobius, who gives us the -inscription on the branch in the hand of Nemesis: ΑΓΟΡΑΚΡΙΤΟΣ ΠΑΡΙΟΣ -ΕΠΟΙΗΣΕΝ. Strabo, however, hesitates between Agoracritos and an unknown -Diodotos, and says it was remarkable for beauty and size, and might -well compete with the works of Phidias; and to confuse matters still -more, at a later time Pomponius Mela, Hesychius, and Solon agree with -Pausanias. There would seem, after weighing all authorities, to be -little doubt that the Nemesis was the work of Agoracritos. - -Nothing could more clearly show the easy way in which traditions grow -like barnacles upon artists and works of art, than the story connected -with this statue. Pliny says that Agoracritos contended with Alcamenes -in making a statue of Venus; and the preference being given to that of -Alcamenes, he was so indignant at the decision that he immediately made -certain alterations in his own statue, called it Nemesis, and sold it -to the people of Rhamnus, on condition that it should not be set up in -Athens. This is absurd enough. After a statue of Venus is finished, -what sort of change would be required to make a Nemesis of it? But -let us see how well this statue would have represented Aphrodite. -Pausanias says that “out of the marble brought by the barbarians to -Marathon for a trophy Phidias made a statue of Nemesis, and on the -head of the goddess there is a crown adorned with stags and images -of victory of no great magnitude; and in the left hand she holds the -branch of an ash-tree, and in her right a cup, on which the Æthiopians -are carved—why, I cannot assign any reason.” Now, in the first place, -the assertion that it was a work of marble brought to make a trophy at -Marathon is a myth. In the next place, these are certainly peculiar -characteristics for an Aphrodite. The statue itself was undoubtedly -a noble statue, however, and the best work of Agoracritos. As it was -not the custom for sculptors in Greece to inscribe their names on -their statues, it may have happened that it soon came to be popularly -attributed to Phidias, according to the general rule, that to the -master is ascribed the best work of his pupil and his school. Then -it was, probably, that the inscription was placed on the statue, -reclaiming it for its true author. However this may be, Photias, -Suidas, and Tzetzes, as late as from the tenth to the twelfth century, -are determined that Phidias shall have it, despite the inscription; -and accordingly they report and publish, many long centuries after—and -gifted by what second-sight into the past who can tell?—that though -it is true that the statue is supposed to have been executed by -Agoracritos, yet in fact it was made by Phidias, who generously allowed -Agoracritos to put his name on it, and pass it off as his own. - -In further illustration of this parasitic growth of legend and -tradition may be also cited in this connection the story told by -Tzetzes the Grammarian, some seventeen centuries after the death of -Phidias. According to him, Alcamenes and Phidias competed in making a -statue of Athena, to be placed in an elevated position; and when their -figures were finished and exposed to public view near the level of the -eye, the preference was decidedly given to the figure of Alcamenes; but -as soon as the figures were elevated to their destined position, the -public declared immediately in favor of that of Phidias. The object -of the writer of this story is to prove the extraordinary skill of -Phidias in optical perspective, and to show that he had calculated his -proportions with such foresight, that though the figure, when seen -near the level of the eye, appeared inharmonious, it became perfectly -harmonious when seen from far below. Now all that any artist could do -to produce this effect would be, perhaps, to give more length to his -figures in comparison with their breadth. This, however, would be not -only a doubtful expedient in itself, but entirely at variance with -the practice of Phidias. His figures, like all those of his period, -were stouter in proportion to their breadth, and particularly stouter -in the relation of the lower limbs to the torso, than the figures of -a later period. The canon of proportion accepted then was that of -Polyclitus; and the proportions were afterward varied and the lower -limbs were lengthened, first by Euphranor, and subsequently still more -by Lysippus. Any distortion or falsification of proportion would be -effective solely in a statue with one point of view, and exhibited -as a relief; for if it were a figure in the round, and seen from all -points, the perspective would be utterly false, unless the proportions -were harmonious in themselves and true to nature. Tzetzes is a great -gossip, and peculiarly untrustworthy in his statements; but his story -is of such a nature as to please the ignorant public, and it has -been accepted and repeated constantly, though he does not give any -authority for it, and plainly invented it out “of the depths of his own -consciousness,” as the German _savant_ did the camel. - -One cannot be too careful in accepting traditions about artists or -their works. The public invents its facts, and believes what it -invents. Very few of the pleasing anecdotes connected with artists -will bear critical examination, any more than the famous sayings -attributed on great occasions to extraordinary men; still the grand -phrase of Cambronne is as gravely repeated in history as if it had some -foundation in fact, and everybody believes that Da Vinci died in the -arms of Francis I. Perhaps it is scarcely worth while to break up such -pleasant traditions, and certainly the public resists such attempts. -It is so delightful to think that the gallant and accomplished King -of France supported the great Italian artist, and soothed his last -moments, that it seems sheer brutality to dissipate such an illusion; -yet, unfortunately, we know that Leonardo died at Cloux, near Amboise, -on May 2, 1679,—and from a journal kept by the king, and still -(disgracefully enough) existing in the imperial library in Paris, we -know that on that very day he held his Court at St. Germain-en-Laye; -and besides this, Lomazzo distinctly tells us that the king first heard -the news of Leonardo’s death from Melzi; while Melzi himself, who wrote -to Leonardo’s friend immediately after his death, makes no mention of -such a fact. - -But to return from this digression to a consideration of the list of -works attributed to Phidias. We have already seen that in regard to -six of the statues there are, to say the least, strong doubts as to -his authorship; but still more must be eliminated. The Zeus of the -Olympieum at Megara “is said,” according to Pausanias, “to have been -made by Theocosmos, with the assistance of Phidias.” This again is mere -tradition, which is so weak that it only pretends that Phidias assisted -Theocosmos. Phidias assisting Theocosmos has a strange sound; and it is -plain that Theocosmos is the real author of this statue, even granting -that the great master may have helped the lesser one. - -Again, Pausanias tells us that of the two marble statues called Pronaoi -at the entrance of the Ismenion, that representing Athena was made by -Scopas, and the other of Hermes was made by Phidias. These so-called -Pronaoi were statues standing at the entrance of the building, opposite -each other, a chief decorative ornament to the façade. Is it not -strange that the statue on one side should be made by Phidias, and -the opposite pedestal remain unoccupied until the time of Scopas, -nearly a century later? Is it not plain that the temple would not have -been considered finished until both statues were placed there? And -is it probable that the Greeks would have allowed it to remain thus -incomplete for a century? Besides, does it not seem singular, in view -of the fact that Phidias was peculiarly celebrated for his statues -of Athena, while Scopas was celebrated for his heroic figures and -demigods, that the Athena should have been assigned to Scopas, and -the Hermes to Phidias? When we also add the fact that these statues -were in marble,—a material in which, as we shall presently see, Phidias -certainly worked only exceptionally, if he ever worked at all, while -Scopas was a worker in marble,—it will, I think, be pretty clear that -Pausanias is mistaken in attributing this statue of Hermes to Phidias. - -Again, “The Golden Throne” must probably be considered as a name for -the Athena of the Parthenon, since there is no golden throne of which -we have any knowledge ever made by Phidias. In like manner it is most -probable that the Athena mentioned by Pliny as being in Rome near the -temple of Julian, and dedicated by Paulus Æmilius, was the Athena -Lemnia in bronze, taken from the Acropolis. These statues, which are -reckoned as four, must therefore in all probability be considered as -only two. - -There remains one other statue in the list which certainly must be -struck out—the Horse-Tamer, still existing in Rome at the present day, -under the name of “Il Colosso di Monte Cavallo.” This statue, or rather -group, stands on the Quirinal Hill, and on its pedestal are inscribed -the words “Opus Phidiæ.” It is cited by Dr. Smith in his Dictionary -as a work of Phidias, and he thinks it may be the “altrum colossicon -nudum” of which Pliny speaks. But Pliny cited this “colossicon nudum” -in his chapter on bronze works; and as this is in marble, he could not -have referred to it. Independent of all other considerations, however, -there is one simple fact that makes it almost impossible that it could -have been the work of Phidias, though curiously enough this simple fact -has apparently escaped the observation of critics. It is, that the -cuirass which supports the group is a Roman cuirass and not a Greek -cuirass, such as Phidias would necessarily have made. - -The legend about this group and its companion, attributed with equal -absurdity to Praxiteles, is curious. In “Roma Sacra, Antica e Moderna,” -which was published in Rome in the latter part of the sixteenth -century, and constantly reprinted for at least a hundred years, we are -told that these two statues were made, one by Phidias, and the other -by Praxiteles, in competition with each other,—that they represent -Alexander taming Bucephalus, and were brought to Rome by Tiridates, -King of Armenia, as a present to Nero,—and that they were afterwards -restored and placed in the Thermæ of Constantine, from which place -they were transported to the Quirinal, and again restored and set up -by Sixtus V., with inscriptions, stating, that they were brought by -Constantine from Greece. - -The inscriptions were as follows: under the horse of the statue -professing to be by Phidias, was inscribed: “Phidias, nobilis sculptor, -ad artificii præstantiam declarandam Alexandri Bucephaalum domantis -effigiem e marmore expressit.” On the base was inscribed: “Signa -Alexandri Magni celebrisque ejus Bucephal ex antiquitatis testimonio -Phidiæ et Praxitelis emulatione hoc marmore ad vivam effigiem expressa -a Fl. Constantino Max. e Græcia advecta suisque in Thermis in hoc -Quirinali monte collocata, temporis vi deformata, laceraque ad ejusdem -Imperatoris memoriam urbisque decorem, in pristinam formam restituta -hic reponi jussit anno MDXXXIX Pont. IV.” Under the horse of Praxiteles -was inscribed: “Praxiteles sculptor ad Phidiæ emulationem sui monumenta -ingenii relinquere cupiens ejusdem Alexandri Bucephalique signa felici -contentione perficit.” - -Here are a charming series of assumptions, so completely in defiance of -history that one cannot help smiling; and were not the fact accredited, -it would be difficult to believe that these inscriptions could have -been placed under these statues. Phidias died probably in B. C. 432, -Praxiteles flourished about B. C. 364, nearly a century later, and -Alexander was not born till B. C. 356. Here we have Phidias making a -group of Alexander and Bucephalus, and representing an incident which -occurred a century after his death, and in competition with Praxiteles. -Absurdity and ignorance can scarcely go further; and, as we learn -from “Roma Sacra,” it afterwards occasioned such ridicule that Urban -VIII. removed the inscriptions, and substituted the simple words, -“Opus Phidiæ” and “Opus Praxitelis” under the respective statues, -still adhering to the legend that the two groups were the work of -these great artists. The fact is that they are Roman works, and were -neither brought by Tiridates from Armenia to present to Nero, nor by -Constantine from Greece. - -Of the statues attributed to Phidias we may then strike out eleven as -resting, on the face of the facts, upon no sufficient authority. We -still shall have the large number of twenty-six important statues, many -of them colossal, which are far more than sufficient to have occupied -his life, even when reckoned at its longest probable term. To this -number it would be impossible to add the marble statues contained in -the Parthenon. - -Michel Angelo lived to a great age. He was throughout his life a -very hard worker, devoting all his time to art. It is true that -he was devoted to architecture and fresco-painting, as well as to -sculpture, and that to these arts he gave much time; but still he was -by profession specially a sculptor, and a large portion of his life -was given to sculpture. He was, besides, impetuous and even violent -in his marble work; and not content with the labor of the day, gave -to it a portion of his nights, working with a candle fixed in his -cap—unless, indeed, this also be a legend, into which it is better -not to inquire too anxiously. Still, in the course of his long life -he executed very few statues: of the really accredited statues of any -size, the number, I think, does not exceed fifteen—and some of these -are merely roughed out and left unfinished. The explanation of this is -undoubtedly that casting in plaster having been then just invented, and -being very imperfect in its development, he was accustomed at once to -rough out his large statues from small sketches in terra cotta, after -the probable practice of the ancients. This obliged him personally -to do with his own hand much of the hard work which now, with the -increased facilities of the art and the perfecting of plaster-casting, -can safely be left to an ordinary workman; at all events, there are -no full-sized models existing of his great works. If, then, Michel -Angelo, with twenty years more of life, and with all his energy, could -produce only some fifteen statues of heroic size,—and these, many of -them, unfinished,—it will not seem necessary to suppose that Phidias -must have executed double that number, particularly when we remember -the colossal size of many of them (from forty to sixty feet in height), -the extreme elaboration and fineness of the workmanship, and the -difficulties growing out of the materials in which they were executed. - -We have already seen, by the testimony of Themistius, that Phidias -was by no means rapid in his workmanship, but, on the contrary, slow -and elaborate in his finish—just the opposite in these respects from -Michel Angelo. This testimony of Themistius is borne out by all the -ancient writers who speak of him. His style was a singular combination -of the grand and colossal in design with the most minute and careful -finish of all details. He had a peculiar grace and refinement in -his art (χάρις τῆς τέχνης), says Dion Chrysostomus, who in another -passage distinguishes him from all his predecessors by the delicate -precision of his work (κατὰ τὴν ἀκρίβειαν τῆς ποιήσεως); τὸ ἀκριβές -is also attributed to him by Demetrius, in his treatise on Elocution; -and Dionysius of Halicarnassus celebrates his art as uniting these -qualities of _finesse_ of workmanship with grandeur of design (τὸ -σεμνὸν καὶ μεγαλότεχνον καὶ ἀξιωματικόν). The minute and almost -excessive elaboration of his great works, as they are described by -ancient authors, perfectly supports this judgment. Take, for instance, -the Zeus at Olympia, or the Athena of the Parthenon—his two greatest -statues in ivory and gold. Not content with carefully finishing the -main figures, he chased and ornamented them, as well as all the -accessories in every part, with the minute elaboration of a goldsmith. -The surface of the mantle of Zeus was wrought over with living figures -and flowers. Gold and gems were inserted. Cedar, ebony, and ivory were -inlaid and overlaid, and the whole was exquisitely painted. Each leg of -the throne on which Zeus sat was supported by four Victories dancing, -and two men were in front. The two front legs were surmounted by groups -representing a Theban youth seized by a sphinx, and beneath each of -these groups were Phœbus and Artemis shooting at the children of Niobe; -and still further on the legs were represented the battle of the -Amazons and the comrades of Achelous. Over the back of the throne were -three Graces on one side, and three Hours on the other. Four golden -lions supported the footstool, and along its border was worked in -relief or intaglio the battle of Theseus with the Amazons. The sides of -the throne were ornamented with numerous figures representing various -groups and actions—such as Helios mounting his chariot, Zeus and -Charis, Zeus and Hera, Aphrodite and Eros, Phœbus and Artemis, Poseidon -and Amphitrite, Athena and Heracles, and others. What wonderful -elaboration expended on a mere accessory of this Colossus! - -Scarcely less remarkable for its extreme ornamentation was the Athena -of the Parthenon. The goddess was represented standing, dressed in a -long tunic reaching to her feet, with the ægis on her breast, a helmet -on her head, a spear in her left hand, touching a shield which rested -at her side upon the base, and holding in her right hand a golden -Victory, six feet in height. Her own height was twenty-six cubits, or -about forty feet. Her robes were of gold beaten out with the hammer; -her eyes were of colored marble or ivory, with gems inserted. Every -portion was minutely covered with work. The crest of the helmet was a -sphinx, on either side of which were griffins. The ægis was surrounded -by golden serpents interlaced, and in its centre was a golden or ivory -head of Medusa. The shield was embossed with reliefs, representing on -the inner side the battle of the Giants with the Gods, and on the outer -side the battle of the Athenians with the Amazons. Beneath the spear -was couched a dragon; and even the sandals, which were four dactyls -high, were ornamented with chasings representing the battle of the -Centaurs with the Lapithæ. The base, which alone occupied months of -labor, was covered by reliefs representing the birth of Pandora, and -the visit of the divinities to her with their gifts—the figures being -some twenty in number. The interior or core of the statue was probably -of wood, and over this all the nude parts were veneered with plates of -ivory to imitate flesh, while the draperies and accessories were of -gold plates so arranged as to be removable at pleasure. - -Here is certainly work enough to employ any man a very long time in -designing and executing. The Victory which Athena held in her hand was -of large life-size, and might easily have occupied a year. Besides -this, there are the embossed _bassi-relievi_ on both sides of the -shield, the ægis, with the Medusa’s head and golden serpents, the -dragon at her feet, the sphinx and griffins on her helmet, and the -_relievi_ and chasings which ornamented the base and the sandals. Yet -these are merely accessories. What, then, must have been the time -devoted to the figure itself, to the disposition and working out of -those colossal draperies, and to the perfect elaboration of the head, -the arms, and the extremities! - -The tendency of Phidias’ mind to great elaboration and refinement of -finish is shown in both of these works. Colossal as they were, august -and grand in their total expression, the parts were quite as remarkable -for laborious detail as the whole was for grandeur and impressiveness. -He is generally considered and spoken of now solely in relation to -these great works; but it must be remembered that with the ancients -he was also renowned for his minute works. Julian, in his Epistles, -tells us that he was accustomed to amuse himself with making very small -images, representing for example bees, flies, cicadæ, and fishes, which -were executed with infinite delicacy, and greatly admired. His skill in -the toreutic art was also very remarkable; and as a chaser, engraver, -and embosser, he was among the first, if not the first, of his time. -He might be called, in a certain sense, the Cellini of Athens—vastly -superior to the celebrated Florentine in grandeur of conception, but -uniting, like him, the work of the goldsmith to that of the sculptor, -and, like him, distinguished for refinement and fastidiousness of -execution. - -To this character and style there is nothing that responds in the -fragments of the Parthenon which we now possess. The style of the -figures in the pediment is broad, large, and effective, but it is -decorative in its character. The parts are classed and distributed -with skill, but they are often forced, in order to produce effect at a -distance and in the place where they were to be seen. They show the -practiced hands of men who have been trained in a grand school, but -they cannot be said to be finished with elaborate attention to details -or minute study of parts. Whatever characteristics of his style they -may have, they certainly want τò ἀκριβές, which was the distinguishing -feature of the work of Phidias. - -The same remarks apply to the metopes and the frieze. It is evident -that all these works are of the same period; but in style, design, and -execution they differ from each other, as the works of various men in -the same school might be expected to differ. In grouping, composition, -treatment, and character of workmanship, the metopes are of quite -another class from the Panathenaic Procession of the frieze. Compared -with each other, the metopes are rounder and feebler in form, tamer -and more labored in treatment, and they want not only the spirit and -freedom of design of the figures in the frieze, but also their flat, -decisive, and squared execution. The frieze is very rich, varied, and -light in composition, while the metopes are comparatively monotonous -and heavy. Nor do the metopes differ more from the frieze than the -figures in the pediment do from both the frieze and the metopes. While -in execution the pediment sculpture is more flat and squared in style -than the metopes, it differs from the frieze in the treatment of the -draperies and in the proportions and character of the figures. As a -design, the figures on the pediment are disconnected, while those of -the frieze are interwoven with remarkable skill. Again, not only do -these three classes, as classes, differ from each other, but in each -class there are very decided inequalities and diversities of style and -workmanship between one part and another,—showing plainly that they -have been executed by various hands, some of more and some of less -skill. But the treatment of all is purely decorative, as it properly -should be. All of these sculptures were subordinated to the temple -which they decorated, and they were executed, not for near and minute -examination, but to produce a calculated effect in the position they -were to occupy. Fineness of workmanship, delicacy and refinement of -detail, would have been out of place and unnecessary, and evidently -were not attempted. This, however, was not the style of Phidias, who, -as we have seen, even in the colossal statues of Zeus and Athena, -elaborated to the utmost, with almost excessive labor, not only the -figures themselves, but also the least of the accessories. It was in -his nature to do this. He wished to leave the impress of all his arts -upon these splendid works; and he wrought upon them, not only as a -sculptor in the large sense of the word, but as a goldsmith, as an -engraver, a damascener, an embosser. Nothing was too rich, nothing too -large, nothing too small for him. He enjoyed it all—the minute detail -as well as the colossal mass. It was this peculiarity of his nature -that led him to select, and almost to create, the chryselephantine -school of art. He had been a painter in his youth, and his eye craved -color. The coldness of marble did not satisfy him and he rejected it, -not only for this reason, but because as a material it did not lend -itself to the art of the engraver and the goldsmith. Before his time -the colossi had been of bronze or wood. He introduced and perfected the -art of making them in ivory and gold; and it was as a maker of statues -of divinities in these materials and in bronze that he attained the -highest renown. - -But abandoning the ground that these marble sculptures of the -Parthenon were _executed_ by Phidias, let us consider whether they -were _designed_ by him. Of this there is not a vestige of evidence. -It is not only not stated as a fact by any ancient writer, but not -even intimated in the most shadowy way, unless it be deduced from the -fact stated by Plutarch, that he was general superintendent of public -works, and that he had various classes of workmen under his orders. -What is meant by designing these works? Is it meant that he modeled -the designs? If this were the case, is it probable that no mention -would be made of it by any author? We are told of other cases in which -works were executed from his designs, and from the designs of other -artists. We are informed that the figures in the tympana of the temple -at Olympia were executed by Alcamenes and Pæonios; but nothing is said -about those figures in the Parthenon. Is there any necessity to suppose -these works to have been designed by Phidias? Surely not. There were -in Athens many other artists of great distinction who were fully able -to design and execute them, and among them were men but little inferior -to Phidias himself, who would not readily have accepted his designs, -and who, by profession, were sculptors in marble—not, like Phidias, -sculptors in bronze, or ivory and gold. - -Among those men by whom Phidias was surrounded, and who were in -these various branches of art his rivals or his peers, may be named -Agoracritos, Alcamenes, Myron, Pæonios, Kolotes, Socrates, Praxias, -Androsthenes, Polyclitus, and Kalamis,—all sculptors in marble. -Besides these there were Hegias, Nestocles, Pythagoras, Kallimachus, -Kallon, Phradmon, Gorgias, Lacon, Kleoitas, and others of less note, -who were more specially toreutic artists and sculptors in bronze. -Here is a wonderful constellation of genius, and in it are many stars -of the first magnitude. Some of these men were peers of Phidias in -chryselephantine art. Some contended with him and won the prize over -him. Let us take a glance at some of the most eminent. - -Polyclitus studied under the great Argive sculptor Ageledas, and was -a fellow-scholar with Phidias and Myron. He was the rival of Phidias -in his chryselephantine works, and but little if at all inferior to -him in his best works. He created the type of Hera, as Phidias did -that of Athena; and his colossal statue of that goddess in ivory and -gold at Argos was admitted to be unsurpassed even by the Athena of the -Parthenon. Strabo asserts that though inferior in size and nobleness to -the Athena and Zeus of Phidias, it equaled them in beauty, and in its -artistic execution excelled them (τῇ μὲν τέχνῃ κάλλιστα τῶν πάντων). -Dionysius of Halicarnassus accords to him, as to Phidias, τὸ σεμνὸν -καὶ μεγαλότεχνον καὶ ἀξιωματικόν—the character of grandeur, dignity, -and harmony of parts. Xenophon places him beside Homer, Sophocles, and -Zeuxis as an artist. Among his bronze works, the most celebrated were -the Diadumenos and the Doryphoros, the latter of which was called the -Canon, on account of its beauty and perfection of proportion. If to -Phidias was accorded the highest praise as the sculptor of divinities, -Polyclitus was considered his superior in his statues of men. - -Nor was it only as a sculptor in bronze, gold, and ivory, that he was -distinguished. He was celebrated also for his marble statues, among -which may be mentioned the Apollo, Leto, and Artemis in the Temple -of Artemis, and the Orthia in Argolis; as well as for his skill in -the toreutic art. In this last art he excelled all others; and Pliny -says of him that he developed and perfected it as Phidias had begun -it—“toreuticen sic erudisse ut Phidias aperuisse.” - -Myron, his fellow-scholar, had scarcely a less reputation, though in a -different way. He devoted himself to the representation of athletes, -among which the most celebrated was the Discobolos; of animals, -of which his Cow was the most famous; and of groups of satyrs, and -sea-monsters, and mythical creatures. He excelled in the representation -of life, action, and expression; and such was his skill, that Petronius -says of him that he almost expressed the souls of men and animals in -his bronzes. - -Agoracritos and Alcamenes had a still higher distinction than Myron. -The famous Aphrodite of the Gardens (ἐν κήποις), a marble statue by -Alcamenes, enjoyed a reputation among the ancients scarcely if at -all below that of the Aphrodite of Praxiteles. Pliny, writing five -hundred years after, says that Phidias “_is said_ to have given the -finishing touches to this statue.” But this is one of those common and -absurd traditions that attach to the work of almost every great artist -long after his death, and it may be dismissed at once. Lucian gives -the statue directly and solely to Alcamenes—and to him undoubtedly -it belongs. He had no need of the help of Phidias, being himself a -much more accomplished worker in marble, even should we grant that -Phidias ever worked at all in this material. Indeed, it was specially -as a sculptor in marble that he was distinguished; and among other -works which he executed in this material were the colossal statues of -Hercules and Minerva, a group of Procne and Itys, and the statue of -Æsculapius. But what is the more significant in this connection is the -fact, stated by Pausanias, that it was he who executed the statues -representing the Centaurs and Lapithæ at the marriage of Pirithous, -which adorned the back tympanum of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia, where -the great Zeus of Phidias stood. Pausanias speaks of him as an artist -“who lived in the age of Phidias, and was the next to him in the art of -making statues.” - -Agoracritos is called by Pausanias “the pupil and beloved friend of -Phidias,” and it is most probable that he worked with him on the Athena -and the Zeus. His most famous statue was the Nemesis at Rhamnus, which, -as we have seen, is attributed to Phidias by Pausanias, but which -clearly belongs to Agoracritos. The statue of the Mother of the Gods, -which Arrian and Pausanias give to Phidias, was also made by him, -according to Pliny. - -Kolotes, who was also a pupil and assistant of Phidias at one time, -was a sculptor in marble as well as a celebrated artist in ivory and -gold. Among other works, he probably made a statue in gold and ivory of -Athena at Elis, which Pausanias attributes to Phidias, but which Pliny -asserts to be by Kolotes. There is no dispute that he made the statue -of Asclepius in gold and ivory, which is much praised by Strabo; and -he is said by Pliny to have assisted Phidias in the Zeus, and to have -executed the interior of the shield of the Athena at Elis, which was -painted by Panæus. - -Pæonios, a Thracian by birth, was a celebrated sculptor in marble as -well as bronze; and, among other things, he executed the figures in -the front tympanum of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia. In character and -composition these figures resemble those of the Parthenon, and they are -executed in the same spirit. A fragment from the Temple of Zeus may be -seen in the Louvre, standing beside a fragment of one of the metopes of -the Parthenon. The fragment from the Temple of Zeus represents Heracles -with the Bull. It is fuller and larger in style than the fragment -from the Parthenon, which, seen beside it, looks stiff and meagre in -character, and the body of the Centaur in the one is decidedly inferior -to the body of the Bull in the other. This is probably a portion of the -work of Pæonios. - -Praxias and Androsthenes, too, worked in marble in the same style, -and the figures in the tympana of the Delphic temple were executed by -them. The metopes also, of which five are alluded to in the Chorus of -Euripides, were probably their work. - -Theocosmos, too, a contemporary of Phidias, worked with him, according -to Pausanias, on the Zeus at Megara, which was afterwards left -unfinished, on account of the Peloponnesian war: only the head was of -ivory and gold, the rest of the body being of plastic clay and wood. - -But perhaps the most distinguished of all was Kalamis, who, though -probably a little younger than Phidias, was certainly a contemporary. -Among other works, he executed in bronze an Apollo Alexicacos; a -chariot in honor of Hiero’s Victory at Olympia; a marble Apollo in the -Servilian Gardens in Rome; another bronze Apollo thirty cubits high, -which Lucullus carried to Rome from Apollonia; a beardless Asclepius in -gold and ivory; a Nike; Zeus Ammon; Dionysos; Aphrodite; Alcmena; and -the famous Sosandra, so praised by Lucian. But what in this connection -is peculiarly to be noticed is, that, besides being renowned for -his statues of gods and mortals, he was celebrated for his skill in -the representation of animals; and the excellence of his horses is -specially spoken of by Ovid, Cicero, Pausanias, Propertius, and Pliny. -It would therefore, in this view, seem much more probable that he may -have designed the Panathenaic frieze than that it was designed by -Phidias, who, as far as we know, had no particular talent for horses -or animals. There is no indication, however, that either of them had -anything to do with it. - -It is useless to proceed further in this direction. Here were men, -specially marble workers, who were amply able to execute all the marble -figures of the Parthenon, without recourse to Phidias; and as there -is no indication that he ever anywhere executed similar works for any -temple, while at least Alcamenes and Pæonios are known to have made the -works corresponding to these in the Temple of Zeus, there would seem to -be far more reason to attribute these figures to them than to Phidias, -who, at the time when they were made, was too much occupied with his -other work to have been able to execute them himself. - -In the absence, then, of all clear indications as to the artist who -made the marble sculptures of the Parthenon, it would seem more -probable that they were executed by various hands, and in like -manner as those of the Erechtheum, built in the 93d Olympiad, about -twenty-eight years after the building of the Parthenon. Fortunately, -from the discovery of certain fragments on which the accounts of the -building of the Erechtheum were inscribed at the time, we are enabled -to say how these reliefs were made. Portions were set off to different -artists, each of whom executed his part, as described in these -fragments. The names of the artists were Agathenor, Iasos, Phyromachos, -Praxias, and Loclos. The inscription begins thus—I give only a fragment -of it—Τὸν παῖδα τὸν τὸ δόρυ ἔχοντα [Δ Δ. Φυρόμαχος Κηφισιεὺς τὸν -νεανίσκον τὸν παρὰ τὸν θώρακα ΓΔ. Πραχσίας ἐμ Μελίτῃ οἱκῶν τὸν ἵππον -καὶ τὸν ὀπισθοφανῆ τὸν παρακρούοντα ΗΔΔ]; and so on. The sign ΓΔ occurs -four times in the inscription. Three times the work is by Phyromachos, -and belongs apparently to the same group.[5] - -Here we have names of artists who are unknown to us, unless the -Phyromachos named here is the same who, according to Pliny, made -Alcibiades in a chariot with four horses. And as for Praxias, he -cannot be the well-known Praxias, since he in all probability died -before the 92d Olympiad. If, then, these sculptures were intrusted to -artists whose very names have not come down to us, is it not probable -that the decorative sculptures of the Parthenon would have been -confided to artists of the same class? In such case it would seem most -natural that no mention would be made of them, more than of the artists -who worked on the Erechtheum, since they were persons of no peculiar -note and fame; while in the Temple of Zeus, inasmuch as artists of -distinction worked, their names are given. Why tell us that Alcamenes -and Pæonios made the groups in the tympana at Olympia, and omit to say -anything about similar works in the Parthenon, if they were executed by -Phidias or any other artist of great distinction? - -Here, too, we see that different portions of the same work were -assigned to different artists, each working out his subjects -separately, though all working in agreement, to develop a certain story -or series of stories. Such a practice would account for all sorts of -varieties of design and execution, and would explain the differences -to be observed between the various portions of the sculptures of the -Parthenon. - -A careful examination of the frieze alone shows that it must have been -executed by various artists, so distinct are the different parts as -well in execution as in design. - -The notion commonly entertained, that Phidias was considered in his -age to be vastly superior to all contemporary sculptors, will scarcely -bear examination. He undoubtedly surpassed them all in his colossal -chryselephantine statues of divinities; though even in this branch -of art there was a difference of opinion, and one other artist at -least, Polyclitus, was held, in his statue of Hera, to have stood -abreast of him. Strabo declares that it excelled in beauty all the -works of Phidias. But in other branches of the art the superiority of -Phidias was not admitted; and he was, if report be true, repeatedly -adjudged a second place in his competitions with his rivals. Alcamenes, -Polyclitus, Kalamis, and Ctesilaus were his superiors in their marble -statues and representations of mortals, and we hear of no work of his -in marble to compete with theirs. Lucian, for instance, in his Dialogue -on Statues, praises equally the Venus of Praxiteles, the Sosandra of -Kalamis, the Aphrodite of the Gardens by Alcamenes, and the Athena -Lemnia and Amazon of Phidias; and out of the special beauties of each -he reconstructs an ideal image of the most beautiful woman. From the -Cnidian Aphrodite of Praxiteles he takes the head, having no need of -the rest of the body (he says), as the figure is not to be nude; and -from this head he selects the outlines of the hair, or rather the -outline of the forehead where it joins the hair, the forehead, the -delicately penciled eyebrows, and the liquid and radiant charm of the -eyes. From the Aphrodite of Alcamenes he takes the cheeks and the -lower part of the face, and especially the base of the hands, the -beautifully proportioned wrists, and the flexile taper fingers. From -Phidias he takes the total contour of the face, the softness of the -jaw, and the symmetrical nose of the Athena, and the lips and the -neck of the Amazon. From the Sosandra of Kalamis he takes her modest -grace and her delicate subtle smile, her chastely arranged dress and -her easy bearing. Her age and stature, he says, shall be that of the -Cnidian Aphrodite, for this is most beautiful in Praxiteles. For her -other qualities he draws upon the painters. This opinion of Lucian -is particularly interesting and valuable, from the fact that he had -studied and practiced the art of sculpture under his uncle, who was a -sculptor, and his judgment is therefore of far more value than that of -an ordinary connoisseur. - -Pliny also relates a story which has a bearing in this connection, of a -competition between various celebrated artists, who were contemporaries -at this period. The subject was an Amazon. The artists themselves were -to be the judges; and it was agreed that the statue should be held to -be best which each artist ranked second to his own. The result was that -the first prize was adjudged to Polyclitus, the second to Phidias, the -third to Ctesilaus, the fourth to Cydon, and the fifth to Phradmon. We -may reject the story as a fact, but its very existence proves that the -fame of Phidias, great as it was, did not so entirely eclipse that of -other artists of his time as we generally suppose. Who of us now would -think that Phradmon and Cydon, for example, stood on a level to contend -with him, with any chance of other than a disastrous defeat? But it is -plain that the ancients did not think so, or this story would not have -been invented. - -We now come to the question whether Phidias ever worked at all in -marble. His renown undoubtedly rested upon his magnificent statues -in ivory and gold, and especially upon his Zeus and Athena of the -Parthenon, which towered above all his other works. So wonderful was -the Zeus, that it was said to have strengthened religion in Greece; and -the Athena of the Parthenon was held to be the glory of Athens. The -poets and writers celebrate Phidias always as specially the creator of -these great chryselephantine works; and though they praise the beauty -of his bronze works, and especially of the Athena Lemnia, it is plain -that these held a secondary place in public estimation, or at all -events did not stand alone and apart as the others did. Thus Propertius -says, characterizing the sculptors:— - - “Phidiacus signo se Juppiter ornat eburno; - Praxitelem propria vindicat arte Lapis; - Gloria Lysippi est animosa effingere signa; - Exactis Calamis se mihi jactat equis.” - -So Quinctilian says of him: “Phidias tamen diis quam hominibus -efficiendis melior artifex traditur—in ebore vero longe citra -æmulum, vel si nihil nisi Minervam Athenis aut Olympium in Elide -Jovem fecisset” (lib. xii. ch. 10). But no writer anywhere near this -period—even within five centuries of it—ever mentions a marble figure -by Phidias, or celebrates him in any way as a sculptor in this material. - -In the evidence given before a committee of the House of Commons -upon the Elgin collection of marbles, previous to the purchase of -them by the nation, Richard Payne Knight and William Wilkins gave -it as their opinion that these works were not by Phidias, and that -he was not a worker in marble. This statement has been rejected by -the author of the work on the Elgin and Phigaleian Marbles, in the -Library of Entertaining Knowledge, as entirely without foundation. -In this conclusion it must be admitted that he follows the opinion -generally entertained at the present day, and repeated by nearly every -modern writer. Visconti, to whom he refers as refuting satisfactorily -the notion of Knight and Wilkins, thus argues the question: “If it -were imagined that Phidias devoted himself to the toreutic art, and -that he employed in his works only ivory and metals, this opinion -would be confuted by Aristotle, who distinguishes this great artist -by the appellation of σοφὸς λιθουργός—a skillful sculptor in -marble—in opposition to Polyclitus, whom he styles simply a statuary, -ἀνδριαντοποιός, since the latter scarcely ever employed his talents -except in bronze. In fact, several marble statues of Phidias were -known to Pliny, who might even have seen some of them at Rome, since -they had been removed to this city; and the most famous work of -Alcamenes, the Venus of the Gardens, had only, as it was said, acquired -so high a degree of perfection because Phidias, his master, had himself -taken pleasure in finishing with his own hand his beautiful statue in -marble.” - -An examination into these statements will show, not only that not one -of them is well founded, but that the authorities on which they profess -to stand will not at all sustain them. Visconti’s mind is in a nebulous -state as to the whole question, and he confounds things which have no -relation to each other. The first mistake he makes is in confusing the -toreutic art with the art of making statues in ivory and gold. I am -aware that M. Quatremere de Quincy, in his treatise on chryselephantine -statues, constantly uses these two terms as equivalent; but in so -doing he is admitted by all persons who have critically studied the -matter to be entirely incorrect. The toreutic art was the art of -the engraver, the chaser, the damascener, the embosser. It might be -employed, and undoubtedly was employed, by Phidias in decorating -part of his statue, as it might be applied to a bronze statue, or to -any metal surface or slab; but it was not the art of making statues -in any material. Visconti’s next proposition is, that by the term -σοφὸς λιθουργός Aristotle meant to indicate a worker in marble as -distinguished from an ἀνδριαντοποιός, who was a statuary in bronze, -and to show that Phidias worked in marble, while Polyclitus worked only -or chiefly in bronze. Neither of these statements can be supported; and -it is impossible that Aristotle could have meant to make them. In the -first place, λιθουργός does not mean a worker in marble; λιθουργική -and λιθοτριβική were specially the art of cutting and polishing gems -and precious stones; and a λιθουργός was a lapidary in relief or -intaglio,[6] not a sculptor of marble statues. Again, ἀνδριαντοποιός -does not mean a sculptor in bronze as distinguished from a sculptor in -marble, but merely a maker of statues, of athletes or heroes, in any -material, whether in wood, bronze, marble, gold, or ivory. - -Now, when we remember that Phidias was celebrated not only for his -colossal works, but also for his skill as an engraver, embosser, and -damascener—in a word, for his skill in the toreutic art, which Pliny -tells us was developed by him and perfected by Polyclitus, as well as -for his minutely elaborated representations of flies, cicadæ, fishes, -and bees—the meaning of Aristotle in applying to him the title of -λιθουργός is clear. He was a λιθουργός in the exact meaning of that -term, and a very skillful one. Aristotle is equally correct in applying -the term ἀνδριαντοποιός, maker of athletes and heroes, to Polyclitus; -for that great artist had won the highest fame of his age for statues -of this kind, and established the laws of proportion in his Diadumenos -and Doryphoros. If, however, as Visconti imagines, Aristotle meant to -indicate that Phidias was a worker in marble, while Polyclitus was -not, he is clearly wrong; for we know that Polyclitus executed various -and celebrated statues in marble, whereas, as we shall see, we have no -clear proof that Phidias ever did. Still further, if Aristotle intended -to distinguish Phidias from Polyclitus by saying that the one was a -skillful λιθουργός, and the other was not, he is again quite wrong, -whether he meant by that term to indicate a toreutic artist or, as -Visconti thinks, a marble worker; for Polyclitus was even more skilled -than Phidias in both these arts. Again, if he meant to distinguish -the one artist from the other as a maker of ἀγάλματα, or statues of -divinities, he is wrong; for the chryselephantine Hera of Polyclitus -rivaled the Athena of Phidias. The plain fact is that Aristotle did not -mean to distinguish one of these great artists from the other in any -such way. He is perfectly right in the terms he applies to each; but he -did not say, nor could he have intended to say, that one was a σοφὸς -λιθουργός or an ἀνδριαντοποιός, and the other was not—since, as we -know, both of them were λιθουργοί and ἀνδριαντοποιοί, and he must have -known it. - -Stress has also been laid by some writers on the fact that Phidias -is called a γλυφεύς by Dionysius of Halicarnassus, and that Tzetzes -speaks of him as ἀνδριάντας χαλκουργῶν καὶ γλύφων τε καὶ ξέων, and -that Hesychius uses the phrase Φειδίαι λιθοξόοι. These phrases, even -were they inconsistent with the view here taken, would be of very -little consequence if standing by themselves, as the earliest of these -writers flourished some six hundred years, and the latest some nine -hundred years, after Phidias; but taken in connection with the words -of Aristotle, they may perhaps have some little weight. What is a -γλυφεύς, then? Why, simply an engraver and a chiseler. And what does -Tzetzes mean by ἀνδριάντας χαλκουργῶν καὶ γλύφων τε καὶ ξέων? Why, -that Phidias made statues of heroes and athletes in brass, and that -he was a chiseler and engraver. The words γλυφή and γλαφή in Greek, -and _scalptura_ and _sculptura_ in Latin, though originally they -signified generically cutting figures out of every solid material, were -afterwards specifically applied to intagli and camei, and are the art -of the cœlator, or τορευτής, or more properly, perhaps, restricted to -the cutting and engraving of precious stones. - -The next statement of Visconti is that several marble statues by -Phidias were known to Pliny, and that the Aphrodite of Alcamenes -acquired its perfection because Phidias himself finished it. As to -the latter branch of this statement nothing more need be said. It is -evidently one of those idle traditions which are not worth considering. -But let us see what Pliny actually says. In his account of Phidias he -does not even pretend to state, as an accredited fact, that Phidias -ever worked in marble. In the chapter devoted to sculptors in marble he -says, “_It is said_, that _even_ Phidias worked in marble” (et ipsum -Phidiam _tradunt_ scalpsisse marmora) “and that there is a Venus by -him at Rome, in the buildings of Octavia, of extraordinary beauty; but -_what is certain is_” (quod certum est) “that he was the master of -Alcamenes, many of whose works are on the sacred temples, and whose -celebrated Venus, called ἐν κήποις, is outside the walls. Phidias _is -said_” (dicitur) “to have put the finishing touches to this.” Pliny, -therefore, by no means asserts that Phidias ever executed anything -in marble; he merely says that there is a rumor or tradition to that -effect; but he absolutely states as an established fact that Alcamenes -was his pupil, and executed the beautiful statue of Aphrodite; and he -then goes on to say, as another tradition, that Phidias assisted him in -finishing it. Here he clearly distinguishes between fact and tradition, -and his language shows that he placed no reliance on the latter. He -does not even pretend to have seen the statue of Venus, supposed to be -by Phidias, in the buildings of Octavia; and it is evident, from the -turn of his sentence, that, gossiping and credulous as he generally -was, he gave no credence to this rumor. - -The whole argument of Visconti thus falls to the ground with the facts -by which he attempts to support it. - -There remain for us to consider the marble statues ascribed to Phidias -by Pausanias, which are as follows: 1st, The Nemesis at Rhamnus; 2d, -The Hermes at the entrance of the Ismenium at Thebes; 3d, The Aphrodite -Urania at Athens, near the Ceramicus. - -We have already seen that the Nemesis at Rhamnus was not the work -of Phidias, but of Agoracritos; that Pausanias disagrees with other -authorities in attributing it to Phidias; and that the name of -Agoracritos was inscribed upon it as its author. This, therefore, must -be rejected. - -In the next place, as to the marble Hermes at the entrance to the -Ismenium. This statue, as we have seen, was a decorative entrance -statue standing before the temple; and its pendant, Athena, according -to Pausanias, was the work of Scopas, who died a century later. The one -pedestal could scarcely be left unoccupied for a century, yet this must -have been the case if Pausanias is right; and for reasons which have -already been given, this statue is, to say the least, not without very -grave doubts. No other author speaks of it, and it rests solely on the -authority of Pausanias, who lived more than six centuries after Phidias. - -There remains, then, the Aphrodite Urania. Pausanias is the sole -authority for considering this statue the work of Phidias; and as, -being in marble, it would be the only one ascribed to him upon which -there are not either the gravest doubts as to his authorship or the -clearest indications that he was not the author, we should accept -it with caution. Can we trust Pausanias? He certainly does not agree -with other writers as to the authorship of various statues. The statue -of Athena at Elis, attributed by him to Phidias, Pliny says is by -Kolotes. The Mother of the Gods, said by him to be a work of Phidias, -is, according to Pliny, the work of Agoracritos. The Æsculapius at -Epidaurus, given by him to Thrasymedes, is given by Athenagoras to -Phidias. In respect of the Nemesis, he is clearly mistaken. Pausanias -wrote long after Pliny, when facts were still more obscured by time. -Tradition changes names; transmutes facts, and tends always to give -great names to nameless works. He was a traveler in Greece in the age -of Marcus Aurelius, when the arts, even in Rome, were in their decline; -and he only reports what he sees and hears. He does not pretend to be -a critic or a connoisseur in art. He was not one; and his accounts of -the great statues in Greece are singularly dry and meagre. He would -naturally be told who was the author of this, that, and the other -statue that he saw; and he seems to have taken common report without -a question, just as a traveler in Rome without particular knowledge -or interest in art would accept the authorship of the Colossi in the -Quirinal, and without hesitation follow the tradition and ascribe them -in his book to Phidias and Praxiteles. If he were always accurate in -these matters, or if he had ever shown any critical doubts about the -authorship of any work, a statement by him on such a subject would -be entitled to more consideration; but as it is, in view of the facts -that no other author before him has ascribed the Aphrodite Urania -to Phidias, and that if it be by him it is his only marble work of -which we have any clear testimony, little faith can be placed in the -statement by Pausanias. Add to this that no contemporary of Phidias, -and no writer anywhere near his age, has ever spoken of any marble work -of his, and I think we must reject this statue as we have rejected the -others. - -In estimating the value of any such statements as to the authorship of -statues, we must keep in mind the fact that it was not only not the -custom for the ancient Greek sculptors to inscribe their names on their -own statues, but it was not ordinarily permitted to them to do so on -any public work; and undoubtedly it was for this reason that Phidias -himself made his own likeness as well as the portrait of Pericles on -the shield of the Athena, to indicate that the work was done by him -while Pericles had the administration of affairs at Athens. In the -same way Batrachus and Saurus, two Lacedæmonian artists who built the -temples inclosed in the Portico of Octavia, being prohibited from -inscribing their names on the walls, adopted the device of sculpturing -on the spirals of the columns a lizard and a frog, which their names -signified,—thus punning in marble, to perpetuate their names as -architects of the temples. So also Myron is said to have inscribed -his name on the thigh of his Discobolos in such minute characters as -to be visible only on the closest inspection. In the case of some of -the great statues, the names of the authors were exceptionally allowed -to be inscribed after their deaths; and this was probably the case -with the Zeus of Phidias. Ordinarily no such practice was permitted. -Such being the case, the authorship of Greek statues at the time of -Pausanias would rest entirely upon tradition—and tradition is little to -be trusted. - -Besides, what adds to the difficulty is that it was the custom in later -times to put the names of ancient sculptors on works not made by them, -to give them a higher value; it is of this practice that Phædrus speaks -in one of his Fables:— - - “Æsopi nomen sicubi interposuero - Cui reddidi jampridem quidquid debui - Auctoritatis esse scito gratia; - Ut quidem artifices nostro faciunt sæculo - Qui pretium operibus majus inveniunt, novo - Si marmore adscripsere Praxitelem suo - Trito Myronem argento.” - -Of the statues which now exist, there are only some thirty on which -names are inscribed, and these are certainly for the most part, if -not entirely, apocryphal. The name of Phidias, together with that of -Ammonius, for instance, appears on a monkey in basalt in the Capitol at -Rome; that of Praxiteles on a draped figure in the Louvre; and that of -Lysippus on a marble Hercules in the Pitti Gallery at Florence—not one -of which is of the least value as a work of art. So, on the torso of -the Belvidere is the name of Apollonius; on the Farnese Hercules that -of Glycon; on the Gladiator of the Louvre that of Agasias the Ephesian, -son of Dositheos—though these names are not mentioned by any writers -of antiquity. No authority can be granted to these inscriptions, and -possibly the very fact that these names are on the statues is an -indication that they are copies; all have ἐποίει. D’Hancarville and -Dallaway make a distinction between ἐποίει and ἐποίησεν,—the former, -according to them, signifying a copy, and the latter an original work. -On the Nemesis at Rhamnus was the inscription, ΑΓΟΡΑΚΡΙΤΟΣ ΠΑΡΙΟΣ -ΕΠΟΙΗΣΕΝ; and this would seem to confirm their notion. On the Zeus of -Phidias, also, was the inscription, ΦΕΙΔΙΑΣ ΧΑΡΜΙΔΟΥ ΥΙΟΣ ΑΘΗΝΑΙΟΣ Μ’ -ΕΠΟΙΗΣΕΝ. - -I do not recall, however, a single statue which has come down to us -on which the word ἐποίησεν occurs, except an interesting and coarsely -executed relief in the British Museum, representing the deification -of Homer. Where there is any inscription it is ἐποίει; but it is an -exceedingly rare exception that any ancient statue has a name inscribed -on it. Almost all, if not all, the statues having names of the artists -are of a late date, and probably most of them as late as the time of -Hadrian. It was he who revived the art of sculpture; and during his -reign a great number of copies, more or less good, were made of the -famous statues of antiquity; but unfortunately there has not come -down to us a single accredited statue by any of the great sculptors of -antiquity. - -There are only two other authorities, so far as I am aware, who -mention or make any allusion to marble work by Phidias; these must -be considered. Seneca, nearly five hundred years after the death -of Phidias, says of him, “Not only did Phidias know how to make a -statue in ivory, but he also made them in bronze.” Thus far he speaks -absolutely; he then continues hypothetically, “If you had given him -marble, or even a viler material, he would have made the best thing -out of it that could be made.”[7] This is considered by the author of -the work on the Elgin and Phigaleian Marbles an important statement -in confirmation of Pliny. In reality it contains nothing but a simple -hypothetical expression of belief that if you had given Phidias a -piece of marble he would have made something excellent out of it. -Does any one doubt this? Seneca states as a fact only that Phidias -really _did_ work in ivory and bronze; and it is plain that he knew no -work of Phidias in marble, or he never would have expressed a purely -hypothetical opinion on such a matter. - -The other authority which has been evoked in favor of the theory that -Phidias worked in marble is that of Valerius Maximus, who states that -there existed a tradition that he desired to execute the Athena of the -Parthenon in marble, but that the Athenians would not permit him to -do so: “Iidem Phidiam _tulerunt_ quamdiu is marmore potius quam ebore -Minervam fieri debere dicebat, quod diutius nitor esset mansurus; sed -ut adjecit et vilius tacere jusserunt.” (Lib. i. c. i., Externa 7.) - -There is no authority for this tradition. It comes up five hundred -years after the death of Phidias, and is manifestly absurd. Phidias -had identified himself and his fame with his great chryselephantine -and bronze works. He knew too well his own power, and his mastery over -these arts, to wish to make the Athena in any other material than that -in which it was made. But suppose he did so advise the Athenians, his -advice was not accepted. The statue was not made of marble. Perhaps -also he proposed to them to give it to Alcamenes, Agoracritos, or -Polyclitus. What sort of value can be given to a statement like this -appearing suddenly and solely in one writer five hundred years after -the Athena was made? If we are to accept such traditions as this, we -may as well “gape and swallow” any _gobemouche_. Let us have at once a -life of Shakespeare written in Leipzig, or any other foreign country at -least as far away as that. - -This is all the testimony we have as to any work by Phidias in marble. -Has it any real weight? But grant all these statements, vague and -visionary as they are, to their fullest extent, what do they prove? -Not that Phidias was especially a marble-worker, but only that he made, -exceptionally, one or two statues in marble, and was supposed by some -writers five hundred years after his death, to have had a connection -with two more, though other testimony, and the facts and dates, clearly -show that he could not have made them, or at least throw the very -gravest doubts upon his having done so. In this way, we might assert -that Raffaelle was a sculptor, because he is supposed to have made, or -helped to make, the statue of Jonah in the Santa Maria del Popolo at -Rome. But to jump from such shaky facts to the statement and belief -that Phidias was the author, or at all events the designer, of all the -marble figures in the pediment, theme topes, and the frieze of the -Parthenon, is truly “a long cry.” Where is the ground on which such a -belief can be founded? There is not a statement or even an allusion by -any ancient writer to justify it. The testimony of Plutarch, so far -as it goes, is directly opposed to it, and all the known facts are in -contradiction of it. - -Plutarch says that Phidias was appointed general superintendent of -public works; that he made the statue of Athena in the Parthenon; and -that, through the friendship of Pericles, he had the direction of -everything, and all the artists received his orders. But he contradicts -this immediately, if he is understood to mean anything more than that -Phidias generally ordered who should be employed to do this or that -work; for he distinctly says that Ictinus and Callicrates made the -Parthenon,—and we know that Ictinus and Carpion wrote a book upon it. -If Phidias designed or executed anything else than the Athena, why does -not Plutarch say so, when he takes pains to tell us he made the Athena? -The mention of the one excludes the other. If Ictinus and Callicrates -made the building, why may they not have made all the rest of the work? -Were they not able to do it? There is no reason to doubt their ability -to design and execute all the decorative figures belonging to the -temple they built. To Ictinus was intrusted the building of the Temple -of Apollo at Phigaleia, in the sculptures of which there is shown -remarkable ability; and he also built the Temple of the Eleusinian -Ceres, and its mystic inclosure or Secos. If Ictinus and Callicrates, -or Carpion, did not execute these marbles of the Parthenon, why may -they not have intrusted them to some of the numerous artists with whom -Athens swarmed at that time? Libon the architect built the temple of -Zeus in which the Zeus of Phidias stood, and its pediment figures were -sculptured by Alcamenes and Pæonios. Is there any reason to reject such -a theory? However, as to this we are entirely in the dark; all our -suppositions are purely speculative. Nothing seems clear, except that -the figures were not made by Phidias. - -Why did not Plutarch tell us who were the sculptors of the marbles -in the Parthenon? Probably for the very simple reason that he did -not know. He wrote many centuries after Phidias was dead (about -B. C. 66), and tradition may not have brought down the names of any -who were concerned in the building of the Parthenon, save those of -the architects and of Phidias. He did not attempt to supply the -hiatus—being, to use his own words, convinced “of the difficulty of -arriving at any truth in history: since if the writers live after the -events they relate, they can but be imperfectly informed of facts; -and if they describe the persons and transactions of their own times, -they are tempted by envy and hatred, or by interest and friendship, to -vitiate and pervert the truth.” - - - - -THE ART OF CASTING IN PLASTER AMONG THE ANCIENT GREEKS AND ROMANS. - - -I. - -The question whether the art of making moulds and casts in plaster was -known to the ancient Greeks and Romans was discussed some years ago -by Mr. Charles C. Perkins, in an interesting pamphlet entitled “Du -Moulage en Plâtre chez les Anciens,”[8] in which he collected various -passages from ancient writers bearing more or less on this subject, and -endeavored by their authority to establish the fact that this process -was known and practiced at a comparatively early period in the history -of art. After a careful examination of all his citations and arguments, -as well as other authorities which he does not cite, we feel compelled -to dissent entirely from his conclusions. We do not think he has made -out his case. The question is an interesting one, however, from an -archæological point of view at least, and well deserves consideration. - -The only passage among the writings of the ancients which at first -sight would seem directly to affirm that the process of casting in -plaster from life, from clay models, or from statues in the round, in -the modern meaning of that phrase, was known to the Greeks and Romans -occurs in the “Natural History” of Pliny, and is as follows:— - - “Hominis autem imaginem gypso e facie ipsa primus omnium - expressit, ceraque in eam formam gypsi infusa emendare instituit - Lysistratus Sicyonis, frater Lysippi, de quo diximus. Hic et - similitudinem reddere instituit, ante eum quam pulcherrimum - facere studebant. Idem et de signis effigiem exprimere invenit, - crevitque res in tantum, ut nulla signa statuæve sine argilla - fierent. Quo apparet antiquiorem hanc fuisse scientiam quam - fundendi æris. Plastæ laudatissimi fuere Damophilus et Gorgasus - idemque pictores qui Cereris ædem Romæ ad Circum Maximum utroque - genere artis suæ excoluerunt.”[9] - -Mr. Perkins, following in substance other translators, thus freely -translates and develops this passage:— - - “Lysistrate de Sicyone fut le premier à prendre en plâtre des - moules de la figure humaine. Dans ces moules il coulait de la - cire, puis il corrigeait ces masques de cire d’après la nature. - De la sorte, il atteignit la ressemblance, tandis qu’avant lui on - ne s’appliquait qu’à faire de belles têtes. Lysistrate imagina - aussi de reproduire l’image des statues, procédé qui obtint - une telle vogue, que depuis lors ni figure ni statue ne fut - faite sans argile, et l’on soit en conclure que ce procédé est - antérieur à la fonte du bronze.” - -If this translation be correct, there seems to be no doubt either that -Pliny was mistaken, or that the ancients knew and practiced the modern -art of casting in plaster. - -Is, then, this translation correct? It seems to us to be an utter -misapprehension of the whole meaning of the passage. Pliny says nothing -about moulding or casting, and thus to translate and amplify the words -he does use is to assume the very facts in question. What he really -says is literally as follows:— - - “Lysistratus of Sicyon, brother of Lysippus, of whom we have - spoken, first of all expressed the image of a man in gypsum - from the whole person [that is, made full-length portraits], - and improved it with wax [or color, for, as we shall see, - _cera_ means both] spread over the form. He first began to make - likenesses, whereas before him the study was to make persons - as beautiful as possible. He also invented expressing effigies - from statues; and this practice so grew that no statues or signa - [which were full-length figures either painted, modeled, cast - in bronze, or executed in marble] were made without white clay. - From which it would seem that this science [or process] was - older than that of casting in bronze. The most famous modelers - were Damophilus and Gorgasus, who were also painters, and who - decorated the temple of Ceres at Rome with both branches of their - art.” - -The first sentence, thus literally rendered, it will be perceived, has -in many respects the same ambiguity in English as in Latin. The words -“image,” “expression,” and “form” have all a double signification, and -the question is what is their true meaning in this connection. - -If it can be shown that this passage neither describes nor proposes -to describe the process of casting in plaster, as we understand that -phrase, the keystone of the whole argument that it was known to -the ancients falls out. No other writer directly asserts that such -a knowledge or practice existed, and all allusions to this matter -contained in any ancient author are purely collateral, and have no -force in themselves. Further, some well-known facts which we shall have -occasion to bring forward later are entirely opposed to the probability -of such a knowledge and practice. - -It is upon this passage in Pliny, then, that the whole case depends. -Now, in a doubtful and obscure question like this, dependent upon the -statement of any single author, we have a right to claim three things: -first, that the statement should be clear and fairly susceptible of -only one explanation; second, that it should not be contradicted by -a subsequent statement immediately following; third, that the author -himself should be trustworthy. - -And in the first place, as to the author. The “Natural History” of -Pliny is certainly a most interesting, amusing, and in many respects -valuable book, but quite as certainly it is one of the most inaccurate -that ever was written, abounding in half-knowledge, second-hand -information, legendary statements, and rubbish of every kind. It is, -in a word, the commonplace book of an agreeable, gossiping man, of -a wide reading, who took little pains to be accurate, who reported -everything he heard with slight examination, who was exceedingly -credulous, and who accepted as truth and fact the most ridiculous -stories. All is fish that comes to his net. In his chapters relating -to artists and art he is singularly devoid of judgment or accurate -knowledge; he constantly confuses things which have no relation to -each other, often contradicts himself, and becomes at times utterly -unintelligible. Yet we are forced to turn to Pliny, to give a weight -and authority to his words upon art, and to own a deep debt of -gratitude to him, not because he is trustworthy, but simply because he -alone of all the ancient authors, with the exception of Pausanias, has -given us a detailed account of the statues and artists of antiquity. -His account of the ancient artists and their works is the fullest we -have, and adrift as we often are on a wide sea of conjecture, we are -glad to seize upon any straws and fragments, “rari nantes in gurgite -vasto” of blankness and doubt; seizing here a bit from Pausanias, -Herodotus, or Lucian, there a waif from Cicero, or a floating fragment -from one of the great tragic poets, and glad enough to get upon any -such raft as that which Pliny gives us, however leaky and rickety. But -seaworthy or trustworthy in emergencies Pliny certainly is not. - -In the next place, as to the passage under discussion. So far from -its being clear and distinct, its obscurity, confusion, and apparent -contradiction are so great as to have baffled every effort to explain -it satisfactorily; and Dr. Brunn, one of the most accomplished of -archæologists, in his history of Greek art, finding it impossible to -reconcile the different sentences, does not hesitate to treat a portion -as an interpolation, or at least out of place where it appears. - -Two views are to be taken of the process described by Pliny: first, -that by the term “cera” he means wax; and second, that he means color. -Taking the first view, let us now consider the passage in question, -sentence by sentence, and endeavor to unravel its real meaning. -Lysistratus, first of all, made likenesses of men in gypsum from their -whole figure (that is, whole-length portraits), and improved them -with wax (or color) spread over the form (core or model) of gypsum. -“Imaginem gypso e facie ipsa expressit” are the words of Pliny which -Mr. Perkins in common with other translators supposes to mean “made -moulds in plaster from the face,”—“prendre en plâtre des moules.” But -this simple phrase cannot be twisted into such a meaning. “Exprimere,” -according to Forcellinus, is “effingere, rappresentare, assomigliare, -_ritrarre dal vivo_.” “Exprimere” alone would be, therefore, according -to this last definition, to make a portrait from life. The additional -words, “imaginem e facie ipsa,” make this meaning still stronger. -“Imaginem” means a full-length figure or likeness, and not a mould, as -would be required by Mr. Perkins’s translation. “Exprimere imaginem” -cannot be forced to mean “made a mould,” whether in gypsum or in any -other material. Suppose we translate the words literally, “to express -an image in plaster,” and interpret “image” to mean mould, it is plain -that the phrase is wrong; it should be _impress_ and not _express_. You -cannot express a mould. It is impressed on the face. In like manner -when Plautus says “expressa imago in cera,” or “expressa simulacra ex -auro,” he means making a portrait in color or in gold. Again, “facies” -does not mean face, but the total outward shape, appearance, or figure -of a man. “Vultus” is the proper term for face, and is so used by -Pliny himself; as when he speaks, for instance, of the portraits of -the head of Epicurus as “vultus Epicuri,” and distinguishes them from -the full-length figures of athletes, “imagines athletarum,” with which -the ancients adorned their palæstra and anointing-rooms. In fact, the -whole chapter in which this passage occurs relates to portraits, and -is entitled “honos imaginum.” If there could be any question on this -point, it would be settled by a passage in Aulus Gellius (13, 29), -in which he defines “facies” as the build of the whole body,—“facies -est factura quædam totius corporis;” and Cicero, in his treatise “De -Legibus” (1, 9), says, “That which is called ‘vultus’ exists in no -living being except man,”—“Is qui appellatur vultus nullo in animante -esse præter hominem potest.”[10] So Virgil in “vivos ducent de marmore -vultus” means the face. “Imago,” on the contrary, and “facies” mean -the whole figure; only “facies” means the real figure, and “imago” the -imitation of it. Pliny himself invariably uses them so, and in one of -his letters (ep. 7, 33, 2) he recommends that we should be careful to -select the best artist to make a full-length likeness,—“Esse nobis curæ -solet ut facies nostra ab optimo quoque artifice exprimatur.” By the -word “exprimatur” he certainly does not refer to casting. So mechanical -an operation as this surely does not require the best of artists. -“Imaginem e facie ipsa” means therefore a full-length likeness. - -Again, “infundere” does not necessarily mean pour in, but is quite as -often used in the sense of poured over or spread on; as where Ovid -says, “infundere ceram tabellis;” or where Virgil says, “campi fusi in -omnem partem,” or “sole infuso terris;” or again where Ovid uses the -phrases “collo infusa mariti” or “nudos humeris infusa capillos,” it -can only mean spread over. Wax cannot be poured into a flat surface -like a tablet, or hair poured into shoulders. - -Mr. Perkins, with Forcellinus before his eyes, after citing his -definitions of “exprimere” says: “Explications qui toutes rentrent -dans l’idée de représenter, de reproduire, de prendre sur le vif, -comme on dit en français, et par conséquent dans l’idée du moulage.” -But “ritrarre dal vivo” means nothing more than to make a portrait -from life, whatever “prendre sur le vif” may mean; nor can any one of -Forcellinus’s definitions be tortured into an allusion to casting. -“Mais,” he continues, “cette idée surtout est accusée dans Tacite, qui -dit en parlant d’un vêtement que dessinait les formes, un vêtement -collant ‘_vestis_ artus exprimens.’” But surely this phrase means -simply a garment expressing, or as we should say showing, the limbs, -and has nothing more to do with “casting” than “dessinait les formes” -has to do with drawing, or a “vêtement collant” has to do with glue. He -also thinks another phrase used by Pliny—“expressi cera _vultus_”—has -a similar significance. If all our metaphors are to be subjected to -this strict test, we must be very careful how we speak. Yet these and -similar examples, which he says he could multiply, “peuvent suffire,” -he thinks, “pour nous autoriser à croire que Pline a voulu dire que -Lysistrate était l’inventeur de la reproduction des statues par le -plâtre, en d’autres termes qu’il était le premier qui avait eu l’idée -de se servir du gypse pour mouler.” This, to say the least, is going -very far. With such philologic views, what would he think of this -phrase, “vera paterni oris effigies,” or “vivos ducent de marmore -vultus,” or “infans omnibus membris expressa”? Or, to take an English -line, what would he make of— - - “The express form and image of the King”? - -But if Pliny meant casting, why did he not use the appropriate Latin -word for that process—“fundere”? In the subsequent sentence, speaking -of casting in brass, he says “fundendi æris.” “Fundere” meant to cast, -not “exprimere.” - -Besides, let us look at the practical difficulty in this process. -After the moulds were made and the wax cast into them, as Mr. Perkins -interprets Pliny to mean, we have still only wax impressions, and not -plaster castings. And how were they got out of the mould after they -were cast? We, in modern times, have learned no method of doing this; -we should be obliged first to make the mould in plaster, then to make a -cast in plaster in that mould, then on that cast to make a piece-mould -with sections to take apart,—an elaborate process; and then we could -get a wax cast, but not before. The fact that the cast mentioned by -Pliny (supposing he means a cast) is in wax not only involves quadruple -labor and skill on the part of the caster, but makes the process -impossible, or next to impossible, if it were simply as he is supposed -to describe it. If the cast were in plaster, it would resist, so that -the mould could be broken off from it in bits; but with wax this would -be entirely impracticable. - -Let us still further consider the phrase “ceraque in eam formam gypsi -infusa emendare instituit.” What does “cera in eam formam infusa” mean? -Simply to cover or spread wax (or color) over that model; just as Ovid -says “infundere ceram tabellis,” to spread wax over the tablets, not -to pour wax into the tablets, for that was impossible, they being flat -surfaces, nor to cast them. Again, Pliny does not say that Lysistratus -introduced the practice of spreading wax over a core, or of pouring -wax into a form, or casting; but only of improving the likenesses, -or working them up in the wax after it was spread over the plaster: -“instituit emendare,” he says, not “instituit infundere.” “Formam” -here has not the signification of mould, but of model or image. -Undoubtedly the term “forma” in Latin was used to signify a mould as -well as a cast, or a model, or a form; and in this respect it had the -same ambiguity that the corresponding terms “mould” and “form” have -in English. A “form” is a seat, as well as a shape and a ceremony, -and “mould” is constantly, though improperly, used to indicate a -model or the thing moulded, as well as the real mould in which it is -cast; the phrases “to model” and “to mould” are often synonymous in -meaning. So “forma” was sometimes employed in its primary significance -of figure, shape, and configuration, as when Quinctilian says, “Eadem -cera aliæ atque aliæ formæ duci solent,”—various shapes may be given -to the same wax; sometimes in the sense of image, as when Cicero -speaks of “formæ clarissimorum,” the images of distinguished men; -sometimes to mean a model or shape over which a thing is wrought, as -a shoemaker’s last,—“Si scalpra et formas non sutor emat,” as Horace -says; and sometimes as indicating a hollow mould in which bronze is -cast, as when Pliny says, “Ex iis [silicibus] formæ fiunt, in quibus -æra funduntur,”—from these pebbles moulds are made, in which brass is -cast. But when he uses it in this last sense, it will be observed, -Pliny employs the term “fundere,” to cast, and not “exprimere,” nor -“emendare.” In the passage about Lysistratus, then, “forma” would seem -to mean a model, or core, like the shoemaker’s last, on which the wax -was spread for the purpose of emending or improving something. What is -that something which Pliny tells us he improved by this means? What -can it be except the “imaginem,” the likeness? There is no other word -to which “emendare” can refer. If, then, we understand the passage -as meaning that Lysistratus modeled a likeness in gypsum, and then -improved it or finished it in wax which he spread over the gypsum, the -statement is quite intelligible, and not a word is warped from its -correct significance. If we adopt the other interpretation, however, -we must understand “imaginem gypso expressit” to mean that he made a -mould in gypsum, contrary to the direct force of the words; and with -wax poured into that mould (making “formam” equivalent to “imaginem,” -and referring to it) he emended or improved—something. What? Why, the -mould,—which is absurd. Again, we cannot begin by making “imaginem” -mean the cast, before the “formam” or mould is made; not only because -the practical process is thus reversed, but because then we should -have a cast in plaster made by pouring wax into the mould, which is -even more absurd. Taking “forma” to have in this sentence any of its -meanings except “mould,” we have no difficulty in understanding it; -taking it as “mould,” we are forced to change the primary significance -of “imaginem” and “expressit,” and are involved in very serious -questions. - -In addition to these considerations, it must not be forgotten that -this cast of gypsum, according to Mr. Perkins’s interpretation of the -sentence, was made not of the face alone (“vultus”) which is by no -means an easy process, but of the whole figure (“facie”), which is a -very hazardous one, and to which, with all the knowledge and experience -of the present day in casting, few people would be willing to submit. - -A passage of Alcimus Avitus, in his poem “De Origine Mundi” (lib. 1, -6, 75), throws a clear light on the process which seems here to be -described as the invention of Lysistratus:— - - “Hæc ait, et fragilem dignatus tangere terram - Temperat humentem conspersa pulvere limum - Molliturque novum dives sapientia corpus - Non aliter quam opifex diuturno exercitus usu. - _Flectere laxatas per cuncta sequacia ceras - Et vultus complere rudes aut corpora gypso - Fingere_ vel segni speciem componere massa - Sic Pater Omnipotens.” - -Here we have the body modeled (“fingere” is to model) in gypsum, and -the ductile “cera” spread over all the undulations, and the rude face -finished, just as Pliny describes it. - -Let us now consider the next sentence, in which he says, “Hic et -similitudinem reddere instituit, ante eum quam pulcherrimum facere -studebant.” This certainly has nothing to do with casting. It is very -important as throwing a reflex light on the previous sentence. The -whole stress of the passage is to bring out the fact that Lysistratus -made portraits. He used a peculiar process, perhaps, but his specialty -was that he made portraits from life (“imaginem hominis e facie ipsa”), -which he worked up in wax (“emendare cera”); and not only this, but his -portraits were exact likenesses (“similitudinem reddere instituit”), -and not merely ideal figures like those of the artists who preceded him -(“ante eum quam pulcherrimum facere studebant”). - -A slight glimpse at the history of the art will clear up this matter. -In the early period of sculpture, only statues of divinities were -made, and up to a comparatively late time these archaic figures were -copied for religious and superstitious reasons, and the old formal -hieratic type was strictly observed. It was not until the 58th Olympiad -that iconic statues began to be made in honor of the victors in the -national games, and these for the greater part were rather portraits -of the peculiarities of general physical developments than of the -face. Portrait statues of distinguished men now began to be made, -but they were very few in number, and only exceptionally allowed -by the state. The first iconic statues, representing Harmodius and -Aristogeiton, were made in 509 B. C. by Antenor. Phidias followed -(480 to 432 B. C.), and during his period the grand style was in -its culmination, and for the most part divinities or demigods only -were thought worthy subjects for a great sculptor. Iconic statues -were, however, executed during this period, and among the legendary -heroes and divinities who formed the subjects of the thirteen statues -erected at Delphi and executed by Phidias out of the Persian spoils, -the portrait of Miltiades was allowed,[11] but the erection of public -portrait statues was very rarely permitted, and the introduction by -Phidias of his own portrait and that of Pericles among the combatants -wrought upon the shield of his ivory and gold statue of Athena -occasioned a prosecution against him for impiety. It is said that -Phidias, in his statue of a youth binding his hair with a fillet, -made the portrait of Pantarces, an Elean who was enamored of the -great sculptor, and who obtained the victory at the Olympian games -in the 86th Olympiad (B. C. 435). But this story, which is given by -Pausanias, rests, even by his own account, purely on tradition, and -was apparently founded upon a supposed resemblance between Pantarces -and the statue. Portraiture in its true sense, however, now began, and -soon after the death of Phidias, about the 90th Olympiad, Demetrius -obtained celebrity as a portrait sculptor. He seems to have been the -first to introduce the realistic school of portraiture, copying so -carefully from life, particularly in his likenesses of old persons, -that he was reproved for being too faithful to Nature. Quinctilian -accuses him of being “nimius in veritate” (xii. 10); Lucian in his -“Philopseudes” calls him an ἀνθρωποποιός, and, describing a statue by -him of Pelichus the Corinthian, says it was αὐτῷ ἀνθρώπῳ ὁμοῖον,—like -the very man himself. Callimachus, also, at the same period obtained -the nickname of Κατατηξίτεχνος, on account of the extreme detail and -finish of his works. These artists flourished nearly a century before -Lysistratus; and Pliny therefore is incorrect in his sweeping statement -that before the time of Lysistratus sculptors had only endeavored to -make their statues as beautiful as possible, and not to give accurate -portraits. Still, these men must be considered as exceptions to the -general practice, and it was not until the time of Alexander that -portrait-sculpture in the sense of accurate likeness was developed. -Up to that period it still was heroic, generalized, and ideal in its -character, with comparatively little individuality or detail. The -portrait statues, for instance, of the Royal Family by Leochares (372 -B. C.), and that of Mausolus (about 350 B. C.) on the famous Mausoleum -erected by Artemisia, were treated in this style. Lysippus, however, -during the reign of Alexander of Macedon, by his great talent gave a -new impulse and development to the school of portraiture, and while -retaining the heroic character he gave a more realistic truth to his -works. Pliny speaks of him as distinguished for the finish of his work -in the remotest details,—“argutiæ operum custoditæ in minimis rebus.” -In his portraits of Alexander he represented even the defects of his -royal patron, such as the stoop of his head sideways. Such was his -skill that Alexander declared “that none but Apelles should represent -him in color, and none but Lysippus in marble.” Lysistratus was the -brother of Lysippus, and Pliny says that he introduced the practice of -making portraits which were not merely heroic and ideal likenesses, but -faithful representations of the real men. In attributing to Lysistratus -the introduction of this practice of individual portraiture, Pliny -undoubtedly goes beyond the real facts. He did not introduce the -practice, he merely developed it by a peculiar process, giving -additional verisimilitude thereby. This process was roughly modeling -the likeness in plaster, and then finishing the surface and the details -in the “cera” with which he covered it. - -In painting, the sphere of portraiture was larger than in sculpture, -and subject apparently to no such restrictions. The earliest portrait -on record by any great painter was not of hero, philosopher, or -athlete, but of Elpinice, the daughter of Miltiades and the mistress -of Polygnotus, who painted her portrait as Laodice, one of the -daughters of Priam, in his famous picture representing the “Rape of -Cassandra,” in the Pœcile at Athens. This picture was executed about -463 B. C., when Elpinice must have been at least thirty-five years of -age. Dionysius of Colophon was also a distinguished portrait-painter -and celebrated for his excessive finish. Nicephorus Chumnus, the -grammarian, describes Apelles and Lysippus as making and painting Ζῶσας -εἰκώνας καὶ πνοῆς μόνης καὶ κινήσεως ἀπολειπόμενας,—being likenesses -only wanting breath and motion. For one of his portraits of Alexander -Apelles received twenty talents of gold (£5,000), which was measured, -not counted, out to him. He also painted the portraits of Campaspe and -Phryne in the character of Venus, taking the face from Campaspe and the -nude figure from Phryne. Speaking of Apelles, Pliny himself relates in -his thirty-sixth book that “he painted portraits so exact to the life -that one of those persons called Metoscopi, who divine events from the -features of men, was enabled, on examining his portraits, to foretell -the hour of the death of the person represented.” And this monstrous -story Pliny apparently accepts. At all events, he does not question it. -Parrhasius, “the most insolent and arrogant of artists,” says Pliny, -“painted a portrait of himself and dedicated it in a public temple -to Mercury; and though the Athenians had publicly proceeded against -Phidias for so doing, they allowed it to Parrhasius, thus plainly -showing that the dignity of sculpture was higher than that of painting.” - -But to return from this digression to the consideration of the passage -by Pliny relating to portraiture in modeling and sculpture. In the -sentence immediately following, Pliny goes on to say, “Idem et de -signis effigiem exprimere invenit, crevitque res in tantum, ut nulla -signa statuæve sine argilla fierent,”—Lysistratus also made copies -from statues, and this practice came so into vogue that no statues -in brass or marble were made without white clay. What the meaning -of this sentence is we can only guess; as it stands, it is quite -unintelligible. Perhaps he intended to say that Lysistratus set the -fashion of making small copies in clay or terra cotta of all the -statues that were executed. But it is quite possible that he meant -nothing of the kind. It is plain that if Lysistratus had already -invented casting in plaster, it would have been unnecessary to copy -statues in clay, except for the purpose of reduction to statuettes. Mr. -Perkins thinks he may have intended to speak of “esquisses d’argile -[maquettes] dont se servent les sculpteurs comme point de départ, -esquisse reproduite plus tard en marbre et avec la mise aux points.” -But there was nothing new in this; and surely Lysistratus could not -be said to have invented, or set the fashion of, a process which -certainly had been employed very long before his time. And again, why -make a small statue in clay and enlarge it proportionally in marble, if -you can make it at once in full size and cast it? Nor does Mr. Perkins -seem to be aware that in adopting this view, and translating as he does -“de signis effigiem exprimere,”—to make a small model or maquette in -clay,—he abandons his explanation of the sentence referring to gypsum. -For if “effigiem argilla exprimere” means, as he says, to make a model -in clay, why does not “imaginem gypso exprimere” mean to make a model -in plaster? Besides, the fact that Pliny applies the same terms to a -process in clay as to one in plaster at once puts an end to the matter -so far as the question of casting goes. Clay is not a material to cast -with, in any proper sense of that term. - -Another objection to this interpretation that Pliny meant a maquette, -“esquisse,” or sketch is that “effigies” did not mean sketch. It -carried with it nearly the significance of our own word effigy,—of -great reality of imitation. “Imago” was a vaguer word, and might -indicate a delusive resemblance as by painting; but “effigiem” was -ordinarily employed to designate a more absolute imitation. Thus -Cicero says, “Nos vere juris germanæ justitiæ que solidam et expressam -effigiem nullam tenemus. Umbra et imaginibus utimur.”[12] And again, -“Consectatur nullam eminentem effigiem virtutis sed adumbratam -imaginem gloriæ.” “Effigies” would, therefore, carry no such idea as -that of sketch. - -Besides, not only is “effigies” not the correct word for sketch, but -Pliny would scarcely have used it in this sense, when immediately -afterwards, speaking of the sketches of Arcesilaus, which sold for more -than the finished works of other artists, he employs the appropriate -term for sketches,—“proplasma.” In the translation of Pliny, published -by Mr. Bohn, and made by Mr. Bostick and Mr. Riley, this term is -translated “models in plaster;” but it simply means sketches or -antijicta, in whatever material they were made. The words “plastæ” -and “plasma” have nothing to do with plaster. “Plastæ” were simply -modelers, and πλαστική was the art of modeling,—the plastic art. - -Again, Pliny could scarcely have intended to say that Lysistratus -invented modeling sketches of statues in clay before executing them -in plaster, since he tells us explicitly that Pasiteles used to say -that _plastice_ was the mother of _statuaria, scalptura, et cælatura_; -and, though he was distinguished as first in all these arts, he never -executed anything in them until he had first modeled it in clay,—“nihil -unquam fecit, antequam finxit.” - -Before leaving this sentence, let us take a different view of its -possible meaning. May not Pliny use the words “signa” and “signis” to -mean pictures and not statues? Undoubtedly “signum” was thus used, -as where Plautus speaks of a “signum pictum in parieti,”—a picture -painted on the wall; or where Virgil speaks of a “pallam signis auroque -rigentem,”—a mantle stiff with embroidered figures and gold. In this -sense the passage would mean that Lysistratus made effigies from -pictures as well as from statues, and that thenceforward not only no -statues but no pictures were made without being copied in bas-relief, -or in the round, argilla, or white clay. This would account for the use -of the word “effigiem,” which has a stronger significance of reality -than “imaginem.” - -The succeeding sentence is even more obscure; and, unless it be -interpolated or out of its proper place, is quite unintelligible. -In the connection in which it now stands it is absurd. It is as -follows: “Quo apparet antiquiorem hanc fuisse scientiam quam fundendi -æris,”—by which it seems that this knowledge or practice was older -than that of casting in bronze. What is the “scientiam” to which he -refers? He has previously spoken only of two: first, that of making -portraits in plaster and wax; second, that of making copies of statues -in clay,—both, as he says, invented or introduced into practice by -Lysistratus. But to say that that artist could have invented any -process older than that of casting in bronze is not only ridiculous in -itself, but inconsistent with what he has previously told us; since at -least two centuries previous to the time of Lysistratus, Rhœcus and -Theodorus of Samos—as we learn from Pausanias, Herodotus, and even -Pliny himself—exercised the art of casting in bronze. Pausanias,[13] -indeed, tells us that these sculptors invented this art; but Pliny, -with his usual inaccuracy and carelessness, says that they invented -“plastice,” or the art of modeling (“In Samo primos omnium plasticen -invenisse Rhœcum et Theodorum,” ch. xxxv.),—an art which from the very -nature of things must have been practiced from the earliest and rudest -ages, almost from the time when the first child made the first mud-pie. - -Dr. Brunn,[14] in commenting on this passage in Pliny, accepts the -first sentence as describing the art of casting in plaster, but, -finding it impossible to reconcile it with the subsequent sentences, -ingeniously suggests that it was an addition inserted in the margin, -and afterwards interpolated into the text by the copyists in the wrong -place. Throwing out this first sentence about Lysistratus from this -place, he still accepts it, and interprets it to mean that Lysistratus -invented the art of casting. The subsequent sentences he connects with -a previous passage in Pliny, in which he gives an account of Dibutades -of Sicyon, a potter by trade, and relates the legend that this artist -drew the outline of the face of a girl whom he loved from her shadow on -the wall, and his father pressed clay upon it within those outlines, -and made a _typum_ which he baked. The passage, according to Dr. -Brunn, then would continue: “He [Dibutades] also invented the making of -effigies from signa, and this practice so increased that thenceforward -no statues or signa were made without argilla; so that it appears -that this art was more ancient than that of casting in bronze.” By -accepting this suggestion of Dr. Brunn we certainly relieve Pliny of -the absurdity of stating that any “scientiam” or practice invented -by Lysistratus was older than casting in bronze, since centuries -before his time bronze figures of colossal proportions had been cast. -But even supposing these sentences to refer to Dibutades and not to -Lysistratus, they are far from being clear or accurate. Is it possible -to believe that, while the making of brick and earthenware utensils and -fictile vases is so ancient that the memory of man runneth not to the -contrary, no one before Dibutades had ever attempted to model a figure -or a face in clay, or to put a model into a furnace and bake it? All -history is against such a supposition. Images in terra cotta were made -by the ancient Egyptians, Babylonians, and Ephesians centuries before -Dibutades. The ancient Etruscan terra cottas previous to his epoch were -scattered, as Pliny himself says, all over the world: “Signa Tuscanica -per terras dispersa.” The capitol was decorated with earthen statues at -the time of the first Tarquin, and Pausanias mentions many clay statues -of gods and demigods executed in the earliest ages of Greece itself. - -Again, from this very passage it is clear that Pliny himself admits -that there were _signa_ and _statuæ_ already existing at the time of -Dibutades, of which he first made effigies. What did Dibutades invent? -Certainly not the art of modeling in clay, or of baking the clay. His -statement, also, that thenceforward no statues were made without clay -is scarcely intelligible, unless we suppose him to mean that clay -models were made thenceforward before executing statues in stone or -other materials. But he does not say this. Again, he cannot mean that -Dibutades first invented taking impressions from indented outlines, or -_intaglii_, for this was as old as the first primitive seal, and was no -more invented by Dibutades than by Lysistratus. - -Dr. Brunn interprets the statement in respect to Dibutades as showing -that he was probably the first inventor of casting, at the same time -that he also interprets the sentences referring to Lysistratus as -declaring that he first invented casting,—the only difference being -that the process of the one was in clay, and that of the other in -plaster. - -But is it clear that Dibutades, according to Pliny, ever made even -a stamp in clay from indented outlines on the wall? The passage is -ordinarily so interpreted, but is this interpretation correct? Pliny -says that Dibutades having traced the shadow on the wall in outline, -his father impressed clay within that outline, and thus made a -_typum_ which he baked with other articles of earth, and which was -long afterwards preserved in the Nymphæum at Corinth. His words are, -“quibus lineis pater ejus impressa argilla typum fecit.” What, then, -is the meaning of “typum”? Evidently not a mould, or impression, but a -relief. Had it been a mould, he could have stamped from it a hundred -impressions, since it would have been merely a seal with an irregularly -relieved outline; and in order to have the repetition of what was on -the wall he must perforce have stamped from it an impression. This he -evidently did not do, or at least nothing is said to indicate anything -of the kind. He preserved and baked what he first obtained, which, -if it was merely a mould, would have produced, to say the least, no -effect. The true as well as the literal translation of this passage -would seem to be, “within the outlines by putting on clay he made a -relief.” This clay he probably modeled as well as he could, keeping -within the lines, and then removed it from the wall and baked it. The -same interpretation of this passage is given by Giovanni Battista -Adriani, in a remarkable essay or rather letter addressed by him -to Giorgio Vasari in 1567, in which he gives a summary of the most -celebrated Greek artists and their works. “Typus” in Latin had the -double significance of “intaglio” and “relievo,” as our word “type” -has of the type itself and the printed impression; and sometimes it -was used in one sense and sometimes in the other, but it was usually -employed to mean a relief. Thus Cicero, in one of his letters to -Atticus (lib. i. ep. 10), writes, “Præterea typos tibi mando quos in -tectorio atrioli possim includere,”—I commission you also to procure me -some reliefs to be inserted in the plaster of the anteroom. And Pliny -in this passage would plainly seem to use the word in the same sense; -otherwise he would probably have written “forma,” as he did in other -cases when he meant a mould. Not that even that word would be free from -all ambiguity, but it would more appropriately signify a mould. - -But however ingenious is the suggestion of Dr. Brunn that the passages -relating to Lysistratus ought to belong to Dibutades, the fact is that -in all editions of Pliny they are connected with Lysistratus; and as -this suggestion does not dispose of all difficulties and clear up the -matter, we will proceed to consider them in that relation, and see if -anything can be made clearly out of them. - -Plainly, if the “scientiam” here spoken of refers to the invention of -Lysistratus, and is interpreted to be the art of casting in plaster, -it is ridiculously incorrect to say that it was older than casting -in brass. If that invention be of modeling in plaster, it is also -entirely incorrect. We know that this was practiced at least a century -previous,—as, for instance, in the construction of the great statue of -Zeus at Megara, the body of which was of plaster and clay, the head -alone being cased in gold and ivory; and also of the Bacchus in painted -plaster, of which Pausanias speaks. - -The only way in which we can explain the statement that any “scientiam” -or process described by Pliny as used by Lysistratus was older than -the art of casting in bronze, is by supposing he meant to say that the -process he employed was in itself an old one, and that it was only in -the practical application to the making of portraits that there was -any novelty,—the process of covering a core of plaster with wax being -older than casting in bronze, while covering a sketch of plaster with -wax and then working that surface up from life was new. The statement -so understood would be intelligible at least, and, as far as we know, -perfectly correct. The method of the ancients in casting bronze statues -is not described by any ancient writer, but it is supposed to have been -this: A fire-proof core was first built up of plaster, clay, earth, -or other materials, and over this a thin and even coating of wax or -pitch was spread; or perhaps, which is not so probable, the surface was -rasped down to the thickness intended for the bronze, and afterwards -covered with a thin coating of wax. In either case the result would be -the same. The outside of this wax being then completely covered with -sand or packed clay-dust, there would be a thin coating of wax inclosed -between the two surfaces, which, melting away before the fused metal, -would allow that metal to take its place. This would account for the -remarkable thinness and evenness of the ancient bronzes; for by such -a method the core would be perfect, and the artist would naturally -put on as little wax as possible. If we suppose the statue, after it -was nearly completed in plaster or clay, not to have been rasped down -but simply to have been covered with wax, we shall see that the result -would be that the bronze cast would be a little fuller in size and -thicker in proportions than the original model. And this is a peculiar -characteristic of the ancient bronzes, especially to be observed in the -limbs and joints, which are generally larger and puffier in bronze than -in marble statues. - -Now if Pliny meant to say of Lysistratus that his method of modeling -portraits by making a plaster figure or core, and covering the surface -with wax, was older than that of casting in bronze, he was quite -right; for undoubtedly the process of covering a core with wax must -have preceded that of casting in bronze, or at least must have been -coincident with it. But at the same time this method had previously -been used only, or at least chiefly, in casting; whereas Lysistratus -was the first to use it for modeling from life and carefully finishing -every part. The process was old; the application was new. - -Thus far in considering this passage we have proceeded on the -hypothesis that the “cera” spoken of was wax. But another and quite -different view is also possible, and seems in all probability to be the -correct one. Pliny may mean to refer to quite a different thing, and -by the term “cera” may have meant not wax but color. “Ceræ” was the -common term for a painter’s colors, and Pliny himself thus uses it in -defining encaustic painting: “Ceris pingere et picturam inurere.” Varro -also says, “Pictores locutulas magnas habent arculas ubi discolores -sunt ceræ.” Statius also uses the same term when he says, “Apelleæ -cuperent te scribere ceræ.” Anacreon, in his odes, constantly uses -κηρός for picture; as, for instance,— - - Ἔρωτα κήρινόν τις - Νεηνίης ἐπώλει. - -Here it is not a waxen figure, but a wax, or oil,—that is, a painting -of Eros, not an ἀγάλμα. And in the same ode the youth replies in Doric, -“Οὐκ εἰμὶ κηροτέχνης”—“I am not a painter;” or even more manifestly in -the ode beginning,— - - Ἄγε ζωγράφων ἄριστε, - γράφε, ζωγράφων ἄριστε, - Ῥοδίης κοίρανε τέχνης, - ἀπεοῦσαν, ὡς ἂν εἴπω, - γράφε τὴν ἐμὴν ἑταίρην. - γράφε μοι τρίχας τὸ πρῶτον - ἁπαλάς τε καὶ μελαίνας· - ὁ δὲ κηρὸς ἂν δύνηται, - γράφε καὶ μύρου πνεούσας. - -And again,— - - ἀπέχει· Βλέπω γὰρ αὐτήν. - τάχα, κηρὲ, καὶ λαλήσεις. - -Wax was the common medium used by painters. After it had been purified -and blanched, their colors were mixed with it just as ours are with -oil; and in like manner, as we speak of painting in oils, they spoke of -painting in wax. A head done in chalk would no more necessarily mean -a head modeled in chalk or plaster, than “imaginem [or effigiem] cera -expressam” would mean a likeness modeled in wax. - -The substances on which the ancients painted were wood, clay, plaster, -stone, parchment, and perhaps canvas. The best painters, however, -rarely painted on anything but tablets or panels. “Nulla gloria -artificum est nisi eorum qui tabulas pinxere,” says Pliny (xxxv. 37). -These panels were of wood; they were prepared for painting by spreading -over them chalk or white plaster (gypsum), and on that account were -called “λεύκωμα.” All the paintings on walls were also on plaster -covered with a composition of chalk and marble dust, as is fully -described by Vitruvius.[15] - -Let us now apply these facts to Pliny’s statement. May he not intend -to say, and is not this a legitimate meaning of his words, that -Lysistratus first of all modeled portraits in gypsum from life, and -then increased the likeness by color laid on to the plaster bust. -He also made colored copies or effigies from brass statues (which -were called, as we know, “ceræ”), and these came so into vogue that -thenceforward there were no statues without white clay or chalk, -which, as we have seen, was a preparation for the wax color as shown -by Vitruvius. In this view of his meaning, the statement that this -peculiar process is older than that of casting in bronze becomes -intelligible, if we suppose him to intend to say that coloring statues -was a very old process, while coloring portraits in exact imitation -of life was the invention of Lysistratus. The succeeding sentence -then becomes clear, in which he says that the most famous plastæ were -Damophilus and Gorgasus, who were also painters, and who decorated the -Temple of Ceres at Rome in both these arts, since it is plain that -these works were both modeled and painted. - -The making of portraits in effigy, colored in imitation of life, had -been a common practice in Rome, as we learn from Pliny himself, and -these, because they were colored, were technically called “ceræ” as -well as “imagines.” It was the custom of the great families to set -up these colored figures in their atria, and on particular festivals -to carry them in procession through the streets of Rome, draped with -actual robes such as were worn by the persons whom they represented. -Pliny expresses his regret that in his time this custom had fallen into -disuse, tending as it did to keep fresh and alive the personal memory -of great men who had passed away from this life.[16] - -It will be useful here to consider the character of the whole chapter -in which this passage appears. It is entitled, “Plastices primi -inventores, de simulacris, et vasis fictilibus et pretio eorum.” The -object of the chapter is to give an account of modeling and modelers, -not of casting. In a previous chapter, where Pliny is speaking of -some early products of the plastic art, and particularly of the -_signa Tuscanica_, or earthenware statues, he says: “It appears to me -a singular fact, that, though the origin of statues was of such great -antiquity in Italy, the images of the gods, which were consecrated -to them in their temples, should have been fashioned of wood or -earthenware, until the conquest of Asia introduced luxury among us. -It will be most convenient to speak of the art of making likenesses -[_similitudines exprimendi_] when we come to speak of what the Greeks -call ‘plastice,’ for the art of modeling was prior to that of statuary -of bronze and marble,—[_prior quam statuaria fuit_]. But this last art -has flourished in such an infinite degree that to pursue the subject -thoroughly would require many volumes.” Thus he announces clearly -beforehand what he intends to speak of in this chapter which we are now -considering, on plasticæ. It is the art of “making likenesses, of the -first invention of modeling, of fictile vases, and of their price,” -but not of casting or of any such invention. The previous chapter, in -which this announcement is made of his subsequent intention, is devoted -to casting in bronze and brass-work, or statuaria. After making this -statement, he goes on to enumerate the principal works in bronze, and -then says that portrait statues were long afterwards placed in the -Forum and in the atria of private houses; that clients thus did honor -to their patrons, and that in former times the statues thus dedicated -were dressed in togas: “Togatæ effigies antiquitus ita dicabantur;” or -ought not “dicabantur” to be _dicebantur_,—meaning that these statues -were called “togatæ effigies”? - -In the chapter we are now considering, he begins by saying that, -having already said enough about pictures, he now proposes to append -some account of the plastic art. Then he speaks of Dibutades, and -relates the story of his making the portrait of the girl he loved; -and adds that he first invented a method of coloring his works in -pottery by adding red earth or red chalk. Then follows the passage -about Lysistratus, who used plaster instead of clay to make portraits, -covering it with wax or color to improve the resemblance. After the -passages cited, he goes on to mention other celebrated modelers -(_plastæ laudatissimi_), among whom were Damophilus and Gorgasus, -who were also painters, and who adorned the Temple of Ceres at Rome -by the exercise of both their arts. According to Varro, he says, -everything in the temples was _Tuscanica_,—that is, ancient pottery of -the Etruscan school; and when they were repaired the painted coatings -of the walls were removed and framed. He also mentions Chalcosthenes, -who executed several works in baked earth. He cites Varro again as -saying that Possis at Rome executed grapes, fruit, and fishes with such -truth to Nature that they could not be distinguished from the real -things. Dibutades, he also says, invented a method of coloring plastic -composition by adding red earth. - -Throughout the chapter Pliny is not speaking solely of modelers, but -most of those he mentions colored their works. The grapes, fruit, -and fishes of Possis, the works of Damophilus and Gorgasus, the -_Tuscanica_ in the temples, all were colored in imitation of the -objects represented. And besides these he mentions particularly the -Jupiter of Pasiteles, made in clay, “et ideo miniari solitum,”—and -therefore proper for painting in vermilion. He also speaks of -“figlina opera,”—earthenware painted in encaustic,—which were on -the baths of Agrippa in Rome. All this seems to lend probability -to the interpretation of “cera” to mean color and not wax; at all -events, there is not a word about casting, unless the words relating -to Lysistratus can be tortured into such a meaning. What adds still -more to the probability that this was the real thought of Pliny in -the passage cited is the use of the words “effigies” and “argilla.” -“Effigies” in Latin is distinguished from “simulacrum” (which may be -a picture as well as a statue), both being representations indicating -something which shows they are not life itself, the one being flat and -the other colorless; while “effigies” carries the idea of deception -with it, so far as resemblance goes. Thus Cicero says, “Vidistis -non fratrem tuum nec vestigium quidem aut simulacrum, sed effigiem -quamdam spirantis mortui.” So, also, “argilla” means white clay, and -not ordinary clay out of which terra cotta images were made; and -Pliny may have intended by these words to express the idea that -after Lysistratus had made effigies or colored copies of brass or -marble statues, white clay was constantly used, for the reason that -it was manifestly better for coloring. This would relieve him from -the absurdity of saying that Lysistratus invented or led the way -in modeling in clay, rather than in the use of white clay which he -colored. Argilla and gypsum would then be nearly the same thing, both -used as a basis for colored walls, upon which “cera” or color was -laid or infused. This would clear up the subsequent statement that -this art was older than casting in bronze, since it is plain that -coloring statues was very ancient. Pausanias mentions two,—one of the -Ephesian Diana and one of Bacchus in wood, gilt except the faces,—which -were painted with vermilion. So, in the Wisdom of Solomon (ch. xiii. -and xv.), images of wood and clay are spoken of, painted in red and -vermilion and stained with divers colors; and in 630 B. C. there were -images in gold, silver, stone, and wood in Babylon (Baruch, ch. vi. and -xiii.), painted and gilded and dressed, and colored purple. - -In his chapter entitled “Honos Imaginum,”—the honor attached to -portraits,—Pliny says it was the custom of the Romans to adorn -their palæstra and anointing-rooms with the portraits of athletes -(“imaginibus athletarum”), and to carry about on their persons the -face of Epicurus (“vultus Epicuri”); and that they also prized the -portraits of strangers (“alienasque effigies colunt”). Afterwards, -contrasting the habits of the Romans of his own day with those of -the ancient Romans, he says: “And since the former have no longer in -them any likeness to the minds of their ancestors, they also neglect -the likeness of their bodies. How different it was,” he continues, -“with our ancestors, who placed in their atria to be gazed at these -‘imagines,’ and not statues by foreign artists in brass or marble, and -kept colored portraits of their faces each in its separate case, to -serve as ‘imagines’ to accompany their funerals.”[17] It would seem -from this that, besides the draped images or effigies in the halls, -modeled and colored busts of others of the family, probably of less -distinction, were also kept to be dressed up on occasion, made into -effigies, and carried in procession. Other “imagines” of the most -distinguished personages in the family were placed outside at the -threshold of the house, hung with the spoils of the enemy. - -It is of these “expressi cera vultus” and these “imagines” kept by the -Romans as proofs of their nobility, and on which their pedigrees were -inscribed, that Ovid speaks when he says,— - - “Per lege dispositas generosa per atria ceras.” - -On the sale of the house they were not allowed to be destroyed or -removed, but passed with it, and were bought by “novi homines” (men -of no family), and passed off by them as the portraits of their own -ancestors,—just as the portraits of Wardour Street are at the present -day. Cicero in his invective against Piso cries out, “Obrepsisti ad -honores errore hominum, commendatione fumosarum imaginum, quarum simile -habes nihil præter _colorem_;” and Sallust in his Jugurtha says, “Quia -imagines non habeo, et quia mihi nova nobilitas est.” - -Nor were the Romans singular in this custom of draping figures with -real stuffs. The images of the gods in early Greece also were draped -and dressed in clothes, and crowns were placed on their heads. They -had false hair, too, which was dressed regularly by attendants, and -at stated times they were washed and adorned with jewels and had -their dresses arranged, just as if they were alive. In later times -this custom died out; but the colossal Athena’s solid drapery of gold -was washed at a certain festival appointed for the purpose, called -Plyntheria. In Rome, however, the custom was maintained to a late day. -The images of the temples were adorned with real drapery, and purple -mantles were hung on the statues of the emperors. The Greeks did not -thus treat their portrait statues, and in this the Romans were peculiar. - -The Roman “imagines” and “ceræ” were probably executed in plaster or -some such material, certainly not in marble, or otherwise they would -have been too heavy to be carried about in procession. Apparently they -resembled the figures which Lysistratus first began to make, and the -process of coloring them, if we understand “cera” to mean color, was -little else than the old practice, called “circumlitio,” of covering -marble statues with an encaustic varnish of color so as to give them -a delicate and tinted surface. The most salient example of this is to -be found in the anecdote told of Praxiteles, who, when he was asked -which of his statues he most admired, answered, “Those that Nicias has -colored,”—“quibus Nicias manum admovisset,”—Nicias, who in his youth -was celebrated as a painter of statues, ἀγαλμάτων ἐγκαυστής, having -assisted him, “in statuis circumliendis.” A similar process, called -καύσις, was also employed in finishing walls, and is thus described by -Vitruvius: After the wall had received its color, it was covered with -Punic wax and oil, which was laid on evenly with a hard brush, and then -half melted or infused into a smooth surface by moving a “cauterium,” -or pan of hot coals, close over it; and after that it was rubbed with a -candle and a clean linen cloth. - -This process, then, was old as applied to marble statues and to plaster -walls. What was new in the work of Lysistratus was that he united the -two methods, by modeling in plaster the general likeness and then -finishing the surface in encaustic. It was an old process with a new -application. - -To explain such a process, what could be clearer than the words Pliny -uses? We do not need to warp a word from its ordinary significance. -Lysistratus made portraits in plaster from life, and improved them by -color laid on to the model. He thus made realistic, exact resemblances, -whereas before him artists had sought only to make heads as beautiful -as possible. - -What, then, were the “effigies de signis” that he made? We have already -seen that the term “effigies” had a significance of reality and -absolute imitation, and corresponded in great measure to the English -word effigy, meaning colored effigies with real dresses,—like those of -Madame Tussaud, for instance. The “imagines” and “ceræ” of the ancient -Romans were very much like them; and does not Pliny mean to say that -Lysistratus copied marble or brass statues, or pictures, and made these -effigies from them, coloring them so as to add to the likeness, and -clothing them with real draperies? and that this so grew into vogue -that thenceforward there were no statues which were not thus copied -in plaster or “argilla”?—using the term “argilla,” or white clay, -as equivalent to gypsum, with which possibly the plaster was mixed. -As “argilla” was the foundation with which the ancient panels were -prepared for painting, this would seem most appropriate in such case. - -Such would be the figures alluded to by Lucian, or by Lexiphanes when -he says, “If you cull the flower of all these various beauties, you -will in your eloquence be like those makers of figures in wax and clay -[or argilla] in the Forum, colored outside with minium and blue, and -inside only fragile clay.” - -According to this interpretation of the passage in Pliny, it not -only becomes intelligible as a whole, but is consistent and without -contradiction; whereas, if we suppose that he meant to indicate the -process of casting in plaster, his statements are not only entirely -obscure and inconsecutive, but ignorant and contradictory. - - -II. - -In the previous chapter we have critically considered the text of Pliny -bearing upon the question whether the ancient Greeks and Romans were -acquainted with the art of casting. Let us now proceed to some general -considerations as to the probability that this art was known and -practiced by them. - -In the first place, the distinction between modeling and casting must -be constantly kept in mind, and care must be taken not to confound -the two totally different terms “mould” and “model.” That gypsum was -used in modeling there can be no doubt, and it is quite possible that -it may have been used to fill prepared moulds of stone, terra cotta, -or other materials for the making of ectypa. There is indeed no proof -of this; but as we know that moulds were made and cut in stone, into -which clay was pressed, to be then withdrawn and baked for ectypa with -which to adorn houses, so also it is possible that gypsum may have -been used for this purpose. This, however, is merely a supposition, -and the fact that none of them have ever been found in plaster renders -it highly improbable. In these ectypa of clay, as well as in the -impressions taken from them, there are no indications of anything like -what we call a piece-mould, composed of many sections; and whenever -there are under-cuttings in the ectypa, which could not be withdrawn -from the mould and which would fasten them into it, these parts of the -ectypa are invariably worked by hand. For instance, in the collection -of Mr. Fol in Rome there are several terra cotta figures of low relief -evidently stamped from a mould, which are appliqué, or fastened -subsequently to the cista of which they form a part. The sutures under -each figure are still visible, but they are all corrected and worked -by hand after being withdrawn, and have evidently suffered in being -removed from the mould. In the same collection there are several -specimens of plaster reliefs, with such deep under-cuttings that they -could not have been withdrawn from a single piece-mould; but all these -under-cuttings are freely worked by hand, showing plainly that they -were not in the stamp or mould; and it is also clear that they were -afterwards worked over with fluid plaster, the edges and flats of -which have not been rounded, but left as it was freely laid on by hand. -It is probable that in these cases plaster was pressed into a mould in -the same manner as clay, and afterwards worked up and finished. But the -slightest examination will show clearly that if a mould was employed to -give a general form to them, it certainly was not a piece-mould; and -that they are not castings in the modern sense of the word, but only -rude stamps. - -These are the only specimens, however, so far as we are aware, of -any such use of plaster for low-relief ornaments,—the ectypa which -have been preserved to us being invariably of baked clay. If plaster -had been used for this purpose, we should expect to find casts in the -interior of houses or tombs, where they would be protected from the -weather, and where they could be easily introduced into the walls and -ceilings. But though elaborately ornamented designs in relief, worked -in gypsum, are to be found still fresh and uninjured on the ancient -tombs and baths, all of them were freely and rapidly modeled by hand -while the gypsum was still fresh and plastic, and not a single specimen -of cast plaster has been found. It is but a few years since the tombs -in the Via Latina were opened, and in two of them the ceilings, divided -into compartments, were covered with rich and fantastic designs of -flowers, fruit, arabesques, groups of imaginary animals, sea-nymphs, -and human figures; the designs varying in each compartment, and all -modeled in the plaster with remarkable vivacity and spirit: not one -of them was cast. So in the houses at Pompeii, not a vestige of a -figure or ornament cast in plaster has ever been found,—nor a mould in -plaster; and when one considers that, being completely protected, they -would naturally have survived as well as other far more fragile and -destructible objects which have been preserved, the evidence is almost -absolute that they never could have existed there. If so, it is in the -highest degree probable that they existed nowhere. It would seem plain, -then, that even the first, simplest, and most natural processes of -casting in gypsum were unknown to the ancients, for no other process is -so easy and simple as to fill a flat mould with plaster and then remove -it, provided there are no under-cuttings. In doing this, however, there -is a slight practical difficulty if the mould is in one piece, as the -least under-cutting would render it impossible to remove the cast -without injury or breakage. Indeed, though there were no under-cutting, -it would at least be very difficult to remove the plaster from a mould -in one piece. Clay would be removed with far greater ease because of -its pliancy, and any cracks or imperfections could be at once remedied; -add to this that baked clay is one of the most enduring of materials, -and we have the probable reasons why the ancients used it instead of -gypsum. But whatever may have been their reasons, it is perfectly -clear that they did use clay; and we have no evidence that they ever -used plaster. - -This use of gypsum to take impressions from flat moulds is suggested -by Theophrastus, it would seem, in his treatise on mineralogy,[18] -in which he says that plaster “seems better than other materials to -receive impressions.” The term ἀπόμαγμα means nothing more than an -impression, such as one makes in wax from a seal ring, and such as is -common still in plaster; it is to this use that he seems to refer. He -does not say, however, that gypsum was really put to this use; and if -it were, it would advance us little in our inquiry, since any material -which is soft will receive an impression, whether it be bread, pitch, -clay, wax, or any similar substance. - -But the step from this simple process of stamping in a shallow mould -to casting from life or from the round is enormous. The difficulties -are multiplied a hundred-fold. It is no longer a simple operation, -but a nice and complicated one. The part to be cast must first be -oiled or soaped, then covered with plaster of about the consistency -of rich cream, then divided into sections while the material is still -tender, so as to enable the mould to be withdrawn part by part without -breakage, then allowed to set, then removed, oiled or soaped on the -interior surface, the parts all properly replaced, fluid plaster poured -into the mould,—and finally, after the cast is set, the mould must be -carefully removed by a hammer and chisel. This is an elaborate process -as applied to an arm or a hand, but when applied to a living face it -is not only difficult but disagreeable, and unless due care be used it -may be dangerous; and after all a cast from the face is hard, forced, -and unnatural in its character and impression, however skillfully it -may be done, and can only serve the sculptor as the basis of his work. -Yet if the common interpretation of the passage in Pliny be accurate, -this is the process which was invented and practiced by Lysistratus, -and by means of which he made portraits. _Credat Judæus!_ With all our -knowledge and practice, we do not find this to answer in our own time. - -But to cast from a statue in clay is still more difficult and -complicated; there the extremest care and nicety are required in making -the proper divisions, in extracting the clay and irons, recommitting -the sections, and breaking off the outer shell of the mould. In fact, -the modern process is so complicated that no one can see it without -wondering how it ever came to be so thought out and perfected, or -without being convinced that it must have been slowly arrived at by -many steps and many failures. - -That statues were modeled in plaster by the ancients there is no doubt. -Pausanias mentions several;[19] and Spartianus[20] also speaks of -“Three Victories” in plaster, with palms in their hands, erected at -one of the games,—and says that on one of the days of the Circensian -games when according to common custom they were erected, the central -one on which the name of Severus was inscribed, and which bore a globe, -was thrown down by a gust of wind from the podium, and that another -bearing the name of Geta on it also fell and was shattered to pieces. - -Firmicus[21] also relates that after Zagreus, son of Jupiter, was slain -by the Titans, his body was cut to pieces and thrown into a cauldron, -from which Minerva rescued the heart and carried it to Jupiter. He then -gave it to Semele, who resuscitated Zagreus, and Jupiter afterwards -preserved his likeness in plaster,—“Ex gypso plastico opere perfecit.” - -Mr. Perkins cites all these instances, and says: “They authorize us -to believe that the Greeks and Romans practiced casting in plaster.” -But in saying this he altogether overlooks the very plain distinction -between the two entirely different operations of casting and modeling. -We know that they modeled in plaster; the only question is whether they -_cast_ in that material. The term for casting, as we have stated, was -“fundere,” and is always used when real casting in brass or other metal -is spoken of; but nowhere is the term “fundere” applied to any work -in gypsum. “Ars fundendi æro” is constantly spoken of,—“ars fundendi -gypso” never. Besides, the very phrase “ex gypso plastico opere -perfecit” is at variance with casting. The words “plastico” and “opere” -mean modeling, and nothing else. - -But throughout this paper by Mr. Perkins these two completely distinct -processes are constantly confounded with each other. It suffices for -him to find a statement in an ancient writer that anything is made in -plaster, or even an allusion to a plaster statue, and at once he jumps -to the conclusion that the statue was necessarily cast, and not shapen -or modeled. - -“It remains for us now,” he says, “to establish by undeniable proof -how little foundation there is for the opinion of those who pretend -that the ancients did not make use of plaster for casting, supporting -their opinion on the complete absence of statues and statuettes -in plaster, or fragments of any kind found in excavations, when -nevertheless thousands of objects of the frailest kind are found, such -as stuccoes, vases, terra cotta, glass, wax heads, etc. If it be true -that the inclemencies of weather and atmospheric agents could cause -the disappearance of plaster saturated with humidity, or placed in -conditions favorable to its destruction, it does not necessarily follow -that these conditions always reproduce themselves. It suffices, to -convince one’s self of this, to _glance at the plates_ 67, 76, 85, in -the magnificent work published at St. Petersburg on the antiquities of -the Cimmerian Bosphorus. These plates represent plasters preserved in -the Museum of the Hermitage, coming from a tomb on Mount Mithridates -opened in 1832, and from another tomb at Kertch excavated in 1843. -These plasters date back to the fourth century before our era.[22] -Adorned with various colors and executed in relief, they were destined -to be attached as ornaments to other objects, such as sarcophagi, -pilasters, walls, etc.” - -Well! what if they were? Is this any proof that they were cast? Mr. -Perkins is easily satisfied, if he is assured of this fact by looking -at engraved plates. Are they all of the same size? Are they identical, -as they would be if they were cast from the same mould, or are they -like all other plaster and stucco work of the ancients of which we are -cognizant,—ornaments modeled by hand? or are they pressures from a -flat, shallow mould, like the ectypa? If the latter, they are almost -unique; and so far they prove that the artists who made them understood -this first and simplest process of casting, or rather of stamping. -But from plates it would be impossible to determine this fact, and -Mr. Perkins gives us no reason to think they are unlike all the other -ancient stucco work. He does not profess to have seen and examined them -for himself; at all events, one fact is clear, that these, if they are -in plaster, are painted plaster. - -In the British Museum there exist some of these so-called casts in -plaster from Cyrenaica and from Kertch. Undoubtedly they are nearer to -being true casts than anything else which has as yet been discovered; -but, after all, a careful examination of them will show that they are -not casts in the legitimate sense of the word, but merely stamps for -a mould, and fashioned in precisely the same way that was employed in -making the hollow terra cottas. To make these, a very rude stamp was -executed, with no under-cuttings of any kind, everything being filled -up which could impede the removal of the clay, which was pressed into -the stamp, then carefully extracted again and finished by hand. All -the terra cotta reliefs called ectypa were made in this way, and some -of the moulds still exist,—not one of them, however, in plaster. The -same process was employed to make some of the figures of terra cotta -in the round, by making a mould of two pieces divided in the middle, -of a very generalized form, with no under-cuttings. Into each of these -moulds a quantity of clay was squeezed; the two parts were then removed -carefully, and joined together. A general form was thus obtained, and -the artist proceeded to model and to finish it with more or less care. -In this way not only ectypa were made in clay and afterwards baked, but -also small flat ornaments which were afterwards appliqué, or fastened -on to flat or round surfaces,—as on to cista. This is the process by -which fragments of the figures from Cyrenaica and Kertch in the British -Museum were made. The junction of the two halves is clear. The work is -very rude; there are no under-cuttings; everything is filled up which -would in the least impede the withdrawal of the material from the -stamp. There is, for instance, an arm and hand, with the interstices -of the fingers quite filled up. But what clearly proves that these -figures were not cast, as distinguished from stamped, is the head. Here -the hair being adorned with a wreath with under-cuttings, it could not -be withdrawn from the stamp without destroying it, and it is entirely -appliqué, or worked on to the head after it was removed. Had it been -cast, there would have been no such difficulty. Nor, again, is it quite -clear that the material of these figures is pure gypsum. It would -rather seem to be a mixture of gypsum with white clay, or argilla, to -give it flexibility, and enable it to be withdrawn from the mould. -Indeed, it may here be observed that it is in every way probable that -the gypsum used by the ancients in modeling and ornamental work was -differently prepared from that which we now use, and was mixed with -some material which prevented it from setting rapidly, and gave it -strength, ductility, and plasticity. Otherwise it is difficult to see -how such works as those in the tombs of the Via Latina, which no one -can doubt are modeled by hand, could have been executed with at once -so much finish and freedom. Gypsum, as we use it, would set too soon to -enable us to work it in such a manner. In the tombs of the Via Latina -which were lately discovered, it is worked as freely as if it were -clay, and was plainly so prepared as to enable the artist to take his -own time in modeling, without fear of its hardening—or, as we call it, -setting—immediately. - -This, then, is nothing new. It is not casting, and these figures are -not casts. They are stamps, just like the ectypa of terra cotta. We -know that κοροκόσμια or dolls were anciently made in this way of wax -and gypsum, or of terra cotta; and these are κοροκόσμια. - -To infer from the fact that the Greeks knew and practiced the art -of pressing into shallow moulds of stone, without under-cuttings, -either clay, pitch, wax, or plaster, that they also understood and -practiced the art of making moulds and casts from life or from the -round is utterly unwarrantable. Nothing is more simple than the one -art, while the other is extremely complex. The one is merely like -making an impression from a seal, which would naturally suggest itself -to the first person who left the pressure of his foot in clay or mud; -the other requires various processes of calculation and invention. -In inventions it is not always or ordinarily the first step which -costs, but the subsequent and calculated steps. Centuries often elapse -between the first step and the second. A remarkable instance of this -is to be found in the history of the invention of printing. The first -steps to this wonderful art were taken by the ancient Romans; the -very process by which we now print was known and practiced by them; -but the application of it to the printing of books does not seem to -have occurred to their minds. It cannot, however, but appear most -extraordinary that the idea of printing should not have occurred to -them when we consider the facts of the case. Pliny relates that Cato -published a book containing portraits of distinguished persons of his -time, of which there were many copies; and so far as we can conjecture, -these copies were probably stamped on parchment or some such material, -and afterwards colored. Putting this together with the fact that -ancient bricks have been lately found in Rome with names and numbers -stamped upon them by means of movable types, so that the numbers or -letters could be arranged at will, we might absolutely state that the -ancient Romans understood and practiced the art of printing. They -certainly did print on their brick; they probably stamped the portraits -of cuts in their books,—but so far as we know they never united the -processes, and never stamped a book with movable types. Adopting Mr. -Perkins’s method of argument, we might declare, however, that the mere -fact that none of these printed books have ever come down to us was -entirely inconclusive, since these books might have utterly perished; -while we have the clearest proof that they did print with movable -types on brick, and therefore it is plain that they invented printing. -The step from one of these processes to the other does indeed seem -so evident, so natural, almost so inevitable, that we are puzzled to -imagine how they could ever have overlooked it. Yet there is little -doubt that they did. But from the simple fact of stamping in clay -or plaster to the complex process of making moulds and casts in the -round requires not one step but many, and each one of them requires -calculation and invention. Indeed, if the art were now to be lost, it -would be easy to conceive that centuries might pass before it would be -reinvented. - -In the collection of Mr. Fol of Rome, of which we have heretofore -spoken, there are some interesting fragments of ancient statuettes in -the round, very carefully finished in plaster, being the leg and thigh -of one, and the half-breast and a portion of the torso of another. -These are as carefully finished as if they were in marble, but they -are elaborately worked by hand in the plaster, and not cast. These -are exceedingly interesting as showing the method of the ancients -in working in plaster, and they clearly illustrate the process of -Lysistratus as described by Pliny,—the only difference being that the -surface is of gypsum and not of wax, or color. The interior or core -of these fragments, which is solid, is of lime, or a coarse kind of -gypsum, and over the surface of this core is spread a thin coating -of fine gypsum, which has been elaborately worked and smoothed on -while it was fluid. The touches and creases on the surface are those -of a modeler’s hand and stick, and it differs in every way from a -cast. It is therefore plain that the artist first made a core, or -rough “imaginem” or “formam,” of coarse gypsum, and that he improved, -emended, and finished the surface, not by means of “cera infusa in eam -formam gypsi,” but of gypsum spread over it,—just as Lysistratus did. -The language of Pliny is an exact description of this process. - -Again, a strong negative indication that gypsum was not used for -casting, or indeed to any extent in modeling, is to be found in the -chapter by Pliny on gypsum. “Its use is,” he says, “to whitewash -[or parget], and to make small figures to ornament houses, and for -wreaths.” He also adds that it is a good medicine for pains in the -stomach; but he entirely omits to mention that it was ever used for -casting. Is it possible to believe that if it were so used he would -not have alluded even to such a fact? Would it be conceivable that -at the present day a chapter could be written on plaster of Paris, -omitting its employment for the purpose of casting? After giving us -this enumeration of the uses to which gypsum is applied, Pliny goes on -to describe its nature, tell where it is found, and name the different -kinds; and he concludes with no allusion to any other use than what he -has previously stated. - -Again, Pliny in the chapter on Lysistratus—which it must be remembered -is devoted to modeling—mentions one fact which seems to be inconsistent -with any knowledge at that time of casting. Arcesilaus, he says, -modeled a drinking-cup or mixing-bowl in plaster, which he sold to -Octavius, a Roman knight,[23] for a talent (£250). It is impossible to -believe that such an enormous price would have been given for a mere -plaster bowl. If the process of casting from it was then understood, -Arcesilaus might have repeated it in cast a thousand times, and the -original and the cast being in the same material, one would have been -quite as good as the other, if retouched. Yet he seems only to have -made one, and to have asked a talent for that. Again, Lucullus made a -contract with this same artist to model for him in plaster a statue of -Fabatus, for which he agreed to pay him no less than 60,000 sesterces, -or £530. - -It is worth noting, too, as a curious fact, that just at the very -time when Lysistratus is supposed to have invented plaster-casting, -the art of brass-casting began to decline in character and style, and -soon after seems to have died out and been lost; at all events, Pliny -tells us that soon after the 120th Olympiad the art perished,—“cessavit -deinde ars.” And as Lysistratus lived only about twenty-five years -previously, it would be singular to find one of these arts dying out -just as the other was being developed. - -Mr. Perkins also thinks it valuable to tell us that Canova was of -opinion that the sculptors of antiquity made finished sketches, and -then by means of proportional compasses enlarged them and took points -on the marble; and he adds, “We should weigh these words of a great -sculptor who devoted himself to the most minute researches on this -subject, as well as to everything that had relation to the fine arts.” - -We agree that we should weigh the words of this distinguished sculptor, -though we were not aware before that he was a profound archæologist, -or had made minute researches on this subject. But how in any way does -this tend to prove that the ancient Greeks and Romans knew how to cast -in plaster? We are equally unable to see the precise bearing on this -question of the fact also stated by him, that the drill is supposed by -some to have been invented by Callimachus, and by others to have been -used long before; or that the pointing of a statue was probably known -to the Greeks, and certainly to the Romans. - -Yet in a certain way the opinion of Canova that the ancients made small -sketches, and by proportional compasses transferred their proportions, -measures, and general forms to their large works, has an argumentative -relation to the subject different from what Mr. Perkins probably -supposed. This opinion is undoubtedly well founded, and accepting it -as such, what does it indicate? That the process of casting in plaster -was known to the ancients? By no means. So far as it goes, it proves -diametrically the opposite,—as Mr. Perkins might have seen, had he -weighed the words of this great sculptor. - -In fact, this leads us to one of the strongest arguments against the -opinion apparently advocated by Mr. Perkins. Had the ancients known -how to cast in plaster from the model, as they knew how to cast in -bronze, this process of making small statuettes and enlarging therefrom -would have been quite unnecessary. They would thus have escaped the -incorrectness which is unavoidable in such a process, by at once making -their models of full size, and completely finishing them in clay or -other plastic material before transferring them to the marble. Their -process probably was to make a small statuette in clay, and then bake -it or dry it. But in transferring proportionally this small figure -into a large one, an objection occurs. Defects scarcely perceptible in -a small figure become gross defects when multiplied into a large one. -Not only variations of one eighth of an inch more or less in small -particulars in a figure a foot high would alter entirely the relative -proportions of a figure eight feet high, but other inaccuracies -inevitably occurring in enlarging by proportional compasses would -increase these disproportions, so that the increased figure would -be invariably untrue in its effect and in its measures. Now this is -precisely what is apparent to any one who carefully studies the antique -statues. Even in works showing the highest artistic knowledge and -skill, the want of correspondence of measures and proportions between -the two sides of the figure is very manifest; and the larger they are -the more this is exhibited. Thus, to take one of the highest examples, -in the Theseus we find astonishing knowledge and artistic skill in -treatment, beside disagreements of measurement in corresponding parts, -which are evidently the result of the defective mechanical process -of enlargement. The legs are beautifully modeled, but of unequal -length,—one being much longer in the thigh than the other. The same -observation is true of the clavicle, and indeed throughout the statue. -Now even an inferior artist would have seen and avoided these mistakes -in modeling the statue full size, but the defect would be easily passed -over by the eye in the small sketch, particularly if the statuette were -merely a sketch, as was in all probability the usual case. It would -be difficult to believe that an artist with the mastery shown in this -statue would not have seen and corrected these mistakes, had the model -of this figure been of the same size. This of course he perceived after -the points were taken in the marble and the work was roughed out, but -then it was too late to remedy them. This difficulty he and all other -artists must constantly have felt. The question was how to avoid it. -Nothing could have been more simple, if the modern process of casting -in plaster from the clay model had been known to them. They would -simply have modeled the statue in clay of its full size, cast it in -plaster, and been sure of its exact proportions and measures. - -Let us take one step further. Had they understood the modern process -of casting in plaster from the clay or from a statue, they could from -the cast have multiplied in marble the same statue any number of -times, identically or with such minute differences as few eyes could -perceive. The repliche in a modern sculptor’s studio are scarcely -to be distinguished from each other, and there would have been no -difficulty in doing the same thing in an ancient sculptor’s studio. -What is the fact known? So far from this being the case, not only are -there comparatively very few repliche even of the most famous statues, -for which there would necessarily be a great demand, but even in the -various repliche which we have there are not only no two which approach -to identity either in attitude or in size, but one can scarcely say of -any of them that the artist had more at best than a vivid recollection -of the original or of some other replica, much less that he had it -before him to copy even by eye. Often the attitude is changed, as well -as the size and proportions; sometimes the action is reversed; and in -all cases such differences exist as it is impossible that the clumsiest -workman could have made with a cast of the original before him. Nor -do we read or hear of any copies in our sense of copy; that is, exact -reproduction of any of the great works of the great sculptors. Look, -for instance, at the Venus of the Capitol and the Venus de Medici -and the St. Petersburg Venus; they are all repliche of the renowned -statue by Praxiteles, but beyond the general attitude there is no -resemblance, not so much as any clever artist of to-day could make -from mere recollection. Look again at the portrait busts; how many are -there of Marcus Aurelius, Octavius Cæsar, and Lucius Verus!—and no two -of them approaching identity. Of the thousands of statues which have -been excavated, no two are exact copies from the same model. There is -at best nothing more than a family resemblance among those which are -most alike. Would this be possible, if the ancients knew and practiced -the art of casting in plaster as we do? It would seem to be utterly -impossible, or at least improbable to the highest degree. - -Again, why should not the great artists themselves, or their scholars, -have made repliche of their famous statues? Nothing would have been -easier had there been any casts from them. They were greatly coveted, -and the prices paid for the original works were enormous,—so enormous -that the largest prices of our day shrink into insignificance beside -them. For the famous nude Venus by Praxiteles, Athens, in her extreme -desire to possess it, offered in exchange to pay the whole public -debt of the state to which it belonged. This offer, however, was -peremptorily refused. Yet what could have been more easy, had a cast -of it been in existence, or had they known how to make one, than for -Praxiteles or his scholars to have made an exact replica, fully equal -to the original or even superior to it, with additional touches of the -master’s hand? That this was never done, or hinted at, proves that, the -statue once having passed out of the artist’s hands, he could repeat -it from memory only by aid of his sketch; and this would not only have -cost him as much labor as making a new statue, but would in no sense -have been identical. Again, is it to be supposed that if Polyclitus had -an absolute cast of his life-size statue of the Doryphoros which would -have enabled him to repeat it with exactness, the original would have -commanded such a price as one hundred talents, or £25,000? Or is it -possible to suppose that Arcesilaus would have received a gold talent -(£250) for a plaster bowl which could have been repeated by casting, -for almost nothing? It was because it was modeled, and the modern -process of casting in a piece-mould was unknown, that it commanded such -a price. Here making a rude stamp without under-cuttings would not -suffice. The _finesse_ of the work could not be given, and the work -would have been destroyed or greatly injured in the attempt. - -If it be a fact that the Greeks and Romans knew this process, one would -naturally expect to find at least some fragments of casts or moulds -in plaster of their great works,—as for instance of their small and -exquisite Corinthian bronzes, if not of their large figures. But, so -far as we are aware, nothing of the kind has ever been found. The -whole city of Pompeii in the height of its luxury was buried under -a fall of ashes, which for many long centuries preserved the most -refined, fragile, and delicate utensils and works of art; and it is -but a few years since that we removed these ashes and explored its -houses and rooms which had been untouched since that fatal calamity -befell them of which Pliny gives us so vivid an account. It is on the -statements of the younger Pliny himself that those rely who claim -that the ancients knew and practiced casting in plaster. Long before -his day, then, this art had been invented; and we should naturally -expect to find some specimens of it in this city of luxury, among its -pictures, its vases, its statues, and its glass. But in all Pompeii -there has not been found a vestige of a casting in plaster. Its -stuccoes still remain, the bas-reliefs worked in plaster on its walls -are still uninjured, its paintings are still fresh, its vases unbroken, -its household utensils perfect. Hermetically sealed up under that -mound of ashes, there was nothing to injure a cast in any house, if it -existed. But there is absolutely nothing of the kind. Yet this was a -people devoted to art, and whose houses were filled with knick-knacks -of every kind. We find the sculptor’s studio, but there is not a cast -in it, nor is there the shop of a caster. It is plain, therefore, that -there was not a cast in Pompeii. - -But if anywhere there were casts from the round there were also -piece-moulds from the round. Where are they? Has any person ever -heard of one? Now a hollow cast is comparatively a fragile object; but -a plaster mould, saturated as it must be with oil, is anything but a -fragile object. Sheltered from the inclemencies of storm and rain, it -would last for thousands of years, and would even resist a century of -exposure to the weather of Italy. But not underground nor aboveground -anywhere has such a thing been found. Whatever moulds have been found -are fit only for mere stamping. They are extremely rude, without -under-cuttings, and seem merely to give a general shape. They are not -cast upon anything, but worked out by hand, and are not in plaster. -They are all small; nothing ever has been found which is either a -mould, or a cast from life, or from a statue, or from a vase or bowl, -or any careful work of art. - -An ancient manufactory of terra cotta has been lately discovered and -unearthed at Arezzo in Tuscany, and a large number of moulds was -found, taken apparently from vases executed originally on some hard -metal, probably in silver. The figures on these moulds are of the most -exquisite design and execution, and for beauty and delicacy of finish -exceed anything which remains to us of Greek or Etruscan art. There -are no under-cuttings, and the relief is so low and flat as to yield -an impression scarcely, if at all, higher than a seal or intaglio. -All these moulds, however, are in terra cotta. Not one is in plaster, -though in this material they could have been executed more easily -and exactly, and could have been reproduced in the original size. Of -course, first taken, as they were, in soft clay, then baked, they of -necessity shrank in size and were subject to warping and cracking, all -which defects would have been avoided had they been made in plaster. -All this would indicate that the use of plaster in making moulds was -not practiced at that period, even in such a simple operation as this. - -In face of this we must say we do not agree with Mr. Perkins when -he thinks he “establishes by undeniable proof how little founded is -the opinion of those who pretend that the ancients did not practice -casting in plaster,—sustaining it by the complete absence of statues -and statuettes of plaster or fragments of any kind in the excavations, -when nevertheless thousands of objects are found of the most fragile -nature;” and especially when the undeniable proof which he offers is -the existence of some works and arabesque ornaments in plaster found -at Kertch, and supposed to belong to the fourth century before the -Christian era, and which apparently he has never seen. On the contrary, -we should like to know how he explains the fact that no indubitable -ancient moulds or castings have ever been found. - -But Mr. Perkins does not seem to reason beyond his texts. He does not -discuss the probabilities of the case; he does not undertake to account -for, or to harmonize with his view, the great fact that nothing has -been found of ancient art cast in plaster. Outside of what is written -in books he does not venture. He does not even seem to have a clear -opinion of his own. He says, “Sur ce point [casting in plaster] les -textes nous laissent dans les ténèbres. Faut-il s’en étonner? Non! -Les auteurs classiques trompent notre curiosité sur des choses d’un -bien autre intent. Que nous disent-ils des vases peints, dont les -musées de l’Europe regorgent? Rien,” etc. Well, if the texts leave us -in darkness, are we then to know nothing and to think nothing? Are we -not to exercise our minds, and if a doubtful text seems to indicate -a fact utterly at variance with our reason and with the facts we -know, are we to treat that text as a fetich, and bow down and worship -it, because it is written in a book? Are we to endeavor to wrench -everything into harmony with it? Or, if it will not agree with facts -of which there is no doubt, are we not rather to sacrifice the text -than our own reason? And especially, are we to pay such reverence to -a doubtful text of Pliny, the most careless of writers, the least -accurate of archæologists? As to the painted vases, no argument or -ancient texts are needed; there is no question in respect to them; -they existed in great numbers; but in respect to casting in plaster -there is nothing but texts to depend upon. Nay more, there is only one -passage in any ancient author, so far as I am aware, that _seems_ to -assert the existence of this process; and the question is as to the -meaning of this very ambiguous passage. If it means what Mr. Perkins -supposes, where are the moulds; where are the casts; where are the -finished likenesses; where is there anything, in a word, to support the -statements of Pliny, as thus interpreted? Does it not seem amazing that -they should all have totally disappeared? - -That the text of Pliny, on which all rests, does not mean what it -is supposed to mean by Mr. Perkins, we have endeavored to show; but -at all events, since it is admitted to be most obscure and scarcely -intelligible, it would be better to throw the text overboard, if -it is in conflict with all we know and is improbable in itself, -particularly when we take into consideration the corrupt condition -of the entire text of Pliny. Dr. Brunn, who is certainly an able and -learned archæologist, does not hesitate to reject a portion of this -very text, from the words “idem et de signis effigiem exprimere,” as -an interpolation; and there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who -carefully examines it that this entire passage is full of confusion of -ideas and statements. - -Mr. Perkins endeavors to strengthen his position, and also the text of -Pliny as he understands it, by a citation from the “Tragic Jupiter” of -Lucian, in which the statue of Hermes complains that he is spotted by -the pitch with which the sculptors cover his limbs every day, “afin -de les reproduire,” he gratuitously adds, with no authority in the -text for such a statement; and _apropos_ of this he tells us that one -may “model with pitch mixed with marble dust or brick.” He adds: “It -is what the Italians call ‘ciment,’ and they employ it for the most -delicate parts of the mould. It is sufficient in order to keep it in a -malleable state to set the piece on which one is working near the fire, -or to soften it from time to time in a bath of hot water.” “Now this -information,” he continues, “which we owe to one of the most eminent -and learned artists of our age, is very precious, since it gives us -the real meaning of the passage in Lucian.” This taken in connection -with a passage in Apollodorus representing Dædalus making a statue to -Hercules ἐν πίσσῃ or ἐν πίσῃ—the word is doubtful—induces Mr. Perkins -“to conclude, first, that two centuries before the Christian era, pitch -was used, mixed without doubt with other substances, to cast statues -[mouler les statues]; second, that the passage in Lucian not only -contains one of those railleries of which the Voltaire of antiquity -was so prodigal, but leads us to suspect that it veils the indication -of one of the processes of casting.” That is, first he inclines to the -opinion that πίσσῃ (pitch) is a misprint for πίτυς (pine wood), and -that the statue made by Dædalus was in wood; and then he immediately -turns around, and thinks that it proves the existence of casting in -plaster. It cannot mean both; and the probability would seem to be that -he is wrong in both suppositions, and that Dædalus was only employed in -painting his statue in resin or wax. - -The seriousness of this passage is more remarkable than its accuracy. -Who can the eminent and learned artist be who has given us this so -precious information?—“ce renseignement tres-précieux,”—which is known -to every humble caster in Europe,—though he is not quite correct in -the composition of what he says the Italians call “ciment.” He must -be a French artist who scorns the Italian language as being, in the -words of another of his countrymen, “rien que de mauvais Français.” -“Ciment” is not an Italian word, and “cimento” has a quite different -significance,—that of attempt or essay. The Italian casters call this -material “cera,” though it is not wax. But aside from this, let us -consider this passage from Lucian to which Mr. Perkins, following other -writers, refers us as showing that the process of casting in plaster -was known to the ancient Greeks. - -The Ζεὺς Τραγῳδός of Lucian is a satire on the divinities of Greece, -and a council of them is called to deliberate on what should be done -in consequence of an assault upon their nature and power by Damis. The -gods are called upon, and a question arises as to the precedence they -should have, whether it should be according to the material of which -they are made,—of ivory, gold, bronze, stone, or clay,—or according to -the excellence of their workmanship and the skill of the artist; but -such confusion of claims is made that no precedence is finally allowed -to any one, and the question as to the reasons and arguments of Damis -and his opponent Timocles is discussed. While this is going on, a -figure is seen approaching which is thus described:— - -“But who is this who comes in such haste [ὁ χαλκοῦς, ὁ εὔγραμμος, ὁ -εὐπερίγραφος, ὁ ἀρχαῖος τὴν ἀνάδεσιν τῆς κόμης], this bronze, this -beautifully chased or engraved, beautifully outlined, the archaic -in the arrangement of his hair [πίττης γοῦν ἀναπέπλησαι, ὁσημέραι -ἐκματτόμενος ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνδριαντοποιῶν]; he is clogged with pitch from -seals or impressions being daily taken from it by the sculptors.” - -Hermes, the bronze, then answers:— - -“It happened lately that my breast and back were covered with pitch by -the _sculptors in bronze_, and a ridiculous cuirass was thus formed -on my body, and by imitative art received a complete seal from the -brass.”[24] - -This passage is supposed to indicate the process of casting in plaster. -It is possible that it may indicate a preparation in pitch to cast -in bronze, but certainly not in plaster, which is the sole question. -It is not workers in plaster who are engaged on it, but workers in -bronze; and what they were doing was plainly to take impressions of -the intaglio chasing or engraving on the body of the figure. The -description of the bronze is that it was archaic, and beautifully -traced and engraved. It may have been a term engraved with verses, or -figures, or inscriptions; and this is by no means improbable, as it -represented Hermes, and as nothing but the breast and back was covered -with pitch. At all events, the process was one which seems to have -been carried on, not for once, but daily. It may have been the famous -Hermes ἀγοραῖος, which was cast in the 34th Olympiad, and was a study -for brass casters. Again, it may not have been a figure in the round, -but merely a bas-relief, or intaglio; and this supposition would be -entirely in accordance with the hieratic and archaic sculpture in -brass, marble, and terra cotta. Many were executed thus in intaglio and -engraved,—some of which still remain,—and others in relief. A list of -such may be found in Müller’s “Ancient Art” (pp. 61–65). If the passage -refers to making a mould for casting, it was for casting in bronze and -not in plaster, though nothing is said about casting, but merely of -taking impressions or seals. The words ἐκτυπούμενος and ἐκματτόμενος -mean ex-pressions from a seal or stamp. Exactly what the sculptors were -doing, however, to this statue covers the process of brass casters. -Thus Lucian, speaking of a certain brass statue in the Agora, says: -οἶσθα τὸν χαλκοῦν τὸν ἑσῶτα ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ, καὶ τὰ μὲν πιττῶν τὰ δὲ εὔων -διετέλεσα,—“You know the brass statue standing in the forum, on which I -was occupied pitching and drying,” or burning. - -But there is nothing new in all this, and nothing which throws any -light upon the subject in question. It was, as we well know, a common -practice of the Greeks, in making their large statues, to build up a -core of wood, brickwork, plaster, and other materials as a foundation -or rough sketch. On the surface of this in their chryselephantine -statues they veneered sheets of gold and ivory, sometimes covering the -entire surface with these precious materials, and sometimes finishing -portions of them with an exterior of plaster or clay, which was painted -in imitation of life. This for instance was the case with the Dionysos -in Kreusis, described by Pausanias, of which the whole figure was -modeled in plaster and afterwards colored. It would also seem to have -been a practice with the Greek artists to cover these roughly executed -cores with a composition of resin and pitch which they indurated by -fire; and afterwards to finish the surface in the same material. Such -at least appears to be the process indicated by Lucian in the passage -just quoted, in which he speaks of the statue he was engaged in -pitching and drying; as well as by Apollodorus in a passage in which -Dædalus is described as making a statue of Hercules in pitch (πίσσα). -The term “pissa” in this last passage has by some translators been -supposed to be a misprint for ἐν πίση, meaning that this statue was a -ζόανον executed in pine wood like other Dædalian figures. As it stands -in the original, certainly, it is πίσσα, and means pitch; and it is -quite as probable that it is correct and means a sort of encaustic -finish with resin and gum. However this may be, there is little doubt -that in making their bronze statues the Greeks used a surface of wax -and pitch, or some such material, which was plastic and would melt; and -it is well known that they spread wax over their statues to give them a -polished surface, and also finished their plaster walls with a covering -of wax. - -In making large statues, a skeleton framework of wood was often -employed, called κίνναβος, or κάναβος, which was covered with solid -material,—clay, plaster, brick, pitch, etc., all welded together to -form a solid core over which the surface was finished in clay, plaster, -pitch, ivory, or gold. In the “Somnium, seu Gallus” of Lucian, Gallus -says, speaking of himself, “If he were king, he should be like one of -the colossi of Phidias, Praxiteles, or Myron, which though externally -like Neptune or Jupiter,—splendid with ivory and gold, bearing the -trident or the thunderbolt,—yet if you look inside you will find them -composed of beams and bolts and nails traversing them everywhere, and -braces and ridges, and pitch and clay, and other ugly and misshapen -things.” - -It is a curious fact bearing generally on this subject that no allusion -is ever made to such a person as a caster in plaster. Plutarch, -enumerating the various trades and occupations to which the great -public works of his time gave employment, speaks of operatives, -modelers, brass-workers, stone-workers, gold and ivory workers, -weavers, and engravers, but never mentions a caster. Philostratus -also, enumerating the different classes of workmen in the plastic art, -makes no mention of casters. Pliny never speaks of them. Indeed, their -existence is never mentioned by any ancient writer. - -All things considered, then, in conclusion, it seems impossible to -believe that Pliny intended, in the passage relating to Lysistratus, to -declare that he invented any method of casting in plaster, but rather -that he intended to say that Lysistratus either modeled likenesses in -wax over a core of gypsum, or, what is much more probable, that he -colored his likenesses in imitation of life; and that his specialty was -making accurate and literal likenesses in the round with color, thus -uniting the two arts of the painter and the sculptor. - -The process of casting in plaster, in our acceptation of the phrase, is -of modern origin, and so far as we know was invented in the fifteenth -century, a little before the time of Verrocchio (1432–1488), the master -of Leonardo da Vinci. He was among the first who employed it, and may -fairly be said to have introduced it. At all events, the first clear -mention of this process of which we are aware is by Vasari in his life -of Verrocchio; and he states that this sculptor and painter “cast -hands, knees, feet, legs, even torsi, in order to copy them at his -leisure; and that soon after casts began to be made from the faces of -persons after death, so that one sees in every house in Florence, on -mantel-pieces, doors, windows, and cornices, a great number of these -portraits, which seem alive.” For some time after it seems to have been -used chiefly for taking casts from dead faces,—or hands and feet,—and -not to have been applied to casting from models of clay. The general -practice of that period was to make a small model in clay, then to bake -it, and from this model by proportional compasses to enlarge it and -point it upon the marble. The process of casting from clay models seems -not to have been practiced then, and so far as we know models of full -size in clay were rarely if ever made, until rather a comparatively -recent period. - - - - -A CONVERSATION WITH MARCUS AURELIUS. - - -It was a dark and stormy night in December. Everybody in the house had -long been in bed and asleep; but, deeply interested in the “Meditations -of Marcus Aurelius,” I had prolonged my reading until the small hours -had begun to increase, and I heard the bells of the Capucin convent -strike for two o’clock. I then laid down my book, and began to reflect -upon it. The fire had nearly burned out, and, unwilling yet to go, I -threw on to it a bundle of canne and a couple of sticks; again the -fresh flame darted out, and gave a glow to the room. Outside, the -storm was fierce and passionate. Gusts beat against the panes, shaking -the old windows of the palace, and lashing them with wild rain. At -intervals a sudden blue light flashed through the room, followed by a -trampling roar of thunder overhead. The fierce libeccio howled like -a wild beast around the house, as if in search of its prey, and then -died away, disappointed and growling, and after a short interval again -leaped with fresh fury against the windows and walls, as if maddened -by their resistance. As I sat quietly gazing into the fire and musing -on many shadows of thought that came and passed, my imagination went -back into the far past, when Marcus Aurelius led his legions against -the Quadi, the Marcomanni, and the Sarmati, and brought before me the -weather-beaten tent in which he sat so many a bleak and bitter night, -after the duty of the day was done, and all his men had retired to -rest, writing in his private diary those noble meditations, which, -though meant solely for his private eye, are one of the most precious -heritages we have of ancient life and thought. I seemed to see him -there in those bleak wilds of Pannonia, seated by night in his tent. -At his side burns a flickering torch. Sentinels silently pace to and -fro. The cold wind flirts and flaps the folds of the prætorium, and -shakes the golden eagle above it. Far off is heard the howl of the -wolf prowling through the shadowy forests that encompass the camp; -or the silence is broken by the sharp shrill cry of some night bird -flying overhead through the dark. Now and then comes the clink of armor -from the tents of the cavalry, or the call of the watchword along the -line, or the neighing of horses as the circuitores make their rounds. -He is ill and worn with toil and care. He is alone; and there, under -the shadow of night, beside his camp-table, he sits and meditates, -and writes upon his waxen tablets those lofty sentences of admonition -to duty and encouragement to virtue, those counselings of himself to -heroic action, patient endurance of evil, and tranquillity of life, -that breathe the highest spirit of morality and philosophy. Little did -he think, in his lonely watches, that the words he was writing only for -himself would still be cherished after long centuries had passed away, -and would be pondered over by the descendants of nations which were -then uncultured barbarians, as low in civilization as the Pannonians -against whom he was encamped. Yet of all the books that ancient -literature has left us, none is to be found containing the record of -higher and purer thought, or more earnest and unselfish character. As I -glanced up at the cast of the Capitoline bust of him which stood in the -corner of my room, and saw the sweet melancholy of that gentle face, -ere care and disappointment had come over it and ruled it with lines -of age and anxiety, a strange longing came over me to see him and hear -his voice, and a sad sense of that great void of time and space which -separated us. Where is he now? What is he now? I asked myself. In what -other distant world of thought and being is his spirit moving? Has it -any remembrance of the past? Has it any knowledge of the present? Yet -the hand that wrote is now but dust, which may be floating about the -mausoleum where he was buried, near the Vatican, or perhaps lying in -that library of the popes upon some stained manuscript of this very -work it wrote, to be blown carelessly away by some studious abbé as he -ranges the volume on its shelf among the other precious records of the -past. - -The hand is but dust, yet the thoughts that it recorded are fresh and -living as ever. Since he passed from this world, how little progress -have we made in philosophy and morality! Here in this little book are -rules for the conduct of life which might shame almost any Christian. -Here are meditations which go to the root of things, and explore the -dim secret world which surrounds us, and return again, as all our -explorations do, unsatisfied. All these centuries have passed, and we -still ask the same questions and find no answer. Where he is now he -knows the secret, or he is beyond the desire to know it. The mystery -is solved for him which we are guessing, and his is either a larger, -sweeter life, growing on and on—or everlasting rest. A stoic, he found -comfort in his philosophy, as great perhaps as we Christians find in -our faith. He believed in his gods as we believe in ours. How could -they satisfy a mind like his? How could these impure and passionate -existences, given to human follies and weaknesses, to low intrigues, -to vulgar jealousies, to degraded loves, satisfy a nature so high, so -self-denying, so earnest, so pure? Yet they were his gods; to them he -sacrificed, in them he trusted, looking forward to a calm future with a -serenity at least equal to ours, undisturbed by misgivings; believing -in justice, and in unjust gods; believing in purity, and in impure gods. - -“No!” said a mild voice, “I did not believe in impure and unjust gods.” - -And looking up, I saw before me the calm face of the emperor and -philosopher of whom I was thinking. There he stood before me as I knew -him from his busts and statues, with his full brow and eyes, his sweet -mouth, his curling hair, now a little grizzled with age, and a deep -meditative look of tender earnestness upon his face. - -I know not why I was not startled to see him there, but I was not. It -seemed to me natural, as events seem in a dream. The realities, as we -call those facts which are merely visionary and transitory, vanished; -and the unrealities, as we call those of thought and being, usurped -their place. Nothing seemed more fitting than that he should be there. -To the mind all things are possible and simple, and there is no time or -space in thought which annihilates them. - -I arose to greet my guest with the reverence due to such a presence. - -“Do not disturb yourself,” he said, smiling; “I will sit here, if you -please;” and so speaking, he took the seat opposite me at the fire. -“Sit you,” he continued, “and I will endeavor to answer some of the -questions you were asking of yourself.” - -“Had I known your presence I should hardly, perhaps, have dared to ask -such questions, or at least in such a form,” I said. - -“Why not ask them of me if you ask them of yourself?” he responded. -“They were just and natural in themselves, and the forms of things are -of little use to one who cares for the essence—just as the forms of -the divinities I believed in are of no consequence compared to their -essences. What we call thoughts are but too often mere formulas, which -by dint of repetition we finally get to believe are in themselves -truths, while they are in fact mere dead husks, having no life in them, -and which by their very rigidity prevent life. No single statement, -however plausible, can contain truth, which is infinite in form and in -spirit. If we are to talk together, let us free ourselves, if we can, -from formulas, since they only check growth in the spirit, and, so to -speak, are mere inns at which we rest for a moment on account of our -weariness and weakness. If we stay permanently in them we narrow our -minds, dwarf our experience, and make no more progress. For what is -truth but a continual progression towards the divine?” - -“Yet would you say that formulas are of no use? that we should not sum -up in them the best of our thought?” - -“Undoubtedly they are useful. They are trunks in which we pack our -goods; but as we acquire more goods, we must have larger and ever -larger trunks. It is only dead formulas which kill, and the tendency of -formulas is to die and thus to repress thought. Look at the nutshell -that holds the precious germ of the future tree. It is a necessary -prison of a moment; but as that germ quickens and spreads, the shell -must give way, or death is the consequence. The infinite truth can be -comprehended in no formula and no system. All attempts to do this have -resulted in the same end—death. Every religious creed should be living, -but every Church formalizes it into barren words and shapes, and -erelong, Faith—that is, the living, aspiring principle—dies, wrapped -up in its formal observances or rigid statements, and becomes like the -dead mummies of the Egyptians—the form of life, not the reality.” - -“Too true,” I answered, “all history proves it. Every real and thinking -man feels it. As habits get the better of our bodies, so conventions -and formulas get the better of our minds. But pray continue; I only -listen; and pardon me for interrupting you.” - -“What I say has direct relation to the questions you were asking when -I entered. There is a grain, often many grains, of truth in every -system of religion, but complete Truth in none. If we wait until we -attain the perfect before adhering to one, we shall never arrive at -any. Each age has its religious ideas, which are the aggregate of its -moral perceptions influenced by its imaginative bias, and these are -shapen into formulas or systems, which serve as inns, or churches, -or temples of worship. These begin by representing the highest -reach of the best thought of the age, but they soon degenerate into -commonplaces, thought moving on beyond them, and of its very vitality -of nature seeking beyond them. At these inns the common mass put up, -and the host or priest controls them while they are there, and society -organizes them, and so a certain good is attained. In what you call the -ancient days, when I lived on the earth, I found a system already built -and surrounded by strong bulwarks of power. To strike at that was to -strike at the existence of society. A religious revolution is a social -revolution; one cannot alter a faith without altering everything out -of which it is moulded. To do that, more evil might result than good. -Man’s nature is such that if you throw down the temple of his worship -at once, assaulting its very foundations, you do not improve his faith; -you but too often annihilate it, so implanted is it in old prejudices, -in the forms stamped on the heart in youth, and in the habits of -thought. It is only by gradual changes that any real good can be -done—by enlarging and developing the principles of truth which already -exist, and not by overthrowing the whole system at once.” - -“But in the religious system to which you gave your adherence,” I -exclaimed, “what was there grand and inspiring? What truth was there -out of which you could hope to develop a true system? for certainly you -could not believe in the divinities of your day.” - -“Reverence to the gods that were,” he answered, “to a power above and -beyond us; recognition of divine powers and attributes. This lay as the -corner-stone of our worship, as it does of yours.” - -“Almost,” I cried, “it seems to me worse to worship such gods as yours -than to worship none at all. Their attributes were at best only human, -their conduct was low and unworthy, their passions were sensual and -debased. Any good man would be ashamed to do the acts calmly attributed -to the divinities you worshiped. This, in itself, must have had a -degrading influence on the nation. How could man be ashamed of any act -allowed and attributed to the gods?” - -“Your notions on this point are natural,” he calmly answered, “but they -are completely mistaken. There is no doubt that in every system of -religion the tendency is to humanize and, to a certain extent, degrade -God. To attribute to Him our own passions is universal, with the mass. -To deify man or to humanize God is the rule. You deify that beautiful -character named Christ, and you humanize God by representing Him as -inspired with anger and cruelty beyond anything in our system. You -attribute to Him a scheme of the universe which is to me abhorrent. -Will you excuse me if I state thus plainly how it strikes one who -belonged to a different age and creed, and who therefore cannot enter -into the deep-grained prejudices and ideas of your century and faith?” - -“Speak boldly,” I said. “Do not fear to shock me. I am so deeply -planted that I do not fear to be uprooted in my faith. And, besides, -that is not truth which does not court assault, sure to be strengthened -by it. If you can overthrow my faith, overthrow it.” - -“_That_ I should be most unwilling to do,” he answered. “No word would -I say to produce such a result. In your faith there is a noble and -beautiful truth, which sheds a soft lustre over life; and in my own day -the pure and philosophic spirit of Jesus of Nazareth was recognized by -me and reverenced. ’T is not of Him I would speak, but rather of the -general scheme of the regulation of this world by God that I alluded -to; and I yet pause, fearing to shock you by a simple statement of this -creed.” - -“I pray you do not hesitate; speak! I am ready and anxious to hear you.” - -“It is only in answer to what you say of the acts and passions -attributed by us to our divinities, as constituting a clear reason why -we should not reverence them, that I speak. You attribute to your God -omnipotence, omniscience, and infinite love. Yet in his omnipotence -He made first a world, and then placed in it man and woman, whom He -also made and pronounced good. In this, according to your belief, He -was mistaken. The man and woman proved immediately not to be good; and -He, omnipotent as He was, was foiled by another power named Satan, -who upset at once his whole scheme. After infinite consideration and -in pity for man, He could or did invent no better scheme of redeeming -him than for Himself, or an emanation from Himself, to take the form -of man, and to suffer death through his wickedness and at his hands. -Thus man, by adding to the previous fault the crime of killing God -on the earth, acquired a claim to be saved from the consequences of -his first fault. A new crime affords a cause of pardon for a previous -fault of disobedience. What was this first fault, which induced God -to drive the first man and woman out of the Paradise He had made for -them? Simply that they ate an apple when they were prohibited. Is any -pagan legend more absurd than this? Then for the justice of God, on -what principle of right can the subsequent crime and horror—without -example—of killing God, or a person, as you say, of the Trinity, afford -a reason for removing from man a penalty previously incurred? When one -remembers that you assume God to be omniscient as well as omnipotent, -and that He might have made any other scheme, by simply forgiving man, -or obliging him to redeem himself by doing good and acting virtuously, -instead of committing a crime and a horror, this belief becomes still -more strange. Nor can you explain it yourself; you only say it is a -mystery which is beyond your reason, but none the less true. Yet though -it offends all sense of justice and right in my mind, you believe it -and adhere to it as a corner-stone of your faith. Are you sure I do not -offend you?” - -“Pray go on,” I said. “When you have said it is a mystery, you have -said all. Shall man, with his deficient reason, pretend to understand -God? This is a truth revealed to us by his only begotten Son, Jesus -Christ, who was himself in a human form; and when God reveals to us a -mystery, shall we not believe it? Shall we measure Him by our feeble -wits?” - -“I do not mean to argue with you. This is furthest from my intention; -though I might say this holds good of us in the ancient days, as well -as with you now. I only wish, however, to show you that you believe -what you acknowledge to be beyond reason—a mystery, as you call it. You -believe this, and yet you despise the pagan for believing what his gods -told him, simply because it was unreasonable or ridiculous.” - -“The question,” I said, “is very different; but let it pass. Pray go -on.” - -“Your God is a God of infinite love, you say. Yet in the opinion of -many of you, at least, this infinitely loving God, omnipotent, and -having the power to make man as He chose,—omniscient, and knowing how -to make him good and happy if He wished to,—has chosen in his love -to make him weak and impotent, to endow him with passions which are -temptations to evil, to afflict him with disease and pain, to render -him susceptible to torments of every kind and sufferings beyond his -power to avoid, however he strive to be good and virtuous and obedient; -and then at the last, after a life of suffering and struggle here, -either to save him and make him eternally happy, or, if He so elect, -without any reason intelligible to you or any one, to plunge him into -everlasting torment, from which he can never free himself. Now, I -ask you in what respect is such a God better than Jupiter, who, even -according to the lowest popular notions, whatever were his passions, -was at least placable; who, whatever were his follies, was not a demon -like this? And when one takes into consideration the fact that there -is not a humane man living who would not be ashamed to do to his own -child, however vicious, what he calmly attributes to this all-loving -God, the belief in such a God seems all the more extraordinary.” - -“It is a mystery,” I said, “that one like you, born in another age and -tinctured with another creed, could not be expected to understand. It -would be useless for me to attempt it, and certainly not now, when I so -greatly prefer hearing you to speaking myself. My purpose is not now to -defend my religion, but to listen to your defense of yours.” - -“Well, then, allow us to have our mystery too. If you cannot explain -all, neither could we; but neither with us nor with you was that a -reason for not believing at all. It was the mystery itself, perhaps, -that attracted us and attracts you. The love of the unintelligible is -at the root of all systems of religion. If man is unintelligible to -us, shall not God be? Man has always invested his gods with his own -passions, and his gods are for the most part his own shadows cast out -into infinite space, enlarged, gigantic, and mysterious. Man cannot, -with the utmost exercise of his faculties, get out of himself any more -than he can leap over his own shadow. He cannot comprehend (or inclose -within himself) God, who comprehends and incloses him; and therefore -he vaguely magnifies his own powers, and calls the result God. God the -infinite Spirit made man; but man in every system of religion makes -God. In our own reason He is the best that we can imagine—that is, -our own selves purged of evil and extended. We cannot stretch beyond -ourselves.” - -“Ay, but your gods were not the best you could conceive. They were -lower of nature than man himself in some particulars, and were guilty -of acts that you yourself would reprove.” - -“This is because you consider them purely in their mythical -history, according to the notions of the common ignorant mass; not -looking behind those acts which were purely typical, often simply -allegorical, to the ideas which they represented and of which they -were incarnations. You cannot believe that so low a system as this -satisfied the spiritual needs of those august and refined souls who -still shine like planets in the sky of thought. Do you suppose that -Plato and Epictetus, that Zeno and Socrates, that Seneca and Cicero, -with their expanded minds, accepted these low formulas of Divinity? -As well might I suppose that the low superstitions of the Christian -Church, in which the vulgar believe, represent the highest philosophy -of the best thinkers. Yet for long centuries of superstition the Church -has been accepted by you just as it stands, with its saints and their -miracles, and its singular rites and ceremonies. Nor has any effort -been made to cleanse the bark of St. Peter of the barnacles and rubbish -which encumber and defile it. Religious faith easily degenerates into -superstition in the common mind. And why has the superstition been -accepted? Simply because it is so deeply ingrained into the belief of -the unthinking mass, that there might be danger of destroying all faith -by destroying the follies and accidents which had become imbedded in -it. Not only for this; by means of these very superstitions men may be -led and governed, and leaders will not surrender or overthrow means -of power. Yet the best minds,” he continued, “did what they could in -ancient days to purify and refine the popular faith, and sought even -to elevate men’s notions of the gods by educating their sense of the -beautiful, and by presenting to them images of the gods unstained by -low passions and glorious in their forms.” - -“But surely your idea of Jupiter or Zeus,” I answered, “was most -unworthy when compared with that which we entertain of the infinite -God, the source of all created things, the sole and supreme Creator. -The Hebrews certainly attained a far loftier conception in their -Jehovah than you in your Jupiter.” - -“What matter names?” he replied; “Zeus, Jehovah, God, are all mere -names, and the ideas they represented were only differenced by the -temperaments and character of the various peoples who worshiped them.” - -“But the Jehovah of the Jews was not merely the head ruler of many -gods, but a single universal God, one and infinite!” - -“No! I think not. The Jehovah of the Jews underwent many changes and -developments with the growth of the Hebrew people; and in many of -their writings He is represented as a passionate, vindictive, and -even unreasonable and unjust God, whose passions were modified by -human arguments. And, so far from being a universal God of all, He was -specially the God of the Hebrews, and is so constantly represented in -their Scriptures. He comes down upon earth and interferes personally -in the doings of men, and talks with them, and discusses questions -with them, and sometimes even takes their advice. In process of time -this notion is modified, and assumes a nobler type; but He is never -the Universal Father, nor the God whose essence is Love,—never, that -is, until the coming of Christ, who first enunciated the idea that -God is love,—rejoicing over the saving of man, far and above all -human passions. ‘Vengeance is mine’ was the original idea of Jehovah; -and He was feared and worshiped by the Jews as their peculiar God, -whose chosen people they were. As for his unity, whatever may have -been the popular superstitions of the Greeks and Romans, God is -recognized by the greatest and purest minds as one and indivisible, -the Father of all, who commands all, who creates all, who is invisible -and omnipotent. Do you not remember the fragment of the Sibylline -verses preserved by Lactantius,[25] S. Theophilus Antiochenus, -and S. Justinus, where it is said that Zeus was one being alone, -self-creating, from whom all things are made, who beholds all mortals, -but whom no mortal can behold?— - - Εἷς δ’ ἔστ’ αὐτογενής· ἑνὸς ἔκγονα πάντα τέτυκται, - Ἐν δ’ αὐτοῖς αὐτὸς περιγίγνεται· οὐδέ τις αὐτὸν - Εἰσοράᾳ θνητῶν, αὐτὸς δέ γε πάντας ὁρᾶται. - -So, also, Pindar cries out:— - - ‘Τί Θεός;’ τί τὸ πᾶν. - -So again, in the same spirit, the Appian hymn says of Zeus:— - - Ἓν κράτος, εἷς δαίμων γένετο μέγας οὐρανὸν αἴθων - Ἓν δὲ τὰ πάντα τέτυκται· ἐν ᾧ τάδε πάντα κυκλεῖται. - -And Euripides exclaims, ‘Where is the house, the fabric reared by man, -that could contain the immensity of God?’ - - Ποῖος δ’ ἂν οἶκος, τεκτόνων πλασθεὶς ὑπὸ - Δέμας, τὸ Θεῖον περιβάλλοι τοίχων πτυχαῖς, - -and adds that the true God needs no sacrifices on his altar. And -Æschylus, in like manner, says:— - - Ζεύς ἐστιν αἰθὴρ, Ζεὺς δὲ γῆ, Ζεὺς δ’ οὐρανὸς, - Ζεύς τοι τὰ πάντα, χὥτι τῶν δ’ ὑπέρτερον. - -And Sophocles, also in similar lines, proclaims the unity and -universality of God. And Theocritus, in his ‘Idylls,’ echoes the same -sentiment. The same cast of thought, the same lofty idea of God, is -found among the ancient Romans. Lucan exclaims in his ‘Pharsalia:’— - - ‘Jupiter est quod cumque vides, quo cumque moveris.’ - -Valerius Soranus makes him the one universal, omnipotent God, the -Father and Mother of us all:— - - ‘Jupiter omnipotens, regum rerumque deumque - _Progenitor genetrix_que deum deus unus et omnes.’[26] - -Can any statement be larger and more inclusive than this?[27] Such -indeed was the true philosophic idea of Jupiter, as entertained by -the best and most exalted in ancient days. You must go to the highest -sources to learn what the highest notions of Deity are among any -people, and not grope among the popular superstitions and myths. Then, -again, what nobler expressions of our relation to an infinite and -universal spirit of God are to be found than in Epictetus and Seneca? -‘God is near you, is with you, is within you,’ Seneca writes. ‘A sacred -spirit dwells within us, the observer and guardian of all our evil and -all our good. There is no good man without God.’ And again: ‘Even from -a corner it is possible to spring up into heaven. Rise, therefore, -and form thyself into a fashion worthy of God.’ And again: ‘It is -no advantage that conscience is shut up within us. We lie open to -God.’ And still again: ‘Do you wish to render the gods propitious? Be -virtuous.’ One might cite such passages for hours from the writings of -these men. Can you, then, think that our notions of God and duty were -so low and so debased? - -“Look, too, at our arts. Art and religion with us and the Greeks -went hand in hand. If you seek the true spirit of religion among any -people, you will always find it in the productions of their art. In -sculpture, the most ideal of the plastic arts, you will see the real -features of the gods. They are grand, calm, serene, dignified, and -above the taint of human passion; claiming reverence and love in their -beauty and perfection beyond the human. Here there is nothing mean or -low. So godlike are they even in the poorer specimens of their noble -figures that have come down to you, that you yourselves recognize in -them ideal grace and power. Read the reflection of our faith in their -forms and features, and you will find in it nothing vulgar, nothing -degrading. The best personifications of your own divinities in art -look poor beside them. God himself in your pictures is feeble compared -with the divine Jupiter of Phidias; the Madonna weak and tame beside -the august grandeur of his Athene. Christ in your art is pitiable -beside the splendor of Apollo; so far from being the highest type of -even man, he is almost the weakest, composed of pale negatives, and -with nothing very positive and grand; while your saints are affected, -cowardly, and cringing, compared with the heroic demigods of Greece. -In art, at least, the ancient deities still live and command reverence -from a serene world beyond change. Would you know what our faith was, -look at the great works of art and at the best thoughts of the greatest -minds we owned, and not at the corrupted text of popular superstition. -These, indeed, were worthy of reverence. They lifted the thoughts and -cleared the spirit, and filled it with a sense of beauty and of power. -Who could look at that magnificent impersonation of Zeus at Olympia, -by Phidias, so grand, so simple, so serene, with its golden robes -and hair, its divine expression of power and sweetness, its immense -proportions, its perfection of workmanship, and not feel that they were -in the presence of an august, tremendous, and impassionate power?” - -“Ah!” I exclaimed, “that truly I wish I could have seen—what majesty, -what beauty, it must have had!” - -“Ay!” he answered. “No one could see it and not be enlarged in spirit -by it.” - -“Was, then, the Athena of the Parthenon,” I asked, “equal in merit?” - -“It was very different. It wanted the power and massive grandeur of the -Zeus; but in its dignity and serenity it had a wondrous charm. It was -the true type of wisdom, calm above doubt, and with a gentle severity -of aspect, as if, undisturbed by the tormenting questions that vex -humanity, it saw the eternal truth of things. When I compare with these -wondrous statues your best representations of your divinities, I cannot -but feel how vast a difference there is; and when in your temples one -sees the prostrate figures of men and women clinging to vulgar and -degraded images of saints, imploring aid and protection from them, and -soliciting their interposition against the avenging hand of Deity, I -cannot see that you are better than we.” - -“But, after all, through this there is a belief in a pure and infinite -Being beyond—a Being beyond all human passion; not imperfect and -subject to wild caprices, and capable of abominable acts.” - -“You see, we go back to the same question,” he replied. “You profess -to worship a God above nature, and yet your prayers are to Christ, -the man; to the saints, who were lower men and women; and you cling -to these as mediators. Well; and we also believed in a spirit and -power undefined and above all, whose nature we could not grasp, -and who expressed himself in every living thing. Our gods were but -anthropomorphic symbols of special powers and developments of an -infinite and overruling power. They partly represent, in outward shape -and form, philosophic ideas and human notions about the infinite God, -and partly body forth the phenomena of nature, that hint at the great -ultimate cause behind them, of which they are, so to speak, the outward -garment, by which the Universal Deity is made visible to man. In our -religion nature was but the veil which half hid the divine powers. -Everywhere they peered out upon us, from grove and river, from night -and morning, from lightning and storm, from all the elements and all -the changes and mysteries of the living universe. It delighted us to -feel their absolute, active presence among us—not far away from us, -involved in utter obscurity, and beyond our comprehension. We saw the -Great Cause in its second plane, close to us, in the growing of the -flower, in the flowing of the stream, in the drifting of the cloud, in -the rising and setting of the sun. Our gods (representing the great -idea beyond, and doing its work) were anthropomorphic by necessity, -just as yours are in art. The popular fables are but the mythical -garb behind which lie great facts and truths. They are symbolical -representations of the great processes of nature, of the laws of -life and growth, of the changes of the seasons, of the strife of the -elements. Apollo was the life-giving sun; Artemis, the mysterious -moon; Ceres and Proserpine, the burial of the grain in the earth, and -its reappearance and fructification. So, on another plane, Minerva -was the philosophic mind of man; Venus, the impassioned embodiment of -human love, as Eros was of spiritual affections; Bacchus, the serene -and full enjoyment of nature. We but divided philosophically what -you sum up in one final cause; but all our divisions looked back to -that cause. In an imaginative people like the Greeks, there is also a -natural tendency to mythical embodiment of facts in history as well -as in nature; and in the early periods, when little was written down, -traditions easily assumed the myth form. Ideas were reduced to visible -shapes, and facts were etherealized into ideas and imaginatively -transformed. The story of Diana and Endymion, of Cupid and Psyche, -will always be true—not to the reason, but to the imagination. It -expresses poetically a sentiment which cannot die. So, also, what -matters it if Dædalus built a ship for Icarus, and Icarus was simply -drowned? Sublimed into poetry, it became a myth, and Icarus flew -on waxen wings across the sea. All poetry is thus allegorical. The -wind will always have wings until it ceases to blow. These myths are -simply poetic moulds of thought, in which vague sentiments, ideas, -and facts are wrought together into an express shape. Think what your -own literature or thought would be without the old Grecian poems. Let -the reason reject them as it will, and drive them out into the cold, -the imagination will run forth and bring them back again to warm and -cherish them on its breast. Facts, as facts, are but dead husks. The -spirit cannot live upon them. Besides, are not our myths enchanting? -Could anything take their place? Can science, peering into all things, -ever find the secrets of nature? After all its explorations, the final -element of life, the motive and inspiring element that is the essence -of all the organism it uses and without which all is mere material, -mere machinery, flees utterly beyond its reach, and leaves it at last -with only dust in its hands. Does not the little child that makes -playmates of the flowers, and the brooks, and the sands, find God there -better than any of us? The subtle divinity hides anywhere, entices -everywhere, is just out of reach everywhere. We catch glimpses of it, -breathe its odor, hear its dim voice, see the last flutter of its robe, -pursue it endlessly, and never can seize it. The poet is poet because -he loves this spirit in nature, and comes nearer it; but he cannot -grasp it; and for all his pursuit he comes back laden at last with a -secret he cannot quite tell, and shapes us a myth to express it as well -as he may.” - -“But surely,” I answered, “we should distinguish between mere poetry -and fact—between science and fancy. So long as we admit the unreality -of merely fanciful creations and explanations of facts, we may be -pleased with them; but let us not be misled by them into a belief of -their scientific truth.” - -“Ah, ’tis the old story! The little child has a bit of wood, which to -her, in the free play of her imagination, is a person with good and bad -qualities, who acts well or ill, whom she loves or despises. She whips -it; she caresses it; she scolds it; she sends it to school or to bed; -she forgives it and fondles it. All is real to the child; more real, -perhaps, than to the nurse who stands beside her and laughs at her, -and says, ‘How silly! come away! it is only a stick!’ Which is right? -The Greeks were the child, and you are the nurse. What is truth, which -is always on our lips—truth of history, truth of science, truth of any -kind? Who knows—history? Two persons standing together see the same -occurrence; is it the same to both? Far from it. The literal friend -is amazed to hear what the imaginative friend saw. Yet both may be -right in their report, only one saw what the other had no senses to -perceive. We only see and feel according to our natures. What we are -modifies what we see. Out of the camomile flower the physician makes -a decoction, and the poet a song. History is but a dried herbarium of -withered facts, unless the imagination interpret them. I cannot but -smile at what is called history; and of all history, that of our own -Roman world seems the strangest, because, perhaps, I know it best.” - -“Ah!” I broke in, “how one wishes you had written us familiar memoirs -of your time, and given us some intimate insight into your life, your -thoughts, your daily doings. We have so to grope about in the dark for -any knowledge of you. And then, in the history of art, what dreadful -blanks! I do not feel assured, except from your ‘Meditations,’ as we -call them, and your letters, that we really know anything accurately -about you. About the Thundering Legion, for instance,—what is the -truth?” - -“There,” he answered, “is an instance of the ease with which a fable -is made, and how a simple fact may be tortured into an untruth merely -to suit a purpose. When I was on my campaign against the Quadi, in the -year 174, the incident to which you refer happened. The spring had been -cold and late, and suddenly the heats of summer overtook us in the -enemy’s country. After a long and difficult march on a very hot day, -we suddenly came upon the enemy, who, descending from the mountains, -attacked us, overcome with fatigue, in the plains. The battle went -against us for some time, for my army suffered so from thirst and heat -and exhaustion that they were unable to repel the attack, and were -forced back. While they were in full retreat and confusion, suddenly -the sky became clouded over, and a drenching shower poured upon us. My -men, who were dying of thirst, stopped fighting, took off their helmets -and reversed their shields to catch the rain, and while they were thus -engaged the enemy renewed their assault with double fury. All seemed -lost, when suddenly, as sometimes occurs among the mountains, a fierce -wind swept down with terrible peals of thunder and vivid flashes of -lightning; the rain changed into hail, which was blown and driven with -such a fury into the faces of the enemy that they were confounded and -confused, and began in their turn to fall back. My own men, having the -storm only on their backs, refreshed by the rain they had drunken from -their shields and helmets, and cooled by their bath, now anew attacked, -and, pouring upon their foe with fury, cut them to pieces. Among my -soldiers at this time there was an old legion, organized in the time of -Augustus, named the Fulminata, from the fact that they bore on their -shields a thunderbolt; upon this simple fact was founded the story, -repeated by many early writers in the Christian Church, that this -legion was composed of Christians only, that the storm was a miraculous -interposition of their God in answer to their prayer, and that they -then received the name of Fulminata, in commemoration of this miracle. -This is the simple truth of the case. My men said that Jupiter Pluvius -came to their aid, and they sacrificed to him in gratitude; and on the -column afterwards dedicated to me by the Senate in commemoration of -my services, you will see the sculptured figure of Jupiter Pluvius, -from whose beard, arms, and head the water is streaming to refresh my -soldiers, while his thunderbolts are flashing against the barbarians.” - -As he spoke these words, a flash of lightning, so intense as to blind -the lamps, gleamed through the room, followed by a startling peal of -thunder, which seemed to shake not only the house but the sky above us. - -He smiled and said, “We should have said in older time that Jupiter -affirmed the truth of my statement; but you are above such puerilities, -I suppose.” - -“Certainly I should not say it was a sign from Jupiter. The thunder was -on the left, and that was considered by you a good omen, was it not? - - ‘Et cœli genitor de parte serena - Intonuit lævum.’” - -“This thunder on the left was considered a good omen. But what was -it you said after you asked the question? You seemed to be making a -quotation in a strange tongue—at least a tongue I never heard.” - -“That was Latin,” I answered, blushing a little, “and from -Virgil—Virgilius, perhaps I ought to say, or perhaps Maro.” - -“Ah! Latin, was it?” he said. “I beg your pardon; I thought it might -have been a charm to avert the Evil Eye that you were uttering.” - -“As difficult to understand as the Eleusinian mysteries,” I said. “And, -by the way, what were the Eleusinian mysteries?” - -“They were mysteries! I can merely say to you that they concealed -under formal rites the worship of the spirit of nature, as symbolized -in Demeter and Persephone and Dionysos. In their purest and hidden -meaning, they represented the transformation, purification, and -resurrection of humanity in a new form and in another existence. But I -am not at liberty to say more than this. The outward rites were for the -multitude, the inner meaning for the highest and most developed minds. -Were it permitted to me to explain them to you, I think you would not -take so low a view of our religious philosophy as you now seem to have. -What you hear and read of was merely the outward and mystical drama, -with its lustrations and fasting, and cakes of sesame and honey, and -processions—as symbolical in its way as your mass and baptism, and -having as pure a significance. - -“But,” he continued, “to revert to the questions which we were -previously discussing. It seems to me that in certain respects your -faith is not even so satisfactory as ours; for its tendency is to -degrade the present in view of the future, and to debase humanity in -its own view. With us life was not considered disgraceful, nor man a -mean and contemptible creature. We did not systematically humiliate -ourselves and cringe before the divine powers, but strove to stand -erect, and not to forget that we were made by God after his own image. -We did not affect that false humility which in the view of the ancient -philosophers was contemptible—nay, even we thought that the pride of -humility was of all the most despicable. We sought to keep ourselves -just, obedient to our best instincts, temperate and simple, looking -upon life as a noble gift of the gods, to be used for noble purposes. -We believed, beside this, that virtue should be practiced for itself, -and not through any hope of reward or any fear of punishment here or -hereafter. To act up to our highest idea of what was right was our -principle, not out of terror or in the hope of conciliating God, but -because it was right; and to look calmly on death, not as an evil, but -as a step onward to another existence. To desire nothing too much; to -hold one’s self equal to any fate; to keep one’s self in harmony with -nature and with one’s own nature; calmly to endure what is inevitable, -steadily to abstain from all that is wrong; to remember that there is -no such thing as misfortune to the brave and wise, but only phantasms -that falsely assume these shapes to shake the mind; that when what -we wish does not happen, we should wish what does happen; that God -hath given us courage, magnanimity, and fortitude, so that we may -stand up against invasions of evil and bear misfortune,—such were our -principles, and they enabled us to live heroic lives, vindicating -the nobility of human nature, and not despising it as base and lost; -believing in the justice of God and not in his caprice and enmity to -any of us, and having no ignoble fear of the future.” - -“But are not these principles for the most part ours?” I answered. “Do -we not believe that virtue is the grand duty of man? Do none of us seek -to live heroic lives, and sacrifice ourselves to do good to the world -and to our brothers?” - -“Certainly, you lead heroic lives; but your great principle is -humility—your great motive, reward or fear. You profess to look on -this life as mean and miserable, and on yourselves as creatures of -the dust; and you declare that you have no claim to be saved from -eternal damnation by leading a just life, but only by a capricious -election hereafter. You profess that your God is a God of love, and you -attribute to Him enmity and injustice of which you yourself would be -ashamed. You think you are to be saved because Christ died on the cross -for you, and you are not sure of it even then. But with us every one -deserved to be tried on his own merits, and to expiate his own errors -and crimes.” - -“It is supposed by some that you were half a Christian yourself. Is -this so?” - -“If you mean that I reverenced the life and doctrines of Christ, and -saw in Him a pure man, I certainly did. But in my principles I was -a Stoic purely, and it is only as a philosopher that I admired the -character of Christ. You think the principles He preached were new; -they were really as old as the world, almost. His life was blameless, -and He sacrificed his life for his principles; and for this I reverence -Him, but no further. His followers, however, were far less pure and -self-denying, and they sought power and endeavored to overthrow the -state.” - -“Was it for this you persecuted them?” I said. - -“I did not persecute them,” he answered. “As Christians they were -perfectly free in Rome. All religions were free, and all admitted. No -one was interfered with merely for his religious belief and worship, -whether it were that of Isis, of Mithras, of Jehovah, or of any other -deity. It was only when the Christians endeavored to attain to power -and provoke disturbance in the state, to abuse authority and set at -defiance the laws, that it became necessary—or at all events was -considered necessary—to stop them. When they were not content with -worshiping according to their own creed, but aggressively denounced -the popular worship as damnable, and sought to cast public contempt -on all gods but their own, they outraged the public sense as much -as if any one now should denounce Christ as a vagabond, and seek by -abuse to overthrow your church by all sorts of blasphemous language. -Nor would it matter in the least in your own time that any person so -outraging decency should be absolutely honest in his intentions, and -assured in his own mind of the truth of his own doctrines. Suppose one -step further,—that any set of men should not only undertake to turn -Christ into ridicule publicly, but should also abuse the government and -conspire to overthrow the monarchy. You would then have a case similar -to that of the Christians in my day. At all events, it was believed -that it was a settled plan with them to overthrow the empire, and it -was for this that they were, as you call it, persecuted. For my own -part, I was sorry for it, deeming in such matters it was better to take -no measures so severe; but I personally had nothing to do with it. -It was the fanatical zeal of the government, who, acting without my -commands, took advantage of ancient laws to punish the Christians; and -this your own Tertullian will prove to you. They undoubtedly supposed -that the Christians were endeavoring to create a political and social -revolution,—that they were in fact Communists, as you would now call -them, intent upon overthrowing the state. I confess that there was -a good deal of color given to such a judgment by the conduct of the -Christians. But as for myself, as I said, I was opposed to any movement -against them, believing them all to be honest of purpose, though -perhaps somewhat excited and fanatical.” - -“Why did you think that they were Communists?” I asked. “Had you any -sufficient grounds for such a belief?” - -“Surely; the most ample grounds in the very teachings of Christ -himself. His system was essentially communistic, and nothing else. -His followers and disciples were all Communists; they all lived in -common, had a common purse, and no one was allowed to own anything. -They were ordered by Christ not to labor, but to live from day to day, -and take no heed of the future, and lay up nothing, but to sell all -they had, and live like the ravens. Christ himself denounced riches -constantly—not the wrong use of riches, but the mere possession of -them; and said it was easier for a camel to go through the eye of a -needle, than for a rich man to inherit the kingdom of heaven,—not a -bad rich man, observe, but any rich man. So, too, his story of Lazarus -and Dives turns on the same point. It does not appear that Lazarus was -good, but only that he was poor; nor does it appear that Dives was bad, -but only that he was rich; and when Dives in Hades prays for a drop -of water, he is told that he had the good things in his lifetime, and -Lazarus the evil things, and that _therefore_ he is now tormented, and -Lazarus is comforted.” - -“But, surely,” I answered, “it was intended to mean that Dives had not -used his riches properly?” - -“Nothing is said of the kind, or even intimated; for all that appears, -Dives may have been a good man, and Lazarus not. The only apparent -virtue of Lazarus is, that he was a beggar; the only fault of Dives, -that he was rich. Do you not remember, also, the rich young man who -desired to become one of Christ’s followers, and asked what he should -do to be saved? Christ told him that doing the commandments, and being -virtuous and honest, was not enough; but that he must sell all that -he had, and give it to the poor, and then he could follow Him, and -not otherwise; and the rich good man was very sorrowful, and went -away. What does all this mean but Communism? Yes; the system He would -carry out was community of goods, and He would permit no one to have -possessions of his own. This struck at the roots of all established law -and rights of property, and naturally made his sect feared and hated -among certain classes in Rome.” - -“I am astonished,” I said, “to find that you have so carefully studied -the records of the teachings and doctrines of Christ.” - -“Is it not the duty of any man,” he answered, “especially of one -in a responsible position, carefully to consider the arguments and -doctrines of all who are sincere and earnest in their convictions, -and, however averse they may be from our preconceived opinions, to -weigh them, as far as possible, calmly, and without prejudice, and see -what they really are and what truth there may be in them? and was not -this peculiarly incumbent on me in the case of so noble and spiritual -a teacher as Christ? Was it not my duty to endeavor, as far as in me -lay, first to recognize the great principles of his teaching, and then -in their light to examine and weigh his very words as far as they -are authentically reported to us by his followers? It is this fixed -notion, from which we cannot easily free ourselves, that we in our -own views alone can be right, that shuts up the mind and encrusts our -faith with superstitions. We at our best are merely men, subject to -errors, short-sighted, fixed in prejudices, and seeing but a part of -anything. No system of religion ever embraced all truth; no system is -without gleams of it; all recognize a higher power above us and beyond -our comprehension; and nothing is more unbecoming than to scorn what -we have not even striven to understand, or to shut our ears and our -minds to any doctrine or faith which is earnestly, seriously propounded -and accepted by others. Unfortunately, it is this narrow-mindedness -and arrogance of opinion which has always impeded the growth and -development of truth. There is nothing so bitter as religious -controversy,—nothing which has so petrified our intelligence or has -begotten such crimes and such persecutions. Therefore it was that I -deemed it my duty to study and endeavor to understand the doctrine and -belief of all sincere minds, whether of those who worshiped Jehovah or -Zeus, Mithras or Christ, and not to reject them as wicked or erroneous -simply because they were averse from the faith in which I had been -educated. Will you excuse me if I say that what amazes me in regard to -the Christian faith is, that while it is claimed that Christ is God, -and therefore to be implicitly obeyed in all his commands, so little -intelligence is shown in studying those commands, and such willful -perversion in avoiding them even when they are plainly enunciated; -and again, that while claiming that love and forgiveness are the very -corner-stone of your faith, you Christians none the less not only -accept war and battle as arbitraments of right, but in the name of -your great founder,—nay, of your very God,—have endeavored at times to -enforce those doctrines by the most hideous of crimes, and by wholesale -slaughter of those who differed from you in minor particulars -of faith; and still more, do constantly even now exhibit such -narrow-minded adherence to mere words and texts, without consideration -of the great principles which underlie them and in the light of which -surely they are to be interpreted. You are all Christians now, in Rome. -You profess absolute faith in the teaching of Christ. You profess to -consider his life as the great exemplar for all men. Do you follow it? -Do you, for instance, think it in accordance with his teaching or his -example to devote your lives selfishly to the laying up of riches for -your own individual luxuries, to clothe yourselves in purple and fine -linen, to make broad your phylacteries, or to use vain repetitions in -your prayers as the heathen do, standing in the synagogues and at the -corners of the streets, and to play the part of Dives while Lazarus is -starving at your gates? Are you any better than we heathens, as you -call us, in all this? Do you think Christ would have done thus, or -smiled approval on all you do in his name? Ah! you say, it would be -impossible for us strictly to carry out this system of Christ. It is -beautiful, but ideal, and for us, in the present state of the world, -absolutely impracticable. But have you ever tried it? Have you ever -even sought to try it, and to hold a common purse for the interest of -all?” - -I had to bow my head, and admit that in that high sense we are not -Christians. “But,” I said, “to follow exactly all these commands, to -carry out all these doctrines, even to imitate his example as set -before us in his life, would be to revolutionize the world.” - -“But does not the world need revolutionizing,” he said, “according to -your own principles?” - -“We do what we can, at least we endeavor to do so, as far as we are -able.” - -“Are you sure even of that?” he replied. “Are you sure it is not mammon -that you really worship, and not Christ? But I will say no more. You -are but mortal men as we were; and man is fallible and weak, and our -knowledge is but half-knowledge at best, and our love and faith have -but feeble wings to lift us above the earth on which we dwell. Look -upon us, therefore, as you would be looked upon yourselves, and be -not too stern on our shortcomings. We had our vices and faults and -deficiencies as you have yours, but we had also our virtues, and were -on the whole as high of purpose, as self-sacrificing, as pure even as -you; but man neither then nor now has led an ideal life. - -“But to return to what we were saying about our treatment of -Christians. Let me add in my own justification that I for myself never -had any hand in persecutions, either of Christians or of others, nor -was I ever aware that they were persecuted. I knew that persons who -happened to be Christians were punished for political offenses; and -that was all, I think, that happened. Believe me, my soul was averse -from all such things, nor would I ever allow even my enemies to be -persecuted, much less those who merely differed from me on moral and -philosophical theses. Nay, I may say they differed little from me even -on these points, as you may well see if you read my letters on the -subject of the proper treatment of one’s enemies, written to Lucius -Verus, or if you will refer to that little diary of mine in Pannonia, -wherein I was not so base as to lie to myself.” - -“Indeed,” I cried; “that book is a precious record of the purest and -highest morality.” - -“’Tis a poor thing,” he answered, “but sincere. I strove to act up to -my best principles; but life is difficult, and man is not wise, and our -opinions are often incorrect. Still, I strove to act according to my -nature; to do the things which were fit for me, and not to be diverted -from them by fear of any blame; to keep the divine part in me tranquil -and content; and to look upon death and life, honor and dishonor, pain -and pleasure, as neither good nor evil in themselves, but only in the -way in which we receive them. For fame I sought not; for what is fame -but a smoke that vanishes, a river that runs dry, a lamp that soon is -extinguished—a tale of a day, and scarcely even so much? Therefore, -it benefits us not deeply to consider it, but to pass on through the -little space assigned to us conformably to nature, and in content, -and to leave it at last grateful for what we have received, just as -an olive falls off when it is ripe, blessing nature which produced -it, and thanking the tree on which it grew. So, also, it is our duty -not to defile the divinity in our breast, but to follow it tranquilly -and obediently as a god, saying nothing contrary to truth, and doing -nothing contrary to justice. For our opinions are but running streams, -flowing in various ways; but truth and justice are ever the same, and -permanent, and our opinions break about them as the waves round a -rock, while they stand firm forever. For every accident of life there -is a corresponding virtue to exercise; and if we consult the divine -within us, we know what it is. As we cannot avoid the inevitable, we -should accept it without murmuring; for we cannot struggle against -the gods without injuring ourselves. For the good we do to others, we -have our immediate reward; for the evil that others do to us, if we -cease to think of it, there is no evil to us. It is by accepting an -offense, and entertaining it in our thoughts, that we increase it, -and render ourselves unhappy, and veil our reason, and disturb our -senses. As for our life, it should be given to proper objects, or it -will not be decent in itself; for a man is the same in quality as the -object that engages his thoughts. Our whole nature takes the color of -our thoughts and actions. We should also be careful to keep ourselves -from rash and premature judgments about men and things; for often a -seeming wrong done to us is a wrong only through our misapprehension, -and arising from our fault. And so, making life as honest as possible -and calmly doing our duty in the present, as the hour and the act -require, and not too curiously considering the future beyond us, -standing ever erect, and believing that the gods are just, we may make -our passage through this life no dishonor to the Power that placed us -here. Throughout the early portion of my life, my father, Antoninus -Pius,—I call him my father, for he was ever dear to me, and was like a -father,—taught me to be laborious and assiduous, to be serene and just, -to be sober and kind, to be brave and without envy or vanity; and on -his death-bed, when he felt the shadow coming over him, he ordered the -captain of the guard to transfer to me the golden statuette of Fortune, -and gave him his last watchword of ‘Equanimity.’ From that day to the -day when, in my turn, I left the cares of empire and of life, I ever -kept that watchword in my heart—equanimity; nor do I know a better one -for any man.” - -“Oh, tell me, for you know,” I cried, “what is there behind this -dark veil which we call death? You have told me of your opinions and -thoughts and principles of life, here; but of that life hereafter you -have not said a word. What is it?” - -There was a blank silence. I looked up—the chair was empty! That noble -figure was no longer there. - -“Fool that I was!” I cried; “why did I discuss with him these narrow -questions belonging to life and history, and leave that stupendous -question unasked which torments us all, and of which he could have -given the solution?” - -I rose from my chair, and after walking up and down the room several -minutes, with the influence of him who had left me still filling my -being as a refined and delicate odor, I went to the window, pushed wide -the curtains, and looked out upon the night. The clouds were broken, -and through a rift of deep, intense blue, the moon was looking out on -the earth. Far away, the heavy and ragged storm was hovering over the -mountains, sullen and black, and I recalled the words of St. Paul to -the Romans:— - -“When the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things -contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto -themselves;” and “the doers of the law shall be justified.” - - - - -DISTORTIONS OF THE ENGLISH STAGE AS INSTANCED IN “MACBETH.” - - -Art is art because it is not nature, is the motto of the Idealisti; Art -is but the imitation of nature, say the Naturalisti. The truth lies -between the two. Art is neither nature alone, nor can it do without -nature. No imitation, however accurate, for imitation’s sake makes a -good work of art in any other than a mechanical sense. And every work -of art in which the objects represented are inaccurately or imperfectly -imitated is in so far deficient. But art works by suggestion as well -as by imitation. Whatever is untrue to the imagination fails to -produce its proper effect, however true it be to the fact. The most -absolute realism will not answer the higher demand of the imagination -for ideal truth. Art is not simply the reproduction of nature, but -nature as modified and colored by the spirit of the artist. It is a -crystallization out of nature of all elements and facts related by -affinity to the idea intended to be embodied. These solely it should -eliminate and draw to itself, leaving the rest as unessential. A -literal adherence to all the accidents of nature is not only not -necessary in art, but may even be fatal. The enumeration of all the -leaves in a tree does not reproduce a tree to the imagination, while a -whole landscape may be compressed into a single verse. - -Between the ideal and the natural school there is a perpetual struggle. -Under the purely ideal treatment art becomes vague and insipid; under -the purely natural treatment it becomes literal and prosaic. The -Pre-Raphaelites, in protesting against weak sentimentalism and vague -generalization, and demanding an honest study of nature, have fallen -into the error of exaggerating the importance of minute detail, and, by -insisting too strongly on literal truth, have sometimes lost sight of -that ideal truth which is of higher worth. But their work was needed, -and it has been bravely done. They have roused the age out of that dull -conventionalism in which it had fallen asleep. They have stimulated -thought, revivified sentiment, and reasserted with word and deed the -necessity of nature as a true basis of art. - -As in the arts of painting and sculpture, so in the drama and on -the stage a strong reaction is taking place against the stilted -conventionalism and elaborate artifice of the last generation. Such -plays as the “Nina Sforza” of Mr. Troughton, the “Legend of Florence” -of Mr. Leigh Hunt, and the “Blot in the ‘Scutcheon” and “Colombe’s -Birthday” of Mr. Browning, are vigorous protests against the feeble -pretensions and artificial tragedies of the previous century. The poems -and plays of Mr. Browning breathe a new life; and if as yet they have -only found “fit audience though few,” they are stimulating the best -thought of this age, and slowly infusing a new life and spirit into it. - -But the traditions of the stage are very strong in England, and are not -easily to be rooted out. The English public has become accustomed to -certain traditional and conventional modes of acting, which interfere -with the freedom of the actor, and cramp his genius within artificial -forms. There is almost no attempt on the English stage to represent -life as it really is. Tradition and convention stand in the stead of -nature. From the moment an actor puts his foot on the stage he is -taught to mouth and declaim. He studies rather to make telling points -than to give a consistent whole to the character he represents. His -utterance and action are false and “stagey.” In quiet scenes he is -pompous and stilted; in tragic scenes, ranting and violent. He never -forgets his audience, but, standing before the footlights, constantly -addresses himself to them as if they were personages in the play. -Habit at last becomes a second nature; his taste becomes corrupted, -and he ceases to strive to be simple and natural. There is, in a -word, no defect against which Hamlet warns the actor which is not a -characteristic feature of English acting. It never “holds the mirror -up to nature,” but is always “overdone,” without “temperance,” full -of mouthing, strutting, bellowing, and noise. It “tears a passion to -tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.” And -“there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and -that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, having neither the accent -of Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor Turk, have so -strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature’s journeymen -had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so -abominably;” and this needs to be reformed altogether. - -These words of Shakespeare show that even in his time the inflated, -pompous, and artificial style still in vogue on the English stage -was a national characteristic. We have scarcely improved, since old -traditions cling and hold the stage in mortmain. Reform moves slowly -everywhere in England; but the two institutions which oppose to it the -most obstinate resistance are the church and the theatre. In both of -these tradition stands for nearly as much as revelation. Each adheres -to its old forms, as if they contained its true essence; each believes -that those forms once broken, the whole spirit would be lost; just -as if they were phials which contained a precious liquid, and must -be therefore preserved at all costs. The idea that the liquid can be -quite as well, and perhaps better, kept in different phials has never -occurred to them. They will die for the phial. - -Still it is plain that a strong reaction against this bigoted -admiration of traditional and conventional forms is now perceptible. -The facilities of travel and intercourse with other nations have -engendered new notions and modified old ones. It is impossible to -compare the French and Italian stage with the English, and not -perceive the vast inferiority of the latter. In the one we see nature, -simplicity, and life; in the other, the galvanism of artificial -convention. It cannot be denied that the recent acting of Hamlet by -Fechter was to the English mind a daring and doubtful innovation. It -was something so utterly different in spirit and style from that to -which we have been accustomed that it created a sensation; and while it -found many ardent admirers, it found quite as many vehement opposers. -The public ranged themselves in two parties; the one insisting that -the traditional and artificial school, as represented by Garrick, the -elder Kean, and Cooke, was the only safe guide for the tragic actor; -and the other arguing that as the true function of the stage was to -hold up the mirror to nature, acting should be as much like life and -as little like acting as possible. The former, at the head of which -were the friends of Mr. Charles Kean, made a public demonstration in -his behalf, and scouted these newfangled French notions of acting. Was -it to be supposed that any school of acting could be superior to that -created and established in England by the genius of such actors as -Garrick, the elder Kean, and Cooke? Should foreigners presume to teach -us how to interpret and represent plays which had been the study of the -English people for centuries? To this it was opposed that, however -mortifying to us, it was a fact that the Germans had led the way to a -profounder and more metaphysical study of Shakespeare, and had taught -us in many ways how to understand his plays, and that therefore there -was no reason why foreigners might not teach us how to act them. The -very fact that their eyes were not blinded, nor their tongues tied by -traditional conventions, enabled them to study Shakespeare with more -freedom and directness. There was no deep rut of ancient usage out -of which they were forced to wrench themselves. And, besides, it was -affirmed, and with truth, that the English stage is the jeer of the -world, and needs thorough reform. - -We have indeed made little progress in reforming the stage. Mr. Charles -Kean has devoted his talents to improving the wardrobe and scenery, and -has so far done good service; but in the essential matter of acting we -are nearly where we were in the past century. While the background and -dresses are reformed, and the bag-wig in which Garrick played Hamlet is -thrown aside, we have carefully preserved all the old points, all the -stage-tricks, and all the stilted intonations of the artificial school; -and the consequence is, that the sole reality is in that which is the -least essential. The attention is thus withdrawn from the actor to the -scenery, and we have a spectacle instead of a tragedy. The background -is real, but the actor is conventional; the blanket has usurped the -prominent place, and Shakespeare has retired behind it. The bursts of -genius with which Garrick startled the house, and made the audience -forget his bag-wig, are wanting, but all his tricks are preserved; the -corpse is still there, but the spirit he put into it is gone. - -In comedy there is as little resemblance to real life as in tragedy; -humor and wit are travestied by buffoonery and grimace. Instead of -pictures of life as it is, we have grotesque daubs and caricatures, so -exaggerated and farcical in their character as to “make the judicious -grieve.” The actor and the audience react upon each other. The audience -are generally uneducated, and for the most part agree with Partridge in -his comment on “Hamlet:” “Give me the king for my money,” says he. The -actors must bow to this low taste,— - - “For they who live to please must please to live.” - -But tradition has worse sins to answer for. It has not only ruined our -national acting, but in some cases has overshadowed the drama itself, -and perverted the meaning of some of the greatest plays of Shakespeare. -Hamlet is not Hamlet on the English stage; he is the tall, imposing -figure of John Kemble; dark, melodramatic, and dressed in black velvet. -Strive as we will, we cannot imagine him as the light-haired Dane, -easy and dreamy of temperament, “fat and scant of breath,” essentially -metaphysical, hating physical action, and wanting energy to put his -thoughts into deeds. The whole spirit of the acted Hamlet is southern; -that of the real Hamlet is purely northern. We have indeed broken -through an old tradition, according to which, incredible as it may -seem, Shylock used to be acted as a comic character, though we are -still far from a real understanding of his character. But of all the -plays of Shakespeare none is so grossly misunderstood as “Macbeth.” -Nor is this misapprehension confined to the stage; it prevails even -among those who have zealously studied and admired Shakespeare. As John -Kemble stands for Hamlet in our imaginations, so does Mrs. Siddons for -Lady Macbeth. She has completely transformed this wonderful creation -of Shakespeare’s, distorted its true features, and so stamped upon it -her own individuality, that when we think of one we have the figure of -the other in our minds. The Lady Macbeth of Mrs. Siddons is the only -Lady Macbeth we know and believe in. She is the imperious, wicked, -cruel wife of Macbeth, urging on her weak and kindhearted husband to -abominable crimes solely to gratify her own ambitious and evil nature. -She is without heart, tenderness, or remorse. Devilish in character, -violent in purpose, she is the soul of the whole play; the plotter -and instigator of all its horrors; a fiend-like creature, who, having -a complete mastery over Macbeth, works him to madness by her taunts, -and relentlessly drives him on against his will to the commission of -his terrible crimes. We hate her, as we pity Macbeth. He is weak of -purpose, amiable of disposition, “full of the milk of human kindness,” -an unwilling instrument of all her evil designs, who, wanting force -of will and strength of character, yields reluctantly to her infernal -temptations. - -Nothing could more clearly prove the great genius of Mrs. Siddons, than -that she has been able so to stamp upon the public mind this amazing -misconception, that, despite all the careful study which of late years -has been given to Shakespeare, this notion of the character of Lady -Macbeth and Macbeth should still prevail. Yet so deeply is it rooted, -and so universal, that whoever attempts to eradicate it will find his -task most difficult. But, believing it to be an utter distortion of -the characters as Shakespeare drew them, and so at variance with the -interior thought, conduct, and development of the play as not only -entirely to obscure its real meaning, but to obliterate all its finest -and most delicate features, we venture to enter upon this difficult -task. - -Macbeth and his wife, so far from being the characters above described, -are their direct opposites. He is the villain, who can never satiate -himself with crimes. She, having committed one crime, dies of remorse. -She is essentially a woman—acts suddenly and violently, and then -breaks down, and wastes her life and thoughts in bitter repentance. He -is, on the contrary, essentially a man—who resolves slowly and with -calculation, but once determined and entered upon a course of action, -obstinately pursues it to the end, haunted by no remorse for his -crimes, and agitated by no regrets and doubts, so long as his wicked -plans do not miscarry. The spring of his nature is ambition;[28] and in -working out his ends he is cruel, pitiless, and bloody. He is without -a single good trait of character; and from the beginning to the end -of the play, at every step, he develops deeper abysses of cruelty and -inhumanity in his nature. When he is first presented to us, we, in -common with Lady Macbeth, are completely unaware of his baseness. He -is a thorough hypocrite, and deceives us, as he deceived her. We see -that he has a grasping ambition, but we believe that he is amiable and -weak of purpose, for so Lady Macbeth tells us; but as the play goes -on, his character develops itself, and at last we find that he has -neither heart nor tenderness for anybody or anything; that his will is -unconquerable; that he is utterly without moral sense, is hopelessly -selfish, and wickedly cruel. All he loves is power. His ambition is -insatiable. It grows by what it feeds on. The more he has, the more he -desires, and he is ready to commit every kind of horror for the sake -of attaining his object. He is restrained by no scruples of honor, by -no claims of friendship, by no sensitiveness of conscience. He murders -his sovereign, from whom he has just received large gifts and honors in -his own house; and then instantly compasses the death of his nearest -friend and guest, Banquo. Not content with this, he then seeks the life -of Macduff; and, enraged because he has fled, savagely and in cold -blood puts the whole of his family to the sword. There is a steady -growth of evil in his character from the beginning to the end, or -rather a steady development of his evil nature. - -Malcolm and Macduff, who at first were his friends and companions, -afterwards, when they had learned to “know” him, call him “treacherous” -and “devilish.” So far from agreeing in the character given of him by -Lady Macbeth, they say,— - - “_Macduff._ Not in the legions - Of horrid hell can come a devil more damned - In evil to top Macbeth. - - _Malcolm._ I grant him bloody, - Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, - Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin - That has a name.” - -Yet even they admit that - - “This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, - Was once thought honest.” - -As he had deceived the world, so he deceived his wife. His bloody and -treacherous nature was at first as unknown to her as to his friends. -As they thought him “honest,” she thought him amiable and infirm of -purpose, greatly ambitious, and one who would “wrongly win,” but yet -kindly of nature. Fiery temptations had not as yet brought out the -secret writing of his character. It was with Macbeth as it was with -Nero: their real natures did not exhibit themselves at first; but when -once they began to develop, their growth was rapid and terrible. And -in each of them there was a vein of madness. Essentially a hypocrite, -and secretive by nature, Macbeth had passed for only a brave and -stern soldier when he first makes his appearance. Yet even in his -fierce Norwegian fight we see a violent and bloody spirit. In the -very beginning of the play, one of his soldiers describes him, in his -encounter with Macdonald, as one who,— - - “Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, - Which smoked with bloody execution, - Like Valour’s minion, - Carved out his passage till he faced the slave; - And ne’er shook hands nor bade farewell to him - Till he unseamed him from the nape to the chaps, - And fixed his head upon our battlements.” - -This is rather a grim picture, and scarcely corresponds to the -character usually assigned to Macbeth. Here is not only no infirmity of -purpose, but a stern, unwavering resolution, carving its way through -all difficulties and against all opposition. Thus far, however, all -his deeds had been loyal and for a lawful purpose. Still within his -heart burnt, as he himself says, “black and deep desires,” and only -circumstances and opportunities were needed to show that he could be as -fierce and bloody in crime as he had shown himself in doing a soldier’s -duty. They were already urging him in the very first scene; but, -secretive of nature, he kept them out of sight. - - “Stars, hide your fires; - Let not light see my black and deep desires; - The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, - Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.” - -Thus he cries to himself as he speeds to his wife. The “murder,” which -was but an hour before “fantastical,” has now become a fixed resolve. - -A nature like this, secretive, false, deceitful, and wicked, which -had thus far satisfied itself in a legitimate way, and, having no -temptation in his own house, had never shown its real shape there, -would naturally not have been understood by his wife. Glimpses she -might have of what he was, but not a thorough understanding of him. -Blinded by her personal attachment to him, and herself essentially -his opposite in character, as we shall see, she would naturally have -misinterpreted him. The secretive nature is always a puzzle to the -frank nature. Accustomed to go straight to her object, whether good or -bad, she was completely deceived by his hypocritical and sentimental -pretenses, and supposed his nature to be “full of the milk of human -kindness.” But time also opened her eyes, though, perhaps, never, even -to the last, did she fully comprehend him. “What thou wouldst highly, -that wouldst thou holily,” she would never have said after the murder -of the king. But however this may be, that her view of his character -is false is proved by the whole play. When did he ever show an iota of -kindness? What crime did his conscience or the desire to act “holily” -ever prevent his committing? When did he ever exhibit any want of -bloody determination? Infirm of purpose? He was like a tiger in his -purposes and in his deeds. The murder of Duncan did not satisfy him. -The next morning, he kills the two chamberlains, in cold blood, to -gratify his wanton cruelty. It was impossible that they should testify -against him—they had been drugged, and he could have had no fear of -them. Then immediately he plots the murder of Banquo and Fleance, and -all the while hypocritically conceals his foul purposes even from his -wife; and because Macduff “failed his presence at the tyrant’s feast,” -he determines also to murder him. Foiled of this, he then cruelly and -hideously puts to the sword his wife and little children. In all these -murders, after the king’s, Lady Macbeth not only takes no part, but -she is even kept in ignorance of them. She drive him to the commission -of his crimes? She does not know of them till they are done. They are -plotted and determined upon in secret by Macbeth alone, and carried -into execution with a bloody directness and suddenness. He is “bloody, -false, deceitful, sudden,”—essentially a hypocrite, false in his -pretenses, secret in his plotting, loud in his showy talk, but sudden -and bloody in his crimes and in his malice. - -Thus far, however, we have seen but one side of Macbeth. The other -side was its opposite. Bold, ambitious, and treacherous, he was also -equally imaginative and superstitious. In action he feared no man. -Brave as he was cruel, and ready to meet anything in the flesh, he was -equally visionary of head, a victim of superstitious fears, and a mere -coward before the unreal fancies evoked by his imagination. He has -the Scottish second-sight, and visions and phantoms shake his soul. -Show him twenty armed men who seek his life, he encounters them with -a fierce joy. Show him a white sheet on a pole, and tell him it is a -ghost, and he trembles abjectly. He conjures up for himself phantoms -that “unfix his hair and make his seated heart knock at his ribs;” -he is distracted with “horrible imaginings.” His excited imagination -always plays him false and fills him with momentary and superstitious -fears; but these fears never ultimately control his action. They are -fumes of the head, and being purely visionary, they are also temporary. -They come in moments of excitement, obscure for a time his judgment, -and influence his ideas; but having regard solely to things unreal, -they vanish with the necessity of action. - -These superstitious fears have nothing to do with conscience or morals. -He has no morals; there is no indication of a moral sense in any single -word of the whole play. The only passage which faintly indicates a -sense of right and wrong is when he urges to himself, as reasons why -he should not kill Duncan, not only that the king is his kinsman, his -king, and his guest, but that he has borne his faculties so meekly, -that his virtues would plead like angels trumpet-tongued against the -deep damnation of his taking-off. This, however, is mere talk, and has -reference only to the indignation which his murder will excite, not to -any sorrow Macbeth has for the crime. His sole doubt is lest he may not -succeed; for, as he says,— - - “If the assassination - Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, - With his surcease, success; that but this blow - Might be the be-all and the end-all here, - But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,— - We’d jump the life to come.” - -The idea of being restrained from committing this murder by any -religious or moral scruples is very far from his thought. Right or -wrong, good or bad, have nothing to do with the question; and as for -the “life to come,” that is mere folly. - -But while his moral sense is dead, his imagination is nervously alive. -It engenders visions that terrify him: after the murder is done, he -thinks he hears phantom-voices crying, “Sleep no more! Glamis hath -murdered sleep; and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more, Macbeth -shall sleep no more;” and these voices so work upon his superstitious -fears, that he is afraid for the moment to return to the chamber, and -carry the daggers back and smear the grooms with blood. He is, as Lady -Macbeth says, “brainsickly,” and “fears a painted devil.” This is -superstition, not remorse—a momentary imaginative fear, not a permanent -feeling. In a few minutes he has changed his dress, and calmly makes -speeches as if nothing had occurred,—nay, this cold-blooded hypocrite -is ready within the hour to commit two new and wanton murders on the -chamberlains, and boastfully to refer them to his loyal spirit and -loving heart, inflamed by horror at the hideous murder of the king, -which he has himself committed. - -The same superstitious fear attacks him when he hears that Birnam Wood -is moving to Dunsinane Hill; but it does not prevent this creature, -so “full of the milk of human kindness,” from striking the messenger, -calling him “liar and slave,” and threatening,— - - “If thou speak’st false, - Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive - Till famine cling thee.” - -So, too, when Macduff tells him that he was “not of woman born,” awed -for a moment by his superstitious fears, he cries,— - - “Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, - For it hath cow’d my better part of man! - ... I’ll not fight with thee.” - -At times, under the influence of an over-excitable imagination acting -upon a nature thoroughly superstitious, his intellect wavers, and he is -subject to sudden aberrations of mind resembling insanity. They are, -however, evanescent, and in a moment he recovers his poise, descending -through a poetical phase into his real and settled character of -cruelty and wickedness. In the dagger-scene, where he is alone, these -three phases are perfectly marked. The visionary dagger “proceeding -from the heat-oppressed brain” soon vanishes, then follows the poetic -mania, and then the stern resolution of murder. In the banquet-scene, -when the ghost of Banquo rises, the poetic interval is less marked, for -Macbeth is under the restraint of the company and under the influence -of his wife; but scarce has the company gone when his real character -returns. He is again forming new resolutions of blood. His mind reverts -to Macduff, whose life he threatens. He is bent “to know, by the worst -means, the worst;” “strange things I have in head, that will to hand.” - -This aberration of mind Macbeth has in common with Lear, Hamlet, and -Othello. But in Macbeth alone does it take a superstitious shape. -The trance of Othello is but a momentary condition, in which his -goaded imagination, acting upon an irritated sense of honor, love, -and jealousy, obliterates for an instant the real world. Hamlet’s -aberration, when it is not feigned, as for the most part it is, is -but the “sore distraction” of a mind upon which the burden of a great -action is fixed, which he is bound either to accept or to reject, but -in regard to which he hesitates, not because he lacks decision of -character, but solely because he cannot satisfy himself that he has -sure grounds for action, and that he is not deceived as to the facts -which are the motive of his action; once satisfied as to the grounds -for action, he is decisive and prompt, as is clearly shown in the -manner in which he disposes of Guildenstern and Rosencrantz on board -the vessel, and in the instant slaying of the king himself, when the -evidence of his infamy is clear. But while he is yet undecided and -struggling with himself to solve this sad problem of the king’s guilt, -he rejects all ideas of love as futile and impertinent, and, more than -that, doubts whether Ophelia herself is not, unconsciously to herself, -made a tool of by the king and queen. Lear, again, is “heart-struck.” -His madness comes from wounded pride and affection. The ingratitude -and cruelty of his daughters shake his mind, and to his excited spirit -the very elements become his “pernicious daughters:” “I never gave you -kingdoms, called you children.” In all except Macbeth, the nature thus -driven to madness is noble in itself, moral in its character, and warm -in its affections. The aberrations of Macbeth are superstitious, and -have nothing to do with the morals or the affections. - -Macbeth’s imagination is, however, a ruling characteristic of his -nature. His brain is always active; and when it does not evoke -phantoms, it indulges in fanciful and poetic images. He is a poet, and -turns everything into poetry. His utterance is generally excited and -high-flown, rarely simple and real, and almost never expresses his -true feelings and thoughts. His heart remains cold while his head is -on fire. On all occasions his first impulse is to poetize a little; -and having done this, he goes about his work without regard to what -he has said. His sayings are one thing; his doings are quite another. -Shakespeare makes him rant intentionally, as if to show that in such -a character the imagination can and does work entirely independently -of real feelings and passions. There is no serious character in all -Shakespeare’s plays who constantly rants and swells in his speech like -Macbeth; and this is plainly to show the complete unreality of all -his imaginative bursts. In this he differs from every other person -in this play. Yet when he is really in earnest, and has some plain -business in hand, he can be direct enough in his speech, as throughout -the second interview with the weird sisters, and in the scene with -the two murderers whom he sends to kill Banquo and Fleance; or when, -enraged at the escape of Fleance, he forgets to be a hypocrite, and -his real nature clearly expresses itself in direct words, full of -savage resolve. But on all other occasions, when he is not in earnest -and intends to deceive, or when his brain is excited, he indulges -in sentimental speeches, violent figures of speech, extravagant -personifications, and artificial tropes and conceits. Even in the -phantom-voices he imagines crying to him over Duncan’s body, he cannot -help this peculiarity. He curiously hunts out conceits to express -sleep. He “murders sleep, the innocent sleep; sleep, that knits up the -ravell’d sleeve of care, the death of each day’s life, sore labor’s -bath, balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, chief nourisher -in life’s feast.” No wonder that Lady Macbeth, amazed, cries out, “What -do you mean?” But he cannot help going on like a mad poet. His language -is full of alliteration, fanciful juxtaposition of words, assonance, -and jingle. At times, so strong is this habit, he makes poems to -himself, and for the moment half believes in them. Only compare, in -this connection, the natural, simple pathos of the scene where Macduff -hears of the barbarous murder of his wife and children, with the -language of Macbeth, when the death of Lady Macbeth is announced to -him. Macduff “pulls his hat upon his brows,” and gives vent to his -agony in the simplest and most direct words. Here the feeling is deep -and sincere:— - - “All my pretty ones? - Did you say, all?—O hell-kite!—All? - What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, - At one fell swoop? - - _Mal._ Dispute it like a man. - - _Macd._ I shall do so; - But I must also feel it like a man: - I cannot but remember such things were, - And were most precious to me.—Did heaven look on, - And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, - They were all struck for thee! naught that I am, - Not for their own demerits, but for mine, - Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now! - - * * * * * - - O, I could play the woman with my eyes.” - -But when Macbeth is told of the death of his wife, he makes a little -poem, full of alliterations and conceits. It is an answer to the -question, What is life like? What can we say about it now? - - “To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, - Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, - To the last syllable of recorded time; - And all our yesterdays have lighted fools - The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! - Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player, - That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, - And then is heard no more: it is a tale - Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, - Signifying nothing. - - _Enter a Messenger._ - - Thou com’st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.” - -Has this any relation to true feeling? Do men of any feeling, whose -hearts are touched, fall to improvising poems like this, filled with -fanciful images, when great sorrows come upon them? This speech is full -of “sound and fury, signifying nothing.” There is no accent from the -heart in it. It is elaborate, poetic, cold-blooded. “Life is a candle,” -“a poor player,” “a walking shadow,” “a tale told by an idiot.” We -have his customary alliterations: “petty pace,” “dusty death,” “day to -day;” his love of repeating the same word, “to-morrow, and to-morrow, -and to-morrow,” just as we have “If it were done when ’tis done, then -’twere well it were done quickly;” and his “Sleep no more, Macbeth -does murder sleep,—sleep, that knits up,” etc.; “Sleep no more! Glamis -hath murdered sleep; and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more, Macbeth -shall sleep no more.” He cannot forget himself enough to cease to be -ingenious in his phrases. As a poem this speech is striking; as an -expression of feeling it is perfectly empty. At the end of it he has -quite forgotten the death of his wife; he is only employed in piling -up figure after figure to personify life. What renders the unreality -of this still more striking is the sudden change which comes over him -upon the entrance of the messenger. In an instant he stops short in his -poem, and his tone becomes at once decided and harsh; his wife’s death -has passed utterly out of his mind. When the messenger tells him that -Birnam Wood is beginning to move, with a sudden burst of rage he turns -upon him, calls him liar and slave, and threatens to hang him alive -till famine cling him, if his report prove to be incorrect. This is the -real Macbeth. From this time forward he never alludes to Lady Macbeth; -but, in a strange condition of superstitious fear and soldierly -courage, he calls his men to arms, and goes out crying,— - - “Blow, wind! come, wrack! - At least we’ll die with harness on our back.” - -And this throughout is the character of Macbeth’s utterances. He is not -like Tartuffe, a religious hypocrite; he is a poetical and sentimental -hypocrite. His phrases and figures of speech have no root in his real -life; they are only veneered upon them. “His words fly up, his thoughts -remain below.” When he is poetical he is never in earnest. Sometimes -his speeches are merely oratorical, and made from habit and for -effect; sometimes they are hypocritical, and used to conceal his real -intentions; and sometimes they are the expression of an inflamed and -diseased imagination stimulated by superstition. But they are generally -bombastic and swelling in tone, and are so intended to be. His habit -of making speeches and inventing curious conceits is so strong, that -he even “unpacks his heart with words” when alone, so as to leave -himself free and direct to act. Thus, in one of his famous soliloquies, -mark the unreal quality of all the pretended feeling, the mixture of -immorality, bombast, and hypocrisy, the assonances and alliterations, -the plays upon words, the extravagant figures, all showing the -excitability of the brain and not of the heart:— - - “If _it were done_ when ’tis _done_, then _’twere_ well - _It were done_ quickly. If th’ assassination - _C_ould trammel up the _c_onsequence, and _c_atch, - With his _surcease_, _success_; that but this blow - Might _be_ the _be-all_ and the _end-all here_, - But _here_, upon this bank and shoal of time,— - We’d jump the life to come.” - -Then, after some questions about killing his guest, his kinsman, his -king, which would seem honest, but for what comes after and for the -utter reckless immorality which has gone before these words, his -imagination excites itself, and runs into a wild and extravagant figure -which means nothing. Duncan’s virtues, he says,— - - “Will plead like angels _t_rumpet-_t_ongued against - The _d_eep _d_amnation of his _t_aking-off.” - -No sooner does he begin to swell and alliterate again than he goes -wild:— - - “And pity, like a _n_aked _n_ew-_b_orn _b_abe, - Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubin, hors’d - Upon the sightless couriers of the air, - Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, - _That tears shall drown the wind_.” - -This is pure rant, and intended to be so. It is the product of an -unrestrained imagination which exhausts itself in the utterance. But it -neither comes from the heart nor acts upon the heart. - -Again, in the soliloquy of the air-drawn dagger, the superstitious, -visionary Macbeth, who always projects his fancies into figures and -phantoms, after addressing this - - “false creation - Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain,” - -falls at once into poetic declamation about the night, and indulges -himself in strange images and personifications. A man about to commit a -murder who invents these conceits must be a poetical villain:— - - “Now witchcraft celebrates - Pale Hecate’s offerings; and wither’d murder, - Alarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf, - Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, - With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design - Moves like a ghost.” - -Can anything be more extraordinary and elaborate than this pressing of -one conceit upon another? Wither’d murder has a sentinel, the wolf, who -howls his watch, and who with stealthy pace strides with Tarquin’s -ravishing strides like a ghost! Shakespeare makes no other character -systematically talk like this. - -But the fumes of the brain pass, and leave the stern, determined man of -action:— - - “Whiles I threat, he lives; - Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. - I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. - Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell - That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.” - -We have no such rant as this in Lady Macbeth. In the scenes of the -murder, she does not befool herself with visions and poetry. She is -practical, and her attention is given solely to the real facts about -her. Contrast the simple language in which she speaks, while waiting -for Macbeth, with his previous rhodomontade. Agitated, in great -emotion, listening for sounds, doubting whether some mischance may -not have befallen to prevent the murder, she speaks in short, broken -sentences; but she does not liken her husband to Tarquin, and say now -is the time when “witchcraft celebrates pale Hecate’s offerings,” nor -employ this interval in making a poem full of conceits. - -Macbeth goes in to the king, and commits the murder; no scruples of any -kind prevent him. But when that is secure, he has a superstitious fit, -and imagines phantom-voices, that talk as no phantoms ever did before. -Still he is a coward in the presence of phantoms, and will not go back. -The deed has been done, and ghosts alarm him. - -But, as has been before observed, all this raving as usual passes by at -once. In a half-hour he is as cold and calm as ever. The phantom-voices -did not reach his conscience, and awakened no remorse. They were the -children of superstition and imagination, and they vanished with -cockcrow and daylight, leaving no trace behind in his memory. They have -not altered his mood nor his plans. - -We now come to consider Lady Macbeth’s character. At all points she -was her husband’s opposite, or rather his complement. Where he was -strong, she was weak; where he was weak, she was strong. He was -poetical and visionary of nature; she was plain and practical. He was -indirect, false, secretive; she, on the contrary, was vehement and -impulsive. Between what she willed and what she did was a straight -line. She was troubled by none of his superstitious fears or visions. -Her imagination was feeble and inactive, her character was energetic; -she saw only the object immediately before her, and she went to it with -rapidity and directness of purpose. She was skillful in management -and ready in contrivance, as women are apt to be; while Macbeth was -wanting in both these qualities, as men generally are. For herself she -seems to have had no ambition, and not personally to have coveted the -position of queen. Her ambition is but the reflection of Macbeth’s, -and her great crime was wrought in furtherance of his suggestions and -promptings. Mistaking entirely his character at first, proud of his -success for his sake, and rightly reading him so far as to see that -his ambition, which was insatiable, grasped at the throne, she lent -herself to the murder of Duncan, in the belief that a throne once -obtained, Macbeth’s ambition would be satisfied. Her moral sense was -inactive, and not sufficient to lead her to oppose his project. It -was not, as we shall see, utterly wanting in her, as in Macbeth. She -seems to have been warmly attached to Macbeth, and always, after the -murder is committed, she endeavors to soothe and tranquillize him -with gentle and affectionate words. But she could not understand his -superstitious hesitations when once resolved on action. His poetry -and his imaginative flights, as well as his visions, were to her -incomprehensible, and she made the natural mistake of supposing him to -be infirm of purpose. Her mind was one of management and detail. The -determination and suggestion of the murder are his; the management and -detail of it are hers. This is a master-stroke of Shakespeare’s, by -which he at once distinguishes the masculine from the feminine nature. -Man is quick to propose and suggest a plan in its general scope; woman -is always superior in adjusting the details by which it may be carried -into execution. Lady Macbeth’s nature was not wicked in itself; it -was susceptible of deep feeling and remorse. But her moral sense was -sluggish, while her impulses were sudden and vehement; and as such -women generally are, she was irritably impatient of the postponement -of any project already decided upon. She had a strong will, and gave -expression to it in an exaggerated way:— - - “I have given suck, and know - How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me: - I would, while it was smiling in my face, - Have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums, - And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you - Have done to this.” - -This is but a vehement, passionate, and exaggerated way of saying that -if she had sworn to herself to do _anything_, however shocking, as -deliberately and determinedly as Macbeth had to commit this murder, she -would do it in spite of consequences, and not like him be “afeard to be -the same in thine own act and valor as thou art in desire.” She does -not mean, nor did Shakespeare mean, that so hideous an act would be -possible for her either to plan or to commit; but to prove her contempt -of that condition of mind when “I dare not” waits upon “I would,” she -seizes on the most horrible and repulsive act that she can imagine, -and declares energetically that, shocking as that is, she would not -hesitate to do even that, had she so sworn to do it as Macbeth had. Yet -this wild and violent figure of speech is generally taken as the key -of her whole character. It is nothing of the sort; for the very line -preceding it proves that she had a tenderness of nature under all her -energy, and a power of love as well as of will:— - - “I have given suck, and know - How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me.” - -Well, despite that tenderness and love, which you, Macbeth, know I -have, I would have done what is so contrary to all my nature, had I so -sworn as you. Throughout this scene her sole object is to urge upon -Macbeth, as vehemently as she can, the folly of dallying and hesitating -to carry out a project which he alone had conceived, suggested, and -determined, merely for fear of consequences and lest it should do him -injury in the eyes of the world. He never feels nor suggests any moral -objection; he does not pretend to feel it. His sole fear is lest he may -not succeed; he only doubts whether it would not be better to postpone -the execution of his project until a more fitting time. His decisions -are less rapid than hers. She must at once act on the first strength of -her resolve. She is impetuous, and would spring upon her prey at once. -He, knowing that his fell purpose will only strengthen with meditation, -and doubting whether the time has come to secure his object, proposes -to postpone its execution. But there is no time for this. There are -but a few hours in which all must be accomplished, and he is not ready -with the detail. But to this proposal of postponement she says “No.” -She knows that he never will rest till it is accomplished. Neither time -nor place adhered when you “broke this enterprise to me,” she says; and -now, when both “have made themselves,” execute your design, and no -longer let “I dare not wait upon I would.” To this he feebly opposes, -“If we should fail,” failure being the only thing that troubles him. -She then suggests the plan in detail by which the murder can be -effected; and he cries out, in a burst of admiration and delight,— - - “Bring forth men-children only, - For thy undaunted mettle should compose - Nothing but males.” - -Still, when the time approaches, Lady Macbeth needs all her courage, -and she stimulates it with wine, lest it should break down:— - - “That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold.” - -She preserves her courage, however, to the end, never loses her -self-possession, and takes care that the plan is carried out fully in -all its details. But that accomplished, she utterly breaks down. She -has over-calculated her strength; she was not utterly wicked, and her -remorses are terrible. From this time forward we have no such scenes -between her and her husband; he performs all his other murders alone, -without her connivance or knowledge. - -And here the main feature of this play must be kept in mind. Lady -Macbeth dies of remorse for this her crime; she cannot forget it; it -haunts her in her sleep; the damned spot cannot be washed from her -conscience or her hand. What a fearful cry of remorse and agony is that -of hers in her dream!— - - “Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia - will not sweeten this _little_ hand! Oh! oh! oh!” - -There is no poetizing here, no sentimental and figurative -personifications; it is the cry of a wounded heart and conscience. It -is written too in prose, not in verse. It is real, and not fantastic -like the rant and poetry of Macbeth. That terrible night remains with -her, and haunts her and tears her like a demon, and at last she dies of -it. - -How is it with Macbeth? Does the memory of that night torture him? -Never for a moment. He plots new murders. He has tasted blood, and -cannot live without it. On, on he goes, deeper and deeper into blood, -till he is slain; and never, to the last, one cry of conscience. - -Yet it is thought that Lady Macbeth urged on this amiable man, so -infirm of purpose, so filled with the milk of human kindness, and was -the mainspring of his crimes. Suffice it to say, in answer to this -view, that after Duncan is killed he keeps her in complete ignorance -of all he does, and his murders are thenceforward more terrible -and pitiless, and with no faint shadow of excuse or apology. This -cold-hearted villain stops at nothing; even her death does not awaken -a throb in his heart. Is it not preposterous to suppose that the -so-called fiend of the play, she who instigates and drives an unwilling -victim to crime, should die of remorse for that crime; while the -amiable accomplice, far from sharing any such feeling, only plunges -deeper into crime when she does not instigate him, and develops at -every step an increasing brutality and savageness of nature? - -No; it is not the tall, dark, commanding, and imperious figure of Mrs. -Siddons, with threatening brow and inflated nostrils, that represents -Lady Macbeth; she is not at all of such character or features. She is -of rather a delicate organization, of medium height, her hair inclining -to red, her temperament nervous and sanguine, with a florid complexion -and little hands. So was Lucrezia Borgia; and so was Lady Macbeth. She -was personally fair and attractive. Can any one imagine Macbeth calling -a dark, towering, imperious woman like Mrs. Siddons his “dearest love,” -“dear wife,” or his “dearest chuck”? - -But it is commonly thought that the murder of Duncan was suggested by -Lady Macbeth, and that her husband was urged into it against his will -and contrary to his nature. Such a view is utterly in contradiction -of the play itself. The suggestion is entirely Macbeth’s, and he has -resolved upon it before he sees her. The witches are a projection of -his own desires and superstitions. They meet him at the commencement of -the play, prophesying, in response to his own desires, that he is thane -of Cawdor, and shall be king hereafter; but they respond also to his -fears, by adding that Banquo’s children shall be kings. Those are the -very points upon which all his thoughts hinge—his ambition to be king, -his fears lest the throne shall pass from his family. Hence his hate of -Banquo and Fleance. From this time forward he thinks of nothing else. -As he rides across the heath, he is self-involved, abstracted, silent, -sullen, revolving in his mind how to compass his designs, which are -nothing less than the murder of the king. He does not dream that the -prophecies of the weird women will accomplish themselves without his -assistance, for they are projections of his own thoughts. He instantly -receives news that he is made thane of Cawdor, and scarcely gives a -thought to this honor, scarcely expresses his satisfaction; when the -news is announced he says,— - - “Glamis, and thane of Cawdor: - _The greatest is behind._—Thanks for your pains.” - -And then immediately his mind reverts to the promise that Banquo’s -children shall be kings:— - - “Do you not hope your children shall be kings, - When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me - Promis’d no less to them?” - -Then he falls again into gloomy silence, and talks to himself inwardly. -What does he say and think? He resolves to murder the king:— - - “This supernatural soliciting - Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill, - Why hath it given me earnest of success, - Commencing in a truth? I’m thane of Cawdor. - If good, why do I yield to that suggestion - Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, - And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, - Against the use of nature? Present fears - Are less than horrible imaginings; - My thought, whose _murder_ yet is but fantastical, - Shakes so my single state of man, that function - Is smother’d in surmise; and nothing is - But what is not.” - -Yes, already he dreams of murder. He sees not his way clear; he will -trust to chance; but he dreams of murder. And full of these thoughts, -he rushes to his wife to fill her mind with his project, to consult -her as to how it can be carried into execution; for he cannot plan in -detail; and though the thought crosses him, that - - “If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, - Without my stir,” - -yet this is but a hope; for in the next scene he has determined to take -the matter into his own hands and trust nothing to chance. As soon as -he hears that Malcolm is made Prince of Cumberland and heir to the -throne, he determines absolutely to kill the king:— - - “The Prince of Cumberland!—That is a step - On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap, - For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; - Let not light see my black and deep desires; - The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, - Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.” - -He has already written to Lady Macbeth; and his letter has but one -thought and one theme,—the promise that he shall be king. Much as she -fears his nature, she knows thoroughly his desires, and has faint -glimpses of his real character; she knows that he _means_ to be king, -and sees that he would “wrongly win;” that his ambition is great, and -that his mind is filled solely with one idea. But she fears that he is -“too full of the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way;” and -when she hears that Duncan is coming to the castle, and that Macbeth -is hurrying to see her before the king’s arrival, she doubts his plan -no longer. For a moment she is aghast. “Thou’rt mad to say it,” she -says to the messenger who announces the king’s approach; for she sees -that he comes to his death:— - - “The raven himself is hoarse - That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan - Under my battlements.” - -He has been lured here by Macbeth to compass his destruction; and in a -moment Macbeth will be with her. Then, summoning up all her courage at -once, she resolves to aid him in his ambitious and murderous design. -She calls upon the “spirits that tend on mortal thoughts” to unsex -her, to alter her nature, to make her cruel and remorseless, to let -nothing intervene to shake her purpose; for she is not quite sure of -herself. She knows what “compunctious visitings of nature” are, and she -strengthens herself against them. She is not naturally cruel; and she -cries out to the spirits to “stop up the access and passage to remorse” -now open in her nature, to change her “milk for gall,” and to cover her -with “the dunnest smoke of hell,” so that her - - “keen knife _see_ not the wound it makes, - Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, - To cry, Hold, hold.” - -In this tremendous apostrophe, in which she goads herself on to crime, -the woman’s nature is plainly seen. Macbeth never prays to have his -nature altered, to have any passages to remorse closed up; never fears -“compunctious visitings of nature,” nor desires darkness to hide his -knife, so that he may not _see_ the wound he makes. But she knows she -is a woman, and that she needs to be unsexed, and feels that she is -doing violence to her own nature; still her will is strong, and she -cries down her misgivings, and resolves to aid Macbeth in his design. - -Macbeth meets her in this mood. There is no salutation or greeting on -his part; he has but one idea,—Duncan is coming, and is to be murdered. -His first words are,— - - “My dearest love, - Duncan comes here to-night.” - -Whereupon she asks, “And when goes hence?” “To-morrow,” he answers, and -pauses; and adds, “as he purposes.” But in the look and in the pause -Lady Macbeth has read his whole sold and intent. There is murder in -that look; and she cries:— - - “O, never - Shall sun that morrow see! - Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men - May read strange matters.” - -There is no explanation between them. He has conveyed all his intention -by a look and a gesture, as she herself distinctly says. He has ridden -headlong, as fast as horse could carry him, away from the king, full -of this one idea; and the king has vainly “coursed him at the heels,” -having the purpose, as he himself says, “to be his purveyor.” And -his thoughts have spoken in his looks so unmistakably, that they are -perfectly understood. If there be any doubt by whom the murder was -suggested, it is made perfectly clear by what Lady Macbeth subsequently -says to him in the next scene in which they are presented. When he -begins to doubt whether the murder had not better be postponed, she -says:— - - “What beast was’t, then, - That made you break this enterprise to me?” - -It was not of my plotting, but of your own; “Nor time, nor place, did -then adhere, and yet you would make both;” you desired it and still -desire it, but are afraid of consequences. These words of hers would -indeed seem to indicate that he had urged the crime upon her against -her will at a previous interview not reported in the play, or perhaps -by a letter; for she says distinctly, that when he broke the enterprise -to her,— - - “Nor _time_, nor _place_, - Did then adhere, and yet _you would make both_: - They have made themselves.” - -It would plainly seem, therefore, that Macbeth had broken this -enterprise to her, and urged it on her, even before the king had -determined to come to his castle, and that he intended to make time -and place. This would account completely for her opening speech, and -for the fact that he does not make any explanation to her of his -intentions other than by his look and intonation when they first meet; -for certainly there is nothing in the play about the time and place -of the murder except as herein indicated. It would also explain the -surprise of Lady Macbeth when she hears that her husband is coming, -and the king after him: “Thou’rt mad to say it,” she says; and “the -raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under -my battlements.” The time and place had made themselves, then; and it -is on hearing this that she suddenly changes from calm to vehement -emotion, and makes that wonderful apostrophe to the spirits to unsex -her. She sees that all has been resolved, and that she has need of her -utmost resolution. - -There is no warrant of any kind that, in the simple words, “And when -goes hence,” she meant more than she said. It was the most natural -question that she could possibly ask. Granting that she intended -equally with him to commit the murder, what is more natural than that -she should wish to know how long the king was to stay, so as to know -how soon it was necessary to carry out the plan of murder, and what -time there was in which to make all the arrangements? Not only Macbeth -pauses after saying “To-morrow” (so, at least, is the punctuation in -all editions), before adding “as he purposes,” but Lady Macbeth, in -her answer, says that she sees in his face that he intends that “never -shall sun that morrow see.” Yet, in the recitation of these parts -on the stage, and as generally read, the meaning is given to Lady -Macbeth’s simple words; and Macbeth is made perfectly innocently to -answer without showing in his look any “strange matter.” But the king -is coming close on his heels; there is no time to arrange details; and -Macbeth goes away to receive him, saying, “We will speak further.” - -The characters, as exhibited in the next scenes, have been already -sufficiently discussed. He shows his superstitions, his visions, his -poetry, and his hesitations; she, with the stern determination of a -woman who has screwed her courage to the sticking-place, is agitated -by no visions, but, feeling the necessity of immediate action, she -occupies herself in the arrangements of details, and thus dulls her -conscience. - -After all the excitements which have agitated Macbeth—after his -soliloquy, in which he says there is no spur to prick the sides of his -intent, but only vaulting ambition; but if he were sure of success, he -would jump the life to come—there comes a moment when he either has -or pretends to have a hesitation about proceeding further in “this -business.” He does not hesitate for conscience’ sake, but because, -being ambitious, he now would like to wear the golden opinions he has -won, “in their newest gloss,” and not cast them aside so soon, before -he has had the satisfaction of being wondered at and admired a little -longer. He had gained praise and high position, and his vanity was -gratified. He naturally would pause before committing a hideous murder. -But he never pretends that this feeling comes from any moral sense. His -mind has been too long strained with one thought; and, as in all men -of excitable brain, there comes a moment of reaction. He cannot see -his way clear. He fears the effect of his crime. He does not see how -it can be done so that he may avoid suspicion, and attain the object -beyond the murder and for which he commits it, without running too -great risks, and thus exposing himself to the vengeance of the king’s -friends. He fears that his “bloody instructions” may “return to plague -the inventor”—not hereafter, but “_here_.” But what most troubles him -is, that he cannot see the practical way, cannot arrange the details -so as to secure a chance of avoiding suspicion. Here his wife comes -to his aid. She has thought out a plan and arranged the details. She -sternly opposes his proposal to abandon his design, for she knows that -his hesitation is only for a moment, and that nothing less than to be -king can ever satisfy him. Better, then, do the deed at once. His only -opposition after this is, “If we should fail?” But as soon as he sees -the feasibility of her plan, all his scruples are gone; he is more than -convinced, he is delighted, and enters upon it with a joy which he does -not pretend to conceal. - -During all these scenes, up to the murder of Duncan, Lady Macbeth is -laboring under an excitement of mind which sustains her in carrying -out the design of her husband. The time is purposely made very -short—only a few hours between the arrival of Duncan and his death—so -that she may not break down. All is hurry and movement, and arrangement -of detail. There is no time for reaction. The very necessity for -immediate action serves as an irritant to the nerves, and strains all -her thoughts and feelings to an unnatural pitch. Still, when the murder -is on the point of being done, she keeps up her courage by drink; for -the strain is almost too great. In this excited state her inflamed will -has got completely the command of her; and to have it all over, and -not caring about the dreadful design longer, she says that had Duncan -“not resembled my father as he slept, I had done it.” But though she -can talk of dashing out the brains of her babe while it was smiling in -her face, she was not, even in this excitement, able to strike Duncan, -because she thought he looked like her father. Her woman’s hand would -have failed her had she attempted it. But all her powers are bound up -in this one design. She has come to a violent determination, and this -she will carry out, come what may. She thrusts aside all compunction -of conscience, and makes such a noise by action in her brain, that its -still small voice cannot be heard. - -Macbeth, on the contrary, is of a colder and more brutal nature. His -determination is sullen, and it lies like an immovable rock on which -the flames of his imagination burn like momentary fires of straw, and -over which his superstitious visions pass like clouds or fogs, and then -clear away, leaving the rock unchanged. Just before he commits the -murder, Banquo comes in and tells him that the king - - “hath been in unusual pleasure, and - Sent forth great largess to your offices. - This diamond he greets your wife withal, - By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up - In measureless content.” - -But this does not touch Macbeth, nor induce a moment’s hesitation. -Banquo then speaks of the three weird sisters, and says, “To you they -have show’d some truth;” and Macbeth answers falsely:— - - “I think not of them; - Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, - We’d spend it in some words upon that business, - If you would grant the time.” - -Thus, cold and collected, he bids him “Good repose,” sends off the -servant, and waits for the bell to ring, which is the sign that all -is ready for him to murder Duncan. In this interval we have his -three characteristic features brought out one after the other: the -cloudy vision of the air-drawn dagger; then the straw-fire of his -poetry about Hecate and withered murder’s sentinel, the wolf, and -Tarquin’s ravishing strides; and, as these clear off, the stern, sullen -resolution underneath—“Whiles I threat he lives;” “I go, and it is -done.” - -When the murder is done, the two are equally distinct in -character,—she energetic and practical, he visionary and superstitious; -and so they part. - -Thus far, be it observed, Lady Macbeth has supposed her husband to be -merely “infirm of purpose;” but the next scene is to open her eyes to a -glimpse of his real character. - -Macbeth has become perfectly calm and cold again in a few minutes, and -makes his appearance immediately after the knocking. He is completely -master of himself, offers to conduct Macduff to the king, and when -Macduff says he knows it will be a “joyful trouble” to him, answers -like a proverb, calmly, “The labor we delight in physics pain.” The -king is then found dead, and the noise brings Lady Macbeth from her -room. What a difference is now visible in the way in which she and he -speak and act! When Macduff says, “Our royal master’s murdered!” she -cries out, “Woe! alas! what, in our house?” and says not a word more. -Macbeth, however, who is only afraid of shadows, but who, with the -daylight, has no fear of looking at dead bodies, or adding one or two -more with his sword, goes to the room of Duncan, and then reappears, -without the faintest shadow of feeling, and makes a little hypocritical -poem on the event:— - - “Had I but died an hour before this chance, - I had liv’d a blessed time; for, from this instant, - There’s nothing serious in mortality: - All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; - The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees - Is left this vault to brag of.” - -“What is amiss?” says Donalbain. And Macbeth cries, “You are, and -do not know’t. The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood is -stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.” - -This is Macbeth’s rant and fustian. He has no feeling, and, as usual, -he makes the pretense of poetry serve him. The head, the spring, the -fountain, the source is stopped, is stopped. - -And this stuff he recites coolly, although he has but a moment before -wantonly killed the two grooms; nay, he does not mention it until -afterwards, on their being spoken of by Lenox, when this hypocritical -villain cries:— - - “O, yet I do repent me of my fury, - That I did kill them. - - _Macd._ Wherefore did you so? - - _Macb._ Who can be wise, amaz’d, temperate and furious, - Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: - The expedition of my violent love - Outrun the pauser, reason.—Here lay Duncan, - His _silver_ skin lac’d with his _golden_ blood; - And his gash’d stabs look’d like a breach in nature, - For ruin’s wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, - Steep’d in the colors of their trade, their daggers - Unmannerly breech’d with gore: who could refrain, - That had a heart to love, and in that heart - Courage to make’s love known?” - -During this amazing speech, in which he poetizes so elaborately, -and with such curious artifice coldly paints the picture of the man -and friend he had just murdered, Lady Macbeth has been looking and -listening in silence. Suddenly, for the first time, she sees what her -husband really is; she sees that he has neither heart nor conscience; -for no man possessing either could have acted or talked as he has -since the murder of Duncan. So far from having any feeling of shame -or remorse, he, without provocation, wantonly, and with no sufficient -object, has added two other murders to it; and, with a cold-blooded -artificial hypocrisy, he paints in his stilted way the scene of -Duncan’s death, and has command enough of himself to seek out elaborate -and high-flown phrases. But Lady Macbeth, whose courage, stimulated by -excitement, has carried her through the murder, now suddenly breaks -down. This new revelation of her husband’s character, and the ghastly -picture which he summons up before her of the scene of the murder, are -too much for her. She swoons, loses all consciousness, and is carried -out. In her violent excitement, while there was something practical -to busy her mind and her body with, she could carry back the daggers -and smear the grooms with blood; but she could not bear the vivid -remembrance of it when there was nothing to do, and when the excitement -was over: as women will go through extreme dangers, stand at the -surgeon’s table during terrible operations, be great and strong in a -great crisis, and then suddenly faint and fall when the work is over, -unable to bear the remembrance of what they have gone through. - -This swooning of Lady Macbeth is the crisis of her nature. From this -time forward she is no more what she has appeared; we hear no more -urging of Macbeth to strengthen his throne by other crimes; no more -taunts by her that he is infirm of purpose; no more allusions to his -amiable weaknesses of character. She has begun to know him and to fear -him. She only endeavors to tranquilize him and content him with what -he has got. But still she does not know him; for his nature, before -hidden, like secret writing, comes out little by little before the fire -of his heated ambition and superstitious fears. - -At this swooning-point the two characters of Lady Macbeth and her -husband cross each other. She has thus far only made the running for -Macbeth, and he now takes up the race and passes her; she not only does -not follow, but withdraws. Henceforth he rushes to his goal alone; -alone he arranges the death of Banquo and Fleance. - -When next they meet she is no longer the same person we have known; she -feels the gnawing tooth of remorse; she is calmed and cowed by what she -has done:— - - “Nought’s had, all’s spent, - Where our desire is got without content: - ’Tis safer to be that which we destroy, - Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.” - -And as Macbeth enters she endeavors to tranquilize his mind. She has -his confidence no longer; he avoids her, and keeps alone after the -murder of the king. She, not yet aware of the abysses of his nature, -and little imagining that he has been plotting the murder of Banquo, -supposes that the secret of his perturbations, of the solitude he now -seeks, and of his avoidance of her, is the remorse that he begins to -feel, and says as he enters:— - - “How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, - Of sorriest fancies your companions making, - Using those thoughts which should indeed have died - With them they think on? Things without all remedy - Should be without regard: what’s done is done.” - -His answer shows it is no remorse which is haunting him; his sorry -fancies are new plots of murder: - - “We have scotch’d the snake, not kill’d it;” - -and we are still “in danger of her former tooth.” - - “But let - The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, - Ere we will eat our meal in _fear_, and sleep - In the affliction of these terrible dreams - That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, - Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, - Than on the torture of the mind to lie - In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; - After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well; - Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, - Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, - Can touch him further!” - -Here is one of those cases where he uses his poetry as a cloak to his -real thoughts. Yet despite his hypocrisy, which takes in his wife, his -real meaning is clear. He would rather die than to go on in this fear: -rather be like Duncan, whom they have at all events “sent to peace,” -and whom nothing can “touch further,” than on “the torture of the mind -to lie in restless ecstasy.” What is this “fear”? what is this “torture -of the mind”? Is it, as Lady Macbeth supposes, from remorse? Oh, no! -he tells us himself what it is; it is solely because Banquo and Fleance -are alive:— - - “O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! - Thou know’st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.” - -This it is that tortures him, and this only. - - “But in them nature’s copy’s not eterne,” - -says she; meaning, as she has throughout this scene, solely to console -him and draw his thoughts away. They may die; a thousand accidents may -happen to them; you may outlive them; don’t torture yourself with vain -fears. “_There’s_ comfort yet,” he cries, “they are assailable;” and -now, after his old fashion, he breaks into poetry: - - “Then be thou _jocund_: ere the bat hath flown - His cloister’d flight; ere, to black Hecate’s summons, - The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, - Hath rung night’s yawning peal, there shall be done - A deed of dreadful note.” - -“What’s to be done?” she cries; for having completely misunderstood him -through all the previous part of this interview, she completely fails -to see what he now means. But he has no longer confidence in her; and -so, with caressing words, and probably with some caressing act, he -answers her: - - “Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, - Till thou applaud the deed.” - -How could she suspect his real meaning? This murdering hypocrite had -just told her that Banquo was coming to the feast that night, and bade -her be jovial, and said to her,— - - “Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; - Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue.” - -And this he proposes to her after having just left the murderers whom -he has hired to waylay and kill Banquo, and entertaining no real doubt -in his mind that Banquo will never reach the supper—certainly never -reach it unless his plot miscarries. Well might she “marvel at his -words.” What follows is full of poetry and wickedness; but it is plain -that he was a mystery to her now, a riddle which she could not read. - -The banquet-scene now comes, and Macbeth, believing that he has secured -the death of Banquo and Fleance, is happy, until the murderers come in -and tell him that Fleance has escaped. This upsets him:— - - “Then comes _my fit_ again: I had else been perfect, - Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, - As broad and general as the casing air: - Now I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d, bound in - To saucy doubts and fears.” - -So he poetizes his condition, for superstitious fears always inflame -his imagination; but he cannot regain his composure; his “fit” is on -him, as it “hath been from his youth.” He conjures up the phantom of -Banquo to threaten him and his throne, and this ghost shakes him with -superstitious terror. Lady Macbeth, to whom it is invisible, rouses -herself at this; and not only not comprehending these starts and flaws -of fear, but having a contempt for him, endeavors to recall him to -himself by sharp words; but it is useless, his fit will not leave him, -and the company is dismissed in confusion. When the guests have gone, -Lady Macbeth’s spirit and courage, which were momentary, have fled. -She does not taunt him, but soothes him. He, as soon as he recovers -himself, begins with Macduff, whom he also means to murder:— - - “Strange things I have in head, that will to hand, - Which must be acted, ere they may be scann’d.” - -To this she only says, not imagining his meaning, - - “You lack the season of all natures, sleep.” - -Henceforward Lady Macbeth disappears; we hear nothing of her save in -the terrible sleep-walking scene; she is dying of remorse. But Macbeth -goes to the weird sisters, to learn whether “Banquo’s issue shall ever -reign in this kingdom.” They answer, “Seek to know no more:” and he -cries out, “I _will_ be satisfied; deny me this, and an eternal curse -fall on you.” And when they show him the issue of Banquo, kings, he -is enraged beyond control, and curses them. Henceforth for him no -hesitations, no delays. He speaks directly enough now. - - “From this moment - The firstlings of my heart shall be - The firstlings of my hand. And even now, - To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: - The castle of Macduff I will surprise; - Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o’ th’ sword - His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls - That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; - This deed I’ll do before this purpose cool: - But no more _sights_!” - -And no more _sights_ he has; but he is still haunted by fears. And when -“the English power is near, led on by Malcolm, his uncle Siward, and -the good Macduff,” burning for revenge, Macbeth’s spirit falters. He -rushes into violent rages and then subsides into vague fears, and then -endeavors to strengthen his heart by recalling the mysterious promises -of the weird sisters that he shall not fall by the hand of any man of -woman born, or before Birnam wood come to Dunsinane; but, do all he -can, “he cannot buckle his distempered cause within the belt of rule,” -though he declares,— - - “The mind I sway by and the heart I bear - Shall never sag with doubt, nor shake with fear.” - -Still he does fear; and in one of his dispirited moods, after blazing -out at the messenger who tells him of the approach of Birnam wood,— - - “The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac’d loon! - Where got’st thou that goose look?” - -he says, finding that there are ten thousand men coming to attack him, -and his followers are not stanch,— - - “This push - Will chair me ever, or disseat me now. - I have liv’d long enough: my way of life - Is fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf: - And that which should accompany old age, - As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, - I must not look to have; but, in their stead, - Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, - Which the poor heart would fain deny.” - -But in a moment he is himself again, and cries:— - - “I’ll fight till from my bones the flesh be hack’d. - Give me my armor.” - -In this mood the illness and death of the queen is nothing to him; -he fights bravely to the end; though, superstitious to the last, his -“better part of man” is cowed by the knowledge that Macduff “was from -his mother’s womb untimely ripped,” and so not of woman born. - -And so, by the sword of Macduff, perishes the worst villain, save Iago, -that Shakespeare ever drew. - -We have called the witches the projections of Macbeth’s evil thoughts, -and suggested that they were only objective representations of his -inward being. To this it may be objected that they were seen also by -Banquo. But this may well be; for Banquo also seems to have had evil -intentions, which are vaguely hinted at in the play. He constantly -harps on the idea that his children are to be kings. Approaching the -castle of Inverness at night, before the murder of the king, he says,— - - “Hold, take my sword.... - A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, - And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers! - Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature - Gives way to in repose!—Give me my sword.” - -Meeting then Macbeth, he gives him the diamond sent by the king to Lady -Macbeth; and after speaking of Duncan’s “measureless content,” he says,— - - “I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: - To you they have show’d some truth.” - -At which Macbeth proposes an interview, to - - “Spend it in some words upon _that_ business.” - -To which he readily consents. - -The “cursed thoughts,” then, are connected with his dreams about the -weird sisters. - -At his next appearance the same thoughts agitate him in Macbeth’s -palace at Fores. His first words are—in soliloquy— - - “Thou hast it now, king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, - As the weird women promis’d; and, I fear, - Thou play’dst most foully for’t: yet it was said - It should not stand in thy posterity, - But that myself should be the root and father - Of many kings. If there come truth from them - (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine), - Why, by the verities on thee made good, - May they not be my oracles as well, - And set me up in hope? But, hush! no more.” - -When it is recollected that, after the scene on the heath with the -soldiers, these are nearly all the words we have from Banquo, it seems -to be pretty clearly indicated that his thoughts at least were not -perfectly honest and what they should have been. - -The weird sisters are but outward personifications of the evil thoughts -conceived and fermenting in the brains of Banquo and Macbeth; both high -in station, both generals in the king’s army, both friends, and both -nourishing evil wishes. They are visible only to these two friends; and -though they are represented as having an outer existence independent of -them, they are, metaphysically speaking, but embodiments of the hidden -thoughts and desires of Banquo and Macbeth; as such they are a new and -terrible creation, differing from the vulgar flesh-and-blood witches of -Middleton. They look not like the inhabitants of the earth; they vanish -into thin air; wild, vague, mysterious, they come and go, like devilish -thoughts that tempt us, and take shape before us, as if they had come -from the other world. The devils that haunt us and tempt us come out of -ourselves, like the weird sisters of Macbeth. - - - - -INDEX. - - - Actors, in England, 234–239. - - Adam, figure of, by Michel Angelo, 26. - - Adriani, Giovanni Battista, letter of, to Vasari, 140. - - Æschines, statement by, regarding Miltiades, 129, _note_. - - Æschylus and Euripides, 30; - quotation from, 206. - - Agasias the Ephesian, 109. - - Agathenor, 94. - - Ageledas, teacher of Polyclitus, 88. - - Agoracrites, 66, 67, 70; - and Alcamenes, 71; - and Phidias, 72; - statue of Nemesis, at Rhamnus, by, 70, 91. - - Ajax, the antique, 6. - - Alberti, Leon Battista, 3, 8. - - Alcamenes, 55; - the Venus of the Gardens, by, 68, 90; - and Agoracritos, 71; - and Phidias, 72, 96; - high distinction of, as an artist, 90; - works in the Temple of Zeus, 93. - - Alcimus Avitus, quotation from his _De Origine Mundi_, 127. - - Alexander, taming Bucephalus, statue of, at Rome, 77, 78; - praises Apelles and Lysippus, 131. - - Alfieri, 8. - - Ammonius, 108. - - Anacreon, quotations from, 144. - - “Ancora imparo,” a motto used by Michel Angelo in old age, 13. - - Androsthenes, 88, 92. - - Angelo, Michel, 4–7; - everything in Florence recalls, 8; - his house, 8, 9; - birth, 9; - death, 10; - early studies, 10; - early efforts as a sculptor, 10; - his Cupid and Bacchus, 10; - his Pietà, 11, 20; - colossal figure of David, 11, 20; - Sistine Chapel, 11; - the Moses, 11, 20; - Medici Chapel, 11; - Pauline Chapel, 11; - the Last Judgment, 11; - sculptor, painter, architect, engineer, and poet, 11, 43; - erection of St. Peter’s, 11; - his circumstances and characteristics, 12; - always learning, 13; - his later poetry, 13; - his power as a sculptor, 13, 20, 39; - his great works in the Medicean Chapel, 13–21; - meaning of his statues of Day, Night, Aurora, and Crepuscule, 16–18; - quatrain by, 17; - influence of Savonarola and Dante on, 17; - his works bad models for imitation 20; - figure of Christ by, in the Church of the Minerva, 20; - his struggles against ill-health and overwork, 20, 21; - his frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, 21–29; - Bramante’s jealousy of, 21, 22, 24; - Pope Julius II. strikes him with a cane, 25; - his extraordinary rapidity in working, 25, 26; - greater as a painter than as a sculptor, 26; - of heroic spirit, 29; - fragments of letters by, 30, 36; - Rafaelle and, 30–33, 35; - anecdote of, 32; - personal characteristics of, 33, 34; - and Vittoria Colonna, 34; - extract from a sonnet by, 34; - Dante the favorite poet of, 35; - Savonarola the friend of, 35; - originality of, 35; - devotion to his family, 36; - generosity of, 36, 37; - violent temper of, 33, 37; - patience of, 37; - difficulties under which he labored, 37, 38; - described by Vigenero, 38; - the impatience of his genius, 39; - appointed architect of St. Peter’s when sixty years old, 39; - Palazzo Farnese, the Church of Sta. Maria degli Angeli, and the - Laurentian Library, designed by, 41; - not responsible for St. Peter’s as it now stands, 42; - poetry of, 42, 43; - trained in all the arts, 43; - the greatest monuments of his artistic power, 44; - enduring kingdom of, 48; - popular errors about, 49, 50, 69; - compared with Phidias, 79, 80. - - Antenor, the first maker of iconic statues, 129. - - Antoninus Pius, 230. - - Apelles, and Alexander, 131; - praised by Nicephorus Chumnus, 132; - price paid for one of his portraits of Alexander, 132; - portraits of Campaspe and Phryne by, 132; - story about, by Pliny, 132. - - Aphrodite Urania, chryselephantine statue of, by Phidias, 53, 58. - - Apollo, the Temple of, at Phigaleia, 53. - - Apollodorus, 182. - - Apollonius, 109. - - Appian hymn, the, 206. - - Arcesilaus, sketches by, 135; - price received by, for a drinking-cup, 170; - for a statue of Fabatus, 170, 176. - - Aretino, 3, 8. - - Arezzo, discoveries at, 178. - - Arezzo, Guido di, 4. - - Argos, the Temple of Juno at, 53. - - Ariosto, 3; - Dante and, 30; - lively spirit of, 42. - - Aristotle, distinction drawn by, between Phidias and Polyclitus, - 99–102. - - Arrian, cited, 66, 70. - - Art, deathblow of pagan, 1; - Christianity and, 1; - and religion, 2, 4, 208; - the golden age of Italian, 4; - spirit of Greek and Roman, 19; - ancient works of, difficulty of determining authorship of, 69; - the toreutic, 100; - the productions of, always show the true spirit of religion among - any people, 208; - and nature, 232, 233. - - Artemisia and Mausolus, 132. - - Arts, all, aid each other, 43. - - Athena Areia, statue of, by Phidias, 53, 58; - its height, 62; - described, 65. - - Athena Lemnia, statue of, by Phidias, 62; - beauty of, 65. - - Athena of the Parthenon, chryselephantine statue, by Phidias, 50–68, - 82, 83, 97, 98, 111, 209, 210. - - Athena Promachos, the, cast from spoils taken at Marathon, 59; - its height, 62, 64. - - Athenagoras, cited, 66, 70. - - Aulus Gellius, definition of “facies” by, 121. - - Aurelius, Marcus, the Meditations of, 190–193, 228; - how the Meditations were written, 191; - no book of ancient literature higher and purer, 192; - his dust, 192; - a conversation with, 193–230; - Jesus of Nazareth reverenced by, 199; - supposed ideas of God held by, 199–202; - cannot understand modern pronunciation of Latin, 217; - purely a Stoic, 220; - did not persecute Christians, 220; - letters of, on the proper treatment of one’s enemies, 228. - - Aurora, figure of, by Michel Angelo, 14–21. - - Ausonius, cited, 68. - - - Baldi Chapel, the, 7. - - Bargello, the, 6. - - Bartolommeo, Fra, 31. - - Baruch, cited, 150. - - Batrachus, 107. - - Beethoven and Mozart, 30. - - Bembo, 4. - - Berlinghi, family of the, 10. - - Bibbiena, 3. - - Biblical history, in Michel Angelo’s frescoes, 28, 29. - - Boccaccio, 3. - - Boiardo, 3. - - Borgia, Lucrezia, 264. - - Bostick and Riley, translation of Pliny by, 135. - - Bramante, instigates Pope Julius II. to summon Michel Angelo - to Rome, 21; - jealous of Michel Angelo’s fame, 22; - tries to induce the Pope to discharge Michel Angelo, 24. - - Brass-casting, decline of the art of, 170. - - Brick, printed on by the ancient Romans, 167. - - British Museum, so-called plaster casts in, 164, 165. - - Bronze statues, the method of the ancients in casting, 142. - - Browning, Robert, 233. - - Browning and Tennyson, 30. - - Brunelleschi, 5, 6, 8, 40; - designs Church of San Lorenzo, 13. - - Brunn, Dr., cited, 59, 60; - on Pliny’s Natural History, 120, 137–139. - - Bryaxis, 68. - - Buggiardini, 21. - - Buonomini, Michel Angelo’s father one of the twelve, 10. - - Byzantine tradition, 4. - - - Callicrates, and the Parthenon, 51, 52. - - Callimachus, nicknamed, 130; - drill supposed to have been invented by, 171. - - Cambronne, 74. - - Campaspe, portrait of, by Apelles, 132. - - Canossa, the Counts of, 10. - - Canova, opinion of, as to the use of proportional compasses by ancient - sculptors, 171. - - Caprese, birthplace of Michel Angelo, 9. - - Carmine, Church of the, 7. - - Carpion and the Parthenon, 51. - - Carrara, Michel Angelo at, 37. - - Casting, from life or from the round, difficulties of, 159, 160; - distinction between, and modeling, 155, 161. - - Casting in plaster, alleged practice of, among the Greeks and - Romans, 115–189; - introduced by Verrocchio, 188. - - Casts, plaster, not found in ancient houses or tombs, 157, - 158, 176, 177. - - Cato, book published by, 167. - - Catulus, 67. - - Cellini, the Renaissance Perseus of, 6; - accomplished in many arts, 43. - - Ceres, the Temple of, at Eleusis, 52, 53. - - Chalcosthenes, executed works in baked earth, 148. - - Changes, only gradual, do real good, 197. - - Christ, and Communism, 222, 223; - example of, not always followed by Christians, 226. - - Christianity and Art, 1. - - Christians, not persecuted by Marcus Aurelius, but punished as - Communists, 220–222; - attitude of, toward the government, 221, 227; - theory and practice of, 225, 226. - - Cicero, Demosthenes and, 30; - on the meaning of _vultus_, 121; - quoted, 125, 134, 141, 149, 152. - - Cimabue, 4. - - Clay, not a material for casting, 134; - why used by the ancients instead of gypsum, 158, 159. - - Clemens Alexandrinus, cited, 68. - - Colonna, Vittoria, and Michel Angelo, 34. - - Columbus, 4. - - Communists, the early followers of Christ were, 222. - - Compasses, proportional, used by ancient sculptors, 171, 172. - - Condivi, doubtful assertion of, 25. - - Cooke, a safe guide for the tragic actor, 236. - - Copies, exact, not made by ancient sculptors, 174–176. - - Corœbus, begins the Temple of Initiation at Eleusis, 52. - - Creed, every religious, should be living, 196. - - Crepuscule, figure of, by Michel Angelo, 14–21. - - Ctesilaus, 67, 97; - compared with Phidias, 96. - - Cydon, competition of, with Phidias, 97, 98. - - Cymon, 67. - - Cyrenaicn, the, fragments of figures from, 164, 165. - - - Dædalus, statue to Hercules by, 182, 186. - - Dallaway, cited, 109. - - Damophilus, 117, 146. - - Daniel, Michel Angelo’s figure of, 27. - - Dante, 3, 5, 6, 8; - his influence on Michel Angelo, 17; - and Ariosto, 30; - the favorite poet of Michel Angelo, 35. - - David, Michel Angelo’s statue of, 8, 11. - - Day, Michel Angelo’s colossal figure of, 14–21. - - Deity, figure of the, by Michel Angelo, 27. - - Delacroix and Ary Scheffer, 30. - - Delphi, group of statues at, 59, 60, 62, 64, 121. - - Demetrius, on the work of Phidias, 81; - introduces the realistic school of portraiture, 130. - - Demosthenes and Cicero, 30. - - Devils, the, that haunt and tempt us, come out of ourselves, 286. - - D’Hancarville, cited, 109. - - Dibutades of Sicyon, 137–139. - - Diocletian, ruins of the Baths of, 41. - - Diodotos, 70. - - Dion Chrysostomos, on the style of Phidias, 81. - - Dionysius of Colophon, 132. - - Dionysius of Halicarnassus, on the art of Phidias, 81, 102; - on the works of Polyclitus, 89. - - Dives and Lazarus, 223. - - Dolls, ancient, 166. - - Drama, reaction in the, against conventionalism, 233. - - Drill, the, supposed to have been invented by Callimachus, 171. - - Dryads, 1. - - Dust of the dead, 192. - - Duty, the, of considering adverse doctrines, 224, 225. - - - Ectypa of baked clay, 156. - - Eleusinian mysteries, meaning of the, 217, 218. - - Eleusis, the Temple of Initiation at, 52; - the Temple of Ceres at, 52. - - Elgin marbles, the, 49–114. - - Elis, work of Phidias at, 53, 54. - - Elpinice, portrait of, by Polygnotua, 132. - - Epicurus, the face of, carried about by the Romans, 150. - - Equanimity, the last watchword given by Antoninus Pius, 230. - - Erechtheum, the, 94. - - Esaias, Michel Angelo’s figure of, 27. - - Euphranor, 73. - - Euripides, Æschylus and, 30; - on the immensity of God, 206. - - Ezekiel, Michel Angelo’s figure of, 27. - - - Fables of the ancients, the mythical garb of great truths, 211, 212; - true to the imagination, not to the reason, 212. - - Facts, but dead husks, 212. - - Faith, death of, 196; - easily degenerates into superstition, 204; - of the ancients compared with ours, 218–220. - - Fame, what is, 228. - - Fechter, as Hamlet, 236. - - Fedi, 6. - - Ficino, Marsilio, 3. - - Firmicus, story by, about Zagreus, 101. - - Florence, the city of the Renaissance, 5; - ungrateful, 7; - Dante and, 8. - - Fol, Mr., the collection of, in Rome, 156, 168. - - Forcellinus, cited, 120, 122, 123. - - Forms, of little consequence, compared to essences, 195. - - Formulas check growth in the spirit, 195; - but are useful, as trunks in which we pack our goods, 195. - - Fornarina, the, 31, 34. - - Francis I. and Leonardo da Vinci, 74. - - Fresco-painting, source of the term, 25. - - Fronto, _De differentiis Vocabulorum_ of, 122, _note_. - - - Galatea, the, of Raffaelle, 32. - - Galileo, 4, 8. - - Garrick, 236–238. - - Germans, as students of Shakespeare, 237. - - Ghiberti, 6, 8, 43. - - Ghirlandajo, Michel Angelo’s early master, 10, 22. - - Giorgione, 4. - - Giotto, 4; - the campanile of, 6; - frescoes of, 7; - accomplished in many arts, 43. - - Glycon, 109. - - God, tendency to humanize and degrade, 198; - the justice of, 200; - supposed ideas of, held by Marcus Aurelius, 199–202; - man cannot comprehend, 203; - yet man makes, 203; - Christian and pagan conceptions of, compared, 199–208; - representations of, in art, inferior to pagan works, 208. - - Gods, images of, in early Greece, with clothes and false hair, 152; - the ancient, but anthropomorphic symbols, 210. - - Gonsalvi, Cardinal, and Michel Angelo, 13. - - Good, real, done only by gradual changes, 197. - - Gorgasus, 117, 146. - - Gorgias, 88. - - Greek and Roman art, the spirit of, 19. - - Greek sculptors not accustomed to put their names on statues, 107. - - Guarini, 3. - - Guelphs end Ghibellines, 3. - - Guicciardini, 8. - - Gypsum, not used by the ancients in casting, 157–159, 169; - Pliny on, 169. - - - Hamlet, the warnings of, needed by English actors, 234, 235; - not Hamlet on the English stage, 238; - mental aberration of, compared with that of Macbeth, 249, 250. - - Hegias, 88. - - Hermitage, Museum of the, 163. - - Hercules, statue of, by Dædalus, 182, 186. - - Hesychius, cited, 70, 103. - - History, who knows, 214; - must be interpreted by imagination, 214. - - Homer, and Virgil, 30; - relief in the British Museum, representing the deification of, 109. - - Honesty of intention, not enough, 221. - - Horace, quotation from, 126. - - Horse-Tamer, the, statue of, ascribed to Phidias, 67, 70–79. - - Hugo, Victor, and Lamartine, 30. - - Hunt, Leigh, 233. - - - Iasos, 94. - - Iconic statues, first made by Antenor, 129. - - Ictinus, works of, 113. - - Idealisti, motto of the, 232. - - Images, draped with real stuffs by the Greeks and Romans, 152; - false hair on, 152. - - Imagination in art, 232; - may work independently of real feelings, 251. - - Inevitable, the, should be accepted without murmuring, 229. - - Isis, 221. - - Isocrates, quoted, 66. - - Italy, the land of the Renaissance, 5. - - - Jehovah, the, of the Jews, development of, 205. - - Jeremiah, figure of, by Michel Angelo, 27. - - Jesus, reverenced by Marcus Aurelius, 199, 220. - - John of Bologna, the Rape of the Sabines by, 6. - - Julian, statement by, about Phidias, 84. - - Julius II., Pope, and Michel Angelo, 21–25; - strikes Michel Angelo with a cane, 25. - - Juno, the Temple of, at Argos, 53. - - Jupiter, the true philosophic idea of, 204–207. - - Jupiter Pluvius, 216. - - - Kalamis, 88; - works of, 93; - compared with Phidias, 96. - - Kallimachus, 88. - - Kallon, 88. - - Kean, Charles, 236, 237. - - Kean, the elder, 236. - - Kemble, John, as Hamlet, 238, 239. - - Kertch, excavations at, 163; - so-called casts from, in the British Museum, 164, 165. - - Kleoitas, 88. - - Knight, Richard Payne, opinion of, on the Elgin marbles, 99. - - Kolotes, an assistant of Phidias, 55; - statue of Athena attributed to, by Pliny, 66, 70, 91. - - - Lacon, 88. - - Lactantius, 206. - - Lamartine, Victor Hugo and, 30. - - Lanzi, 8. - - Laocoön, the, 19. - - Latin, modern pronunciation of, unintelligible to Marcus - Aurelius, 217. - - Laurentian Library, the, 42. - - Lazarus, and Dives, 223. - - Lear, the aberration of mind of, different from that of Macbeth, - 249, 250. - - Leo X., Pope, 13, 14. - - Leochares, statues by, 130. - - Leonardo, 43; - competition of, with Michel Angelo, 22; - story about his death, 74. - - Libeccio, the howling, 190. - - Libon, 113. - - Lippi, 7. - - Loclos, 94. - - Lomazzo, statement by, about Leonardo’s death, 74. - - Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, 14. - - Lorenzo the Magnificent, 3; - favors Michel Angelo, 10. - - Lucan, lofty idea of God expressed by, 207. - - Lucian, cited, 65, 67; - his ideal image of the most beautiful woman, 96; - comment by, on Demetrius, 130; - the “Tragic Jupiter” of, citations from, 181–185; - the “Somnium, seu Gallus,” of, quoted, 187. - - Lysias, cited, 101, _note_. - - Lysippus, statue of Opportunity by, 68; - varies the canon of proportion, 73; - gives a new impulse to the school of portraiture, 131; - praised by Nicephorus Chumnus, 132. - - Lysistratus, and the art of casting in plaster, 116, 117, 139, - 141, 143, 145; - and the practice of portraiture, 131; - probable use of color by, 154. - - - Macbeth, the true character of, 239–285; - not understood by Lady Macbeth till after the murder of Duncan, 241, - 242, 244, 277; - Shakespeare’s worst villain, save Iago, 284. - - Macbeth, Lady, the real, 230–241, 251–282. - - Macchiavelli, 3, 8. - - Maderno, Carlo, St. Peter’s injured by, 42. - - Madonna di San Sisto, the, 32. - - Mai, Cardinal, 122, _note_. - - Mammon, worshiped, 227. - - Man, inferior to woman in adjusting details, 259. - - Marathon, the use made of spoils taken from the Medes at, 59. - - Marbles, the Elgin and Phigaleian, work on, in the Library of - Entertaining Knowledge, 99, 110. - - Masaccio, 7. - - Mausolus, statue of, 131. - - Medicean Chapel, the, 9, 11; - great works of Michel Angelo in, 13–21, 39. - - Medici, real mausoleum of the, 9; - burial chapel of the, 44–48; - coffins of the, neglected and robbed, 45–47; - sad lesson of their fate, 48. - - Medici, Giuliano dei, mausoleum to, 14. - - Melzi, cited, 74. - - Metagenes, and the Temple of Initiation at Eleusis, 52. - - Metoscopi, a story about, 132. - - Middle Ages, the, 2. - - Middleton, the witches of, different from Shakespeare’s weird - sisters, 285, 286. - - Miltiades, portrait statue of, at Delphi, 129. - - Minerva, Church of the, 20. - - Mini, Antonio, 21. - - Mini, Giovanni Battista, letter by, 21. - - Mirandola, Pico della, 3. - - Mithras, 221, 225. - - Mnesicles, 52. - - Molière and Racine, 30. - - Moses, statue of, by Michel Angelo, 39. - - Mount Mithridates, excavations at, 163. - - Mozart, Beethoven and, 30. - - Müller, cited, 59, 101, _note_, 185. - - Music, development of, 4. - - Myron, 88; - great skill of, 89, 90; - inscription on his Discobolos, 108. - - Mys, carving by, 64. - - Myths, enchanting, 212. - - - Naiads, 1. - - Narrow-mindedness, development of truth impeded by, 225. - - Naturalisti, motto of the, 232. - - Nature and art, 232. - - Nemesis, statue of, at Rhamnus, 67, 70, 71; - inscription on, 109. - - Nero, 77, 79; - like Macbeth, 243. - - Nestocles, 88. - - Nicephorus Chumnus, Apelles and Lysippus praised by, 132. - - Nicias, statues colored by, 153. - - Night, Michel Angelo’s colossal figure of, 14–21. - - - Odeum, the, 52, 53. - - Olympia, the Temple of Zeus at, 53, 54. - - Opinion, arrogance of, development of truth impeded by, 225. - - Opinions but running streams, 229. - - Orcagna, the Loggia of, 6. - - Oreads, 1. - - Orpheus, as the Good Shepherd, 1. - - Othello, the trance of, unlike Macbeth’s aberration of mind, 249, 250. - - Ovid, quoted, 122, 151. - - - Pæonios, 55, 88; - works of, 92, 93. - - Pagan religion and pagan art, 1. - - Painting, and sculpture, 1; - substances used by the ancients in, 145. - - Palazzo Farnese, the, 41. - - Pan, 1. - - Pantarces, a victor in the Olympian games, 129. - - Parrhasius, 64; - paints portrait of himself, 132. - - Parthenon, the, sculptures in, 49, 50, 52–55; - builders of, 51, 52; - built between 444 and 438 B. C., 54; - the extant fragments of, not in the style of Phidias, 84–86; - probably executed by various hands, 94. - - Pasiteles, 135. - - Pauline Chapel, the, 11. - - Pausanias, statements by, 59, 64–71, 75, 91; - the marble statues ascribed to Phidias by, 105–107; - on the invention of casting in bronze, 137. - - Pelichus, statue of, by Demetrius, 130. - - Pensiero, Il, 18. - - Pericles, appoints Phidias director of public works in Athens, 49, 51; - directs the building of the Odeum, 52; - said by Strabo to have been director of public works, 52; - sole administrator of public affairs, 53; - likeness of, by Phidias, 60, 129. - - Perkins, Charles C., his “Du Moulage en Plâtre chez les Anciens,” - 115 ff.; - confounds modeling and casting, 162. - - Perugino, 31. - - Peruzzi Chapel, the, 7. - - Petrarca, 3, 42; - admired by Michel Angelo, 35. - - Petronius, cited, 90. - - Phædrus, quoted, 108. - - Phidias, 19; - painter and architect, as well as sculptor, 43; - and the Elgin marbles, 49–114; - appointed director of public works by Pericles, 49; - his chryselephantine statue of Athena, 50–68, 82, 83, 97, 98, 111; - doubtful if he ever made statues in marble, 51, 98–113; - testimony of Plutarch, 51, 52; - of Strabo, 52; - impossible for him to have done all the work that is attributed to - him, 53–58, 63, 68; - a slow and elaborate worker, 55; - disadvantages of, 56, 57; - date of his birth, 58–62; - likeness of, by himself, 60, 129; - works ascribed to, 62–68; - incredible stories about, 71–73; - peculiarly celebrated for his statues of Athena, 75; - the Horse-Tamer, not the work of, 76–79; - compared with Michel Angelo, 80; - his style, 80, 81; - elaboration of his great works, 81–84, 86; - the Cellini of Athens, 84; - introduces the art of making statues in ivory and gold, 87; - estimation of, among his contemporaries, 96; - Propertius and Quinctilian on, 98; - appellation applied to, by Aristotle, 99–102; - skill of, in the toreutic art, 101; - marble statues ascribed to, by Pausanias, 105–107; - prosecuted for impiety, 129. - - Phigaleia, the Temple of Apollo at, 53. - - Photias, 72. - - Phradmon, 67; - competes with Phidias, 97. - - Phryne, portrait of, by Apelles, 132. - - Phyromachos, 94. - - Piece-moulds apparently not used by the ancient Greeks and Romans, - 156, 157, 176, 178. - - Pindar, quotation from, 206. - - Pius VIII., monument of, by Tenerani, 61. - - Plaster, the art of casting in, among the Greeks and Romans, 115–189. - - Platæa, 53, 59. - - Plautus, quoted, 121, 135. - - Pliny, cited, 65–68, 70, 71, 76, 89, 90; - story by, about Phidias, Polyclitus, Ctesilaus, Cydon, and - Phradmon, 97, 98; - statements by, about Phidias, 103, 104; - quotation from his Natural History, 116; - meaning of the quotation considered, 117 ff.; - the Natural History characterized, 118, 119; - stories by, about Apelles and Parrhasius, 132, 133; - Bostick and Riley’s translation of, 135; - his use of the term “cera,” 144; - chapter on “Plastices,” in the Natural History, 146–150; - chapter on the honor attached to portraits, 150, 151. - - Plutarch, statements by, about Pericles and Phidias, 51, 52, 56, 57; - quoted, 66. - - Plyntheria, the colossal Athena’s gold drapery washed at, 152. - - Poliziano, Angelo, teacher of Michel Angelo, 3, 10. - - Polybius, referred to, 146, _note_. - - Polyclitus, 67; - his canon of proportion, 73; - his works, 88, 89; - compared with Phidias, 96, 97, 101; - price received by, for his Doryphoros, 176. - - Polygnotus, the “Rape of Cassandra” by, 132. - - Polyxines, 6. - - Pompeii, works of art found in, 177. - - Pomponius Mela, cited, 70. - - Popes, the, and Michel Angelo, 12. - - Portrait statues, erection of, in public, seldom allowed by the - Greeks, 129. - - Portraiture, in its true sense, the beginning of, 130; - development of, by Lysippus and Lysistratus, 131; - earliest specimen of, by a great painter, 132; - use of, by the Romans, 150. - - Possis, excellent work of, 148. - - Praxias, 88, 92, 94, 95. - - Praxiteles, statue of Alexander taming Bucephalus, ascribed to, - 77, 78; - praised by Lucian, 96; - and Nicias, 153; - price offered by Athens for the Venus of, 175. - - Pre-Raphaelites, error of the, 233. - - Printing, among the ancient Romans, 167. - - Propertius, quoted, 98. - - Propylæa, 53. - - Pulci, the three, 3. - - Pythagoras, 88. - - - Quinctilian, quoted, 98, 125; - criticises Demetrius, 130. - - Quincy, M. Quatremere de, on chryselephantine statues, 100. - - Quirinal Hill, statue of the Horse-Tamer on the, 67, 76. - - - Racine, Molière and, 30. - - Raffaelle, 4, 8; - and the Sistine Chapel, 24; - and Michel Angelo, 30–33, 35; - character and style of, 31; - his finest work, 32; - his early death, 32; - characterized by contemporaries, 33; - and the Fornarina, 31, 34; - accomplished in many arts, 43. - - Ravenna, Dante’s grave at, 8. - - Reform, slow movement of, in England, 235. - - Rehoboam, group by Michel Angelo, 29. - - Religion, and art, hand in hand, 208; - no system of, ever embraced all truth, 224. - - Religious controversy, nothing so bitter as, 225. - - Religious ideas, each age has its, 196. - - Renaissance, the, 3–5. - - Revolutionizing the world, 227. - - Rhamnus, statue of Nemesis at, 67, 70, 71. - - Rhœcus, cast in bronze, 136. - - Riches, denounced by Christ, 222. - - Riley and Bostick, translation of Pliny by, 135. - - Roman and Greek art, the spirit of, 19. - - Rousseau and Voltaire, 30. - - - S. Justinus, 206. - - S. Theophilus Antiochenus, 206. - - Sallust, quoted, 152. - - San Gallo, Antonio, architect of St. Peter’s, 39. - - San Lorenzo, Church of, 9, 13. - - Santa Croce, Church of, 7, 8. - - Saurus, 107. - - Savonarola, 5; - his influence on Michel Angelo, 17, 35. - - Scheffer, Ary, Delacroix and, 30. - - Scopas, 67; - celebrated for heroic figures and demigods, 75; - a worker in marble, 76. - - Sculpture, and idolatry, 1; - considered more dignified than painting, by the Athenians, 133. - - Second-sight, Macbeth’s, 246. - - Secretive nature, the, always a puzzle to the frank nature, 244. - - Semele and Zagreus, 161. - - Seneca, quoted, 110; - sentiments of, regarding God, 207, 208. - - Shakespeare, and Sir Philip Sidney, 30; - testimony of, as to English actors, 235; - interpreted by the Germans, 237; - his meaning perverted on the English stage, 238, 240; - no serious character of, rants like Macbeth, 251; - a master-stroke of, 259; - Iago and Macbeth his worst villains, 284; - his weird sisters a new creation, 285. - - Sibylline verses, fragment of the, 206. - - Sibyls, representations of, by Michel Angelo, 27, 28. - - Siddons, Mrs., as Lady Macbeth, 239, 240, 264. - - Sidney, Sir Philip, Shakespeare and, 30. - - Sistine Chapel, the, 11; - Michel Angelo’s frescoes in, 21–29, 44; - opened to exhibit the frescoes in 1508 on All-Saints’ Day, 23. - - Sixtus V., 77. - - Smith, Philip, cited, 59, 61, 76. - - Socrates, 88. - - Solon, cited, 70. - - Sophocles, unity and universality of God proclaimed by, 200. - - Spartianus, statues modeled in plaster spoken of by, 160. - - St. Paul, quoted, 231. - - St. Peter’s, the Dome of, 5, 8, 11; - Michel Angelo’s work upon, 39–42; - the type of the universal church, 41; - Michel Angelo not responsible for it as it now stands, 42; - changes made in, by Carlo Maderno, 42. - - Sta. Maria degli Angeli, Church of, 41. - - Stage, tradition and convention on the English, 234–240. - - Statius, quoted, 144. - - Statues, ancient, singular defects in, 173. - - Strabo, statements by, about Pericles and Phidias, 52; - opinion of, on the statue of Nemesis, at Rhamnus, 70; - on the work of Polyclitus, 89, 96. - - Strozzi, Giovan’ Battista, quatrain by, 17. - - Suidas, 72. - - Sunium, 64. - - - Tartuffe, Macbeth not like, 254. - - Tasso, 3, 42. - - Tenerani, 61. - - Tennyson, Browning and, 30. - - Terra cotta, an ancient manufactory of, 178. - - Tertullian, on the persecution of the Christians, 222. - - Themistius, a saying of, 56; - cited, 80. - - Theocosmos, 67, 92; - said to have been assisted by Phidias, 75. - - Theocritus, 206. - - Theodorus of Samos, cast in bronze, 136. - - Theophrastus, treatise on mineralogy by, 159. - - Thiersch, cited, 59, 61, 68. - - Thoughts, our whole nature colored by our, 229. - - Thrasymedes of Paros, 66, 70. - - Thundering Legion, the, true story of, 215, 216. - - Tintoretto, 4. - - Tiridates, King of Armenia, 77, 79. - - Titian, 4. - - Toreutic art, the, 100. - - Tradition, in English church and theatre, 235; - Shakespeare’s meaning perverted by, 238, 240. - - Traditions about artists, unreliable, 74. - - Troughton, Mr., 233. - - Truth, infinite in form and spirit, 195; - a continual progression towards the divine, 195; - not all embraced in one system of religion, 224; - the growth of, impeded by narrow-mindedness, 225. - - Tussaud, Madame, 154. - - Tzetzes the Grammarian, story told by, 72; - an untrustworthy gossip, 73; - on Phidias, 103. - - - Urban VIII., 78. - - Urbino, Michel Angelo’s servant, 37. - - - Valerius Maximus, quoted, 110, 111. - - Valerius Soranus, God represented by, as the Father and Mother of - us all, 207. - - Valori, Bartolommeo, letter to, 21. - - Varro, quoted, as to the meaning of “cera,” 144. - - Vasari, Giorgio, doubtful assertion of, 25; - on Raffaelle, 33; - account by, of Verrocchio’s making casts, 188. - - Veronese, 4. - - Verrocchio, 43; - casting in plaster introduced by, 188. - - Via Latina, tombs in the, 157. - - Vigenero, description of Michel Angelo by, 38. - - Villari, 3. - - Virgil, Homer and, 30; - quoted, 122, 136. - - Visconti, quoted, 99, 100; - his views examined, 100–104. - - Vitruvius, 145; - description of process used in finishing walls by, 153. - - Voltaire, Rousseau and, 30. - - - Walls, ancient process used in finishing, 153. - - Wardour Street, the portraits of, 152. - - Wax, the common vehicle of ancient painters, 144. - - “Weird Sisters,” the, but outward personifications of evil - thoughts, 285. - - Welcker and Preller, cited, 59, 60. - - Wilkins, William, opinion of, on the Elgin marbles, 99. - - Wilson, Mr. Charles Heath, close examination of Michel Angelo’s - frescoes by, 25. - - “Wisdom of Solomon,” the, cited, 150. - - Woman, superior to man in adjusting details, 259; - unable to bear the remembrance of what she has gone through, 277. - - World, the, needs revolutionizing, 227. - - - Xenocles of Cholargos, finishes the Temple of Initiation at - Eleusis, 52. - - Xenophon, classes Polyclitus with Homer, Sophocles, and Zeuxis, as - an artist, 89. - - - Zacharias, figure of, by Michel Angelo, 27. - - Zagreus and Semele, 161. - - Zenobius, cited, 70. - - Zeus, chryselephantine statue of, by Phidias, 63, 59–63, 65, 81, - 86, 98, 209; - inscription on, 109. - - Zeus, the Temple of, at Olympia, 53. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - - [1] Whether this inscription was placed there during the life - of Phidias does not appear; but it is highly improbable, - and not in harmony with the practice of the Greeks. - - [2] Themistius, Orat. adeum qui postulaverat ut ex tempore - sermonem haberet. - - [3] τέκτονες, πλάσται, χαλκοτύποι, λιθουργοί, βαφεῖς, χρυσοῦ - μαλακτῆρες καὶ ἐλέφαντος ζωγράφοι, ποικιλταῖ, τορευταῖ. - This passage is generally cited as a statement by Plutarch - that Phidias employed all these men; but in fact he is only - urging, in justification of Pericles, and in answer to - attacks made against him for expending such large sums of - money in the public works, that these works gave employment - to the enumerated classes of artists and mechanics. - - [4] The date of the birth of Pericles is unknown, but he began - to take part in public affairs in B. C. 469, when he could - not probably have been less than twenty-one years of age. - This would place his birth at 490. He died in 429; and this - reckoning would make him only sixty-one at his death. - - [5] A full transcript of these inscriptions will be found in - Dr. Brunn’s _Geschichte der griechischen Künstler_, i. 249. - - [6] See Lysias’s Frag., Περὶ τοῦ τύπου; also, Müller’s _Ancient - Art_, 360, and King’s _Antique Gems_. - - [7] “Non ex ebore tantum sciebat Phidias facere simulacrum, - faciebat et ex ære. Si marmor illi, si adhuc viliorem - materiam obtulisses, fecisset quale ex illa fieri optimum - potuisset.”—Seneca, _Epist._ 86. - - [8] _Du Moulage en Plâtre chez les Anciens_, par M. Charles C. - Perkins, correspondant de l’Académie des Beaux Arts, etc. - Paris, 1869. - - [9] Pliny, _Nat. Hist._, lib. xxxv. ch. xii. - - [10] So also Fronto in his _De differentiis Vocabulorum_, - published by Cardinal Mai from palimpsests, says: “Vultus - proprie hominis—os omnium—facies plurium.” - - [11] According to Æschines, in his oration against Ctesiphon, - Miltiades desired that his name should be inscribed on this - portrait statue, which was placed in the Pœcile; but the - Athenians refused their permission. - - [12] See _Cicero ad Atticum_, xii. 41. - - [13] iii. 12, § 13; viii. 14, § 5. - - [14] _Geschichte der griechischen Künstler_, vol. i. p. 403. - - [15] vii. 3, ii 8. See, also, Pliny, xxv. 49. - - [16] See, also, an account of these “imagines” in Polybius, vi. - 53. - - [17] Et quoniam animorum imagines non sunt, negliguntur etiam - corporum. Aliter apud majores, in atriis hæc erant quæ - spectarentur, non signa externorum artificum, nec æra - aut marmora. Expressi cera vultus singulis disponebantur - armariis ut essent imagines quæ comitarentur gentilicia - funera.—Book 35, ch. 2. - - [18] Διαφέρην δὲ δοκεῖ καὶ πρὸς τὰ ἀπομάγματα πολὺ τῶν ἀλλῶν. - - [19] Lib. ix. ch. 23; Lib. i. ch. 40; Lib. viii. ch. 22. - - [20] Spartian., _Sev. Hadrian_, 22. - - [21] _De Errore Profanarum Religionum._ Vid. _Lobeck aglaopham_, - p. 571. - - [22] As Lysistratus and his brother lived about the 114th - Olympiad (324 B. C.), if these works found at Kertch were - plaster _casts_, it is plain that Lysistratus did not - invent casting, since these were before his time; and if - Pliny means to say that he did, he is evidently quite wrong. - - [23] Pliny says “exemplar.” - - [24] Ἐτύγχανον μὲν ἄρτι χαλκουργῶν ὕπο Πιττούμενος στέρνον τε - καὶ μετάφρενον· Θώραξ δέ μοι γελοῖος ἀμφὶ σώματι Πλασθεῖς - παρῃώρητο μιμήλῃ τέχνῃ Σφραγῖδα χαλκοῦ πᾶσαν ἐκτυπούμενος. - - [25] See _Divin. Inst._, lib. i. c. 6. - - [26] Val. Soranus, cited by St. Augustine, _De Civit. Dei_, lib. - vii. c. 9. - - [27] See these passages and others cited in S. Justinus, - _Cohortat. ad Græc. et de Monarchia_; Clement of - Alexandria, _Stromat._, lib. v., _et Admonitio ad Gentes_; - S. Cyrillus Alexandrinus, _Contra Julianum_, lib. i.; - Athenagoras, _Legat. pro Christian._; Theodoretus, _Graec. - Affectionum: Curat_, lib. 7. - - [28] - “I have no spur - To prick the sides of my intent, but only - Vaulting ambition.” - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not -changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced -quotation marks retained. - -Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained. - -Index not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Excursions in Art and Letters, by -William Wetmore Story - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS *** - -***** This file should be named 54773-0.txt or 54773-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/7/7/54773/ - -Produced by Chris Curnow, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Excursions in Art and Letters - -Author: William Wetmore Story - -Release Date: May 23, 2017 [EBook #54773] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Curnow, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="transnote covernote">Transcriber’s Note: -Cover created by Transcriber and placed in the Public Domain.</div> - -<div class="newpage ad"> -<p class="p1 center larger bold">Books by Mr. Story.</p> - -<blockquote class="hang"> - -<p><span class="sans">POEMS.</span> I. <span class="smcap">Parchments and Portraits.</span> II. <span class="smcap">Monologues -and Lyrics.</span> 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50.</p> - -<p><span class="sans">HE AND SHE</span>; or, <span class="smcap">A Poet’s Portfolio</span>. 18mo, illuminated -vellum, $1.00.</p> - -<p><span class="sans">FIAMMETTA.</span> A Novel. 16mo, $1.25.</p> - -<p><span class="sans">ROBA DI ROMA.</span> New Revised Edition, from new -plates. With Notes. 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50.</p> - -<p><span class="sans">CONVERSATIONS IN A STUDIO</span>. 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50.</p> - -<p><span class="sans">EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS.</span> 16mo, $1.25.</p></blockquote> - -<p class="p1 center vspace"> -HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.<br /> -<span class="smcap smaller">Boston and New York.</span> -</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<h1 class="wspace"> -EXCURSIONS IN ART<br /> -AND LETTERS</h1> - -<p class="p2 center">BY</p> - -<p class="p1 center large wspace">WILLIAM WETMORE STORY</p> - -<p class="p1 center small">D.C.L. (OXON.)<br /> -COMM. CORONA ITALIA, OFF. LEG. D’HONNEUR, ETC.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width: 7.25em;"> -<img src="images/i_title.jpg" width="116" height="147" alt="Publisher’ Logo: The Riverside Press" /> -</div> - -<p class="p2 center vspace wspace">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> -<span class="larger">HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY</span><br /> -<span class="bold">The Riverside Press, Cambridge</span><br /> -1893 -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="newpage p4 center vspace"> -Copyright, 1891,<br /> -<span class="smcap">By</span> WILLIAM WETMORE STORY.<br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i></p> - -<p class="p2 center">THIRD EDITION.</p> - -<p class="p2 center"><i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.</i><br /> -Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. -</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<hr class="narrow" /> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr class="small"> - <td> </td> - <td class="tdr nopad">PAGE</td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Michel Angelo</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ch1">1</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Phidias, and the Elgin Marbles</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ch2">49</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Art of Casting in Plaster among the Ancient Greeks and Romans</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ch3">115</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Conversation with Marcus Aurelius</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ch4">190</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Distortions of the English Stage as Instanced in “Macbeth”</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ch5">232</a></td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1">1</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class="larger">EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS.</span></h2> - -<hr class="narrow" /> - -<h2 class="p1 nobreak"><a id="ch1"></a>MICHEL ANGELO.</h2> - -<p>The overthrow of the pagan religion was the -deathblow of pagan Art. The temples shook to -their foundations, the statues of the gods shuddered, -a shadow darkened across the pictured and -sculptured world, when through the ancient realm -was heard the wail, “Pan, great Pan is dead.” -The nymphs fled to their caves affrighted. Dryads, -Oreads, and Naiads abandoned the groves, mountains, -and streams that they for ages had haunted. -Their voices were heard no more singing by shadowy -brooks, their faces peered no longer through -the sighing woods; and of all the mighty train of -greater and lesser divinities and deified heroes to -whom Greece and Rome had bent the knee and -offered sacrifice, Orpheus alone lingered in the -guise of the Good Shepherd.</p> - -<p>Christianity struck the deathblow not only to pagan -Art, but for a time to all Art. Sculpture and -Painting were in its mind closely allied to idolatry. -Under its influence the arts slowly wasted -away as with a mortal disease. With ever-declining -strength they struggled for centuries, gasping<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2">2</a></span> -as it were for breath, and finally, almost in utter -atrophy, half alive, half dead,—a ruined, maimed, -deformed presence, shorn of all their glory and -driven out by the world,—they found a beggarly -refuge and sufferance in some Christian church or -monastery.</p> - -<p>The noble and majestic statues of the sculptured -gods of ancient Greece were overthrown and buried -in the ground, their glowing and pictured figures -were swept from the walls of temples and dwellings, -and in their stead only a crouching, timid race -of bloodless saints were seen, not glad to be men, -and fearful of God. Humanity dared no longer to -stand erect, but groveled in superstitious fear, and -lashed its flesh in penance, and was ashamed and -afraid of all its natural instincts. How then was -it possible for Art to live? Beauty, happiness, -life, and joy were but a snare and a temptation, -and Religion and Art, which can never be divorced, -crouched together in fear.</p> - -<p>The long black period of the Middle Ages came -to shroud everything in ignorance. Literature, art, -poetry, science, sank into a nightmare of sleep. -Only arms survived. The world became a battlefield, -simply for power and dominion, until religion, -issuing from the Church, bore in its van the banner -of chivalry.</p> - -<p>But the seasons of history are like the seasons -of the year. Nothing utterly dies. And after the -long apparently dead winter of the Middle Ages -the spring came again—the spring of the Renaissance—when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3">3</a></span> -liberty and humanity awoke, and -art, literature, science, poesy, all suddenly felt a -new influence come over them. The Church itself -shook off its apathy, inspired by a new spirit. -Liberty, long downtrodden and tyrannized over, -roused itself, and struck for popular rights. The -great contest of the Guelphs and Ghibellines began. -There was a ferment throughout all society. The -great republics of Italy arose. Commerce began -to flourish; and despite all the wars, contests, and -feuds of people and nobles, and the decimations -from plague and disease, art, literature, science, -and religion itself, burst forth into a new and -vigorous life. One after another there arose those -great men whose names shine like planets in history—Dante, -with his wonderful “Divina Commedia,” -written, as it were, with a pen of fire -against a stormy background of night; Boccaccio, -with his sunny sheaf of idyllic tales; Petrarca, -the earnest lover of liberty, the devoted patriot, -the archæologist and philosopher as well as poet, -whose tender and noble spirit is marked through -his exquisitely finished canzone and sonnets, and -his various philosophical works; Villari, the historian; -and all the illustrious company that surrounded -the court of Lorenzo the Magnificent—Macchiavelli, -Poliziano, Boiardo, the three Pulci, -Leon Battista Alberti, Aretino, Pico della Mirandola, -and Marsilio Ficino; and, a little later, -Ariosto and Tasso, whose stanzas are still sung by -the gondoliers of Venice; and Guarini and Bibbiena<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4">4</a></span> -and Bembo,—and many another in the fields -of poesy and literature. Music then also began to -develop itself; and Guido di Arezzo arranged the -scale and the new method of notation. Art also -sent forth a sudden and glorious coruscation of -genius, beginning with Cimabue and Giotto, to -shake off the stiff cerements of Byzantine tradition -in which it had so long been swathed, and to -stretch its limbs to freer action, and spread its -wings to higher flights of power, invention, and -beauty. The marble gods, which had lain dethroned -and buried in the earth for so many centuries, -rose with renewed life from their graves, -and reasserted over the world of Art the dominion -they had lost in the realm of Religion. It is useless -to rehearse the familiar names that then illumined -the golden age of Italian art, where shine -preëminent those of Leonardo, the widest and -most universal genius that perhaps the world has -ever seen; of Michel Angelo, the greatest power -that ever expressed itself in stone or color; of -Raffaelle, whose exquisite grace and facile design -have never been surpassed; and of Titian, Giorgione, -Veronese, and Tintoretto, with their Venetian -splendors. Nor did science lag behind. Galileo -ranged the heavens with his telescope, and, like -a second Joshua, bade the sun stand still; and -Columbus, ploughing the unknown deep, added -another continent to the known world.</p> - -<p>This was the Renaissance or new birth in Italy; -after the long drear night of ignorance and darkness,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5">5</a></span> -again the morning came and the glory returned. -As Italy above all other lands is the land -of the Renaissance, so Florence above all cities -is the city of the Renaissance. Its streets are -haunted by historic associations; at every corner, -and in every byplace or piazza, you meet the spirits -of the past. The ghosts of the great men who -have given such a charm and perfume to history -meet you at every turn. Here they walked and -worked centuries ago; here to the imagination -they still walk, and they scarcely seem gone. -Here is the stone upon which Dante sat and meditated,—was -it an hour ago or six centuries? -Here Brunelleschi watched the growing of his -mighty dome, and here Michel Angelo stood and -gazed at it while dreaming of that other mighty -dome of St. Peter’s which he was afterwards to -raise, and said, “Like it I will not, and better I -cannot.” As one walks through the piazza of -Sta Maria Novella, and looks up at the façade that -Michel Angelo called his “sposa,” it is not difficult -again to people it with the glad procession that -bore Cimabue’s famous picture, with shouts and -pomp and rejoicing, to its altar within the church. -In the Piazza della Signoria one may in imagination -easily gather a crowd of famous men to listen -to the piercing tones and powerful eloquence of -Savonarola. Here gazing up, one may see towering -against the sky, and falling as it were against -the trooping clouds, the massive fortress-like structure -of the Palazzo Publico, with its tall machicolated<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6">6</a></span> -tower, whence the bell so often called the -turbulent populace together; or dropping one’s -eyes, behold under the lofty arches of the Loggia -of Orcagna the marble representations of the -ancient and modern world assembled together,—peacefully: -the antique Ajax, the Renaissance -Perseus of Cellini, the Rape of the Sabines, by -John of Bologna, and the late group of Polyxines, -by Fedi, holding solemn and silent conclave. In -the Piazza del Duomo at the side of Brunelleschi’s -noble dome, the exquisite campanile of Giotto, -slender, graceful, and joyous, stands like a bride -and whispers ever the name of its master and designer. -And turning round, one may see the Baptistery -celebrated by Dante, and those massive -bronze doors storied by Ghiberti, which Michel -Angelo said were worthy to be the doors of Paradise. -History and romance meets us everywhere. -The old families still give their names to the streets, -and palaces, and <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">loggie</i>. Every now and then a -marble slab upon some house records the birth or -death within of some famous citizen, artist, writer, -or patriot, or perpetuates the memory of some -great event. There is scarcely a street or a square -which has not something memorable to say and to -recall, and one walks through the streets guided by -memory, looking behind more than before, and seeing -with the eyes of the imagination. Here is the -Bargello, by turns the court of the Podestà and -the prison of Florence, whence so many edicts -were issued, and where the groans of so many<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7">7</a></span> -prisoners were echoed. Here is the Church of the -Carmine, where Masaccio and Lippi painted those -frescoes which are still living on its walls, though -the hands that painted and the brains that dreamed -them into life are gone forever. Here are the -<i xml:lang="it" lang="it">loggie</i> which were granted only to the fifteen highest -citizens, from which fair ladies, who are now -but dust, looked and laughed so many a year ago. -Here are the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">piazze</i> within whose tapestried stockades -gallant knights jousted in armor, and fair -eyes, gazing from above, “rained influence and adjudged -the prize.” Here are the fortifications at -which Michel Angelo worked as an engineer and -as a combatant; and here among the many -churches, each one of which bears on its walls or -over its altars the painted or sculptured work of -some of the great artists of the flowering prime of -Florence, is that of the Santa Croce, the sacred -and solemn mausoleum of many of its mighty dead. -As we wander through its echoing nave at twilight, -when the shadows of evening are deepening, we -may hold communion with these great spirits of -the past. The Peruzzi and Baldi Chapels are illustrated -by the frescoes of Giotto. The foot treads -upon many a slab under which lie the remains -of soldier, and knight, and noble, and merchant -prince, who, centuries ago, their labors and battles -and commerce done, were here laid to rest. The -nave on either side is lined with monumental statues -of the illustrious dead. Ungrateful Florence, -who drove her greatest poet from her gates to find<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8">8</a></span> -a grave in Ravenna, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">patriis extorris ab urbe</i>, here -tardily and in penitence raised to him a monument -after vainly striving to reclaim his bones. Here, -too, among others, are the statues and monuments -of Michel Angelo, Macchiavelli, Galileo, Lanzi, -Aretino, Guicciardini, Alfieri, Leon Battista Alberti, -and Raffaelle Morghen.</p> - -<p>Of all the great men who shed a lustre over Florence, -no one so domineers over it and pervades it -with his memory and his presence as Michel Angelo. -The impression he left upon his own age -and upon all subsequent ages is deeper, perhaps, -than that left by any other save Dante. Everything -in Florence recalls him. The dome of Brunelleschi, -impressive and beautiful as it is, and -prior in time to that of St. Peter’s, cannot rid itself -of its mighty brother in Rome. With Ghiberti’s -doors are ever associated his words. In -Santa Croce we all pause longer before the tomb -where his body is laid than before any other—even -that of Dante. The empty place before the -Palazzo Vecchio, where his David stood, still holds -its ghost. All places which knew him in life are -still haunted by his memory. The house where he -lived, thought, and worked is known to every pilgrim -of art. The least fragment which his hand -touched is there preserved as precious, simply because -it was his; and it is with a feeling of reverence -that we enter the little closet where his -mighty works were designed. There still stands -his folding desk, lit by a little slip of a window;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9">9</a></span> -and there are the shelves and pigeon-holes where -he kept his pencils, colors, tools, and books. The -room is so narrow that one can scarcely turn about -in it; and the contrast between this narrow, restricted -space and the vastness of the thoughts -which there were born, and the extent of his fame -which fills the world, is strangely impressive and -affecting. Here, barring the door behind him to -exclude the world, he sat and studied and wrote -and drew, little dreaming that hundreds of thousands -of pilgrims would in after-centuries come to -visit it in reverence from a continent then but just -discovered, and peopled only with savages.</p> - -<p>But more than all other places, the Church of -San Lorenzo is identified with him; and the Medicean -Chapel, which he designed, is more a monument -to him than to those in honor of whom it -was built.</p> - -<p>Here, therefore, under the shadow of these noble -shapes, and in the silent influence of this solemn -place, let us cast a hurried glance over the career -and character of Michel Angelo as exhibited in his -life and his greatest works. To do more than this -would be impossible within the brief limits we can -here command. We may then give a glance into -the adjoining and magnificent Hall, which is the -real mausoleum of the Medici, and is singularly in -contrast with it.</p> - -<p>Michel Angelo was born at Caprese, in the -Casentino, near Florence, on March 6, 1474 or -1475, according as we reckon from the nativity or<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10">10</a></span> -the incarnation of Christ. He died at Rome on -Friday, February 23, 1564, at the ripe age of -eighty-nine or ninety. He claimed to be of the -noble family of the Counts of Canossa. He certainly -was of the family of the Berlinghi. His -father was one of the twelve Buonomini, and was -Podestà of Caprese when Michel Angelo was born. -From his early youth he showed a strong inclination -to art, and vainly his father sought to turn -him aside from this vocation. His early studies -were under Ghirlandajo. But he soon left his -master to devote himself to sculpture; and he was -wont to say that he “had imbibed this disposition -with his nurse’s milk”—she being the wife of a -stone-carver. Lorenzo the Magnificent favored him -and received him into his household; and there -under his patronage he prosecuted his studies, associating -familiarly with some of the most remarkable -men of the period, enriching his mind with -their conversation, and giving himself earnestly -to the study not only of art, but of science and -literature. The celebrated Angelo Poliziano, then -tutor to the sons of Lorenzo, was strongly attracted -to him, and seems to have adopted him also as a -pupil. His early efforts as a sculptor were not -remarkable; and though many stories are told of -his great promise and efficiency, but little weight -is to be given to them. He soon, however, began to -distinguish himself among his contemporaries; and -his Cupid and Bacchus, though wanting in all the -spirit and characteristics of antique work, were, for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11">11</a></span> -the time and age of the sculptor, important and -remarkable. After this followed the Pietà, now -in St. Peter’s at Rome, in which a different spirit -began to exhibit itself; but it was not till later on -that the great individuality and originality of his -mind was shown, when from an inform block of -rejected marble he hewed the colossal figure of -David. He had at last found the great path of his -genius. From this time forward he went on with -ever-increasing power—working in many various -arts, and stamping on each the powerful character -of his mind. His grandest and most characteristic -works in sculpture and painting were executed in -his middle age. The Sistine Chapel he completed -when he was thirty-eight years old, the stern figure -of the Moses when he was forty, the great sculptures -of the Medici Chapel when he was from fifty -to fifty-five; and in his sixty-sixth year he finished -the Last Judgment. Thenceforth his thoughts -were chiefly given to architecture, with excursions -into poetry—though during this latter period he -painted the frescoes in the Pauline Chapel; and -after being by turns sculptor, painter, architect, -engineer, and poet, he spent the last years of his -life in designing and superintending the erection -of St. Peter’s at Rome.</p> - -<p>One of his last works, if not the last, was the -model of the famous cupola of St. Peter’s, which -he never saw completed. In some respects this -was departed from in its execution by his successors; -but in every change it lost, and had it been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12">12</a></span> -carried out strictly as he designed it, it would have -been even nobler and more beautiful than it is.</p> - -<p>Here was a long life of ceaseless study, of untiring -industry, of never-flagging devotion to art. -Though surrounded by discouragements of every -kind, harassed by his family, forced to obey the -arbitrary will of a succession of Popes, and, in -accordance with their orders, to abandon the execution -of his high artistic conceptions and waste -months and years on mere mechanic labor in superintending -mines and quarries—driven against -his will, now to be a painter when he desired to be -a sculptor, now to be an architect when he had -learned to be a painter, now as an engineer to be -employed on fortifications when he was longing -for his art; through all the exigencies of his life, -and all the worrying claims of patrons, family, and -country, he kept steadily on, never losing courage -even to the end—a man of noble life, high faith, -pure instincts, great intellect, powerful will, and -inexhaustible energy; proud and scornful, but never -vain; violent of character, but generous and true,—never -guilty through all his long life of a single -mean or unworthy act: a silent, serious, unsocial, -self-involved man, oppressed with the weight of -great thoughts, and burdened by many cares and -sorrows. With but a grim humor, and none of -the lighter graces of life, he went his solitary way, -ploughing a deeper furrow in his age than any of -his contemporaries, remarkable as they were,—an -earnest and unwearied student and seeker, even -to the last.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13">13</a></span> -It was in his old age that he made a drawing of -himself in a child’s go-cart with the motto “Ancora -imparo”—I am still learning. And one -winter day toward the end of his life, the Cardinal -Gonsalvi met him walking down towards the Colosseum -during a snowstorm. Stopping his carriage, -the Cardinal asked where he was going in such -stormy weather. “To school,” he answered “to -try to learn something.”</p> - -<p>Slowly, as years advanced, his health declined, -but his mind retained to the last all its energy and -clearness; and many a craggy sonnet and madrigal -he wrote towards the end of his life, full of -high thought and feeling—struggling for expression, -and almost rebelliously submitting to the -limits of poetic form; and at last, peacefully, -after eighty-nine long years of earnest labor and -never-failing faith, he passed away, and the great -light went out. No! it did not go out; it still -burns as brightly as ever across these long centuries -to illumine the world.</p> - -<p>Fitly to estimate the power of Michel Angelo -as a sculptor, we must study the great works in -the Medicean Chapel in the Church of San Lorenzo, -which show the culmination of his genius in -this branch of art.</p> - -<p>The original church of San Lorenzo was founded -in 930, and is one of the most ancient in Italy. -It was burned down in 1423, and reërected in -1425 by the Medici from Brunelleschi’s designs. -Later, in 1523, by the order of Leo X., Michel<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14">14</a></span> -Angelo designed and began to execute the new -sacristy, which was intended to serve as a mausoleum -to Giuliano dei Medici, Duke of Nemours, -brother of Leo X., and younger son of Lorenzo -the Magnificent; and to Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, -and grandson of the great Lorenzo. Within -this mausoleum, which is now called the Medici -Chapel, were placed the statues of Giuliano and -Lorenzo. They are both seated on lofty pedestals, -and face each other on opposite sides of the -chapel. At the base of one, reclining on a huge -sarcophagus, are the colossal figures of Day and -Night, and at the base of the other the figures of -Aurora and Crepuscule. This chapel is quite separated -from the church itself. You enter from -below by a dark and solemn crypt, beneath which -are the bodies of thirty-four of the family, with -large slabs at intervals on the pavement, on which -their names are recorded. You ascend a staircase, -and go through a corridor into this chapel. -It is solemn, cold, bare, white, and lighted from -above by a lantern open to the sky. There is no -color, the lower part being carved of white -marble, and the upper part and railings wrought -in stucco. A chill comes over you as you enter -it; and the whole place is awed into silence by -these majestic and solemn figures. You at once -feel yourself to be in the presence of an influence, -serious, grand, impressive, and powerful, and of -a character totally different from anything that -sculpture has hitherto produced, either in the ancient<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15">15</a></span> -or modern world. Whatever may be the defects -of these great works, and they are many and -evident, one feels that here a lofty intellect and -power has struggled, and fought its way, so to -speak, into the marble, and brought forth from -the insensate stone a giant brood of almost supernatural -shapes. It is not nature that he has -striven to render, but rather to embody thoughts, -and to clothe in form conceptions which surpass -the limits of ordinary nature. It is idle to apply -here the rigid rules of realism. The attitudes are -distorted, and almost impossible. No figure could -ever retain the position of the Night at best for -more than a moment, and to sleep in such an -attitude would be scarcely possible. And yet a -mighty burden of sleep weighs down this figure, -and the solemnity of night itself broods over it. -So also the Day is more like a primeval titanic -form than the representation of a human being. -The action of the head, for instance, is beyond nature. -The head itself is merely blocked out, and -scarcely indicated in its features. But this very -fact is in itself a stroke of genius; for the suggestion -of mystery in this vague and unfinished -face is far more impressive than any elaborated -head could have been. It is supposed he left it -thus, because he found the action too strained. -So be it; but here is Day still involved in clouds, -but now arousing from its slumbers, throwing off -the mists of darkness, and rising with a tremendous -energy of awakening life. The same character<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16">16</a></span> -also pervades the Aurora and Crepuscule. They -are not man and woman, they are types of ideas. -One lifts its head, for the morning is coming; one -holds its head abased, for the gloom of evening is -drawing on. There is no joy in any of these figures. -A terrible sadness and seriousness oppresses them. -Aurora does not smile at the coming of the light, -is not glad, has little hope, but looks upon it with -a terrible weariness, almost with despair—for it -sees little promise, and doubts far more than it -hopes. Twilight, again, almost disdainfully sinks -to repose. The day has accomplished almost nothing: -oppressed and hopeless, it sees the darkness -close about it.</p> - -<p>What Michel Angelo meant to embody in these -statues can only be guessed—but certainly no -trivial thought. Their names convey nothing. It -was not beauty, or grace, or simple truth to nature, -that he sought to express. In making them, -the weight of this unexplained mystery of life -hung over him; the struggle of humanity against -superior forces oppressed him. The doubts, the -despair, the power, the indomitable will of his own -nature are in them. They are not the expressions -of the natural day of the world, of the glory of -the sunrise, the tenderness of the twilight, the -broad gladness of day, or the calm repose of night; -but they are seasons and epochs of the spirit of -man—its doubts and fears, its sorrows and longings -and unrealized hopes. The sad condition of -his country oppressed him. Its shame overwhelmed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17">17</a></span> -him. His heart was with Savonarola, to whose -excited preaching he had listened, and his mind -was inflamed by the hope of a spiritual regeneration -of Italy and the world. The gloom of Dante -enshrouded him, and the terrible shapes of the -“Inferno” had made deeper impression on his -nature than all the sublimed glories of the “Paradiso.” -His colossal spirit stood fronting the -agitated storms of passions which then shook his -country, like a rugged cliff that braves the tempest-whipped -sea—disdainfully casting from its -violent and raging waves, and longing almost with -a vain hope for the time when peace, honor, liberty, -and religion should rule the world.</p> - -<p>This at least would seem to be implied in the -lines he wrote under his statue of Night, in response -to the quatrain written there by Giovan’ -Battista Strozzi. These are the lines of <span class="locked">Strozzi:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> -<span class="iq">“La notte che tu vedi in si dolci atti<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dormire, fu da an angelo scolpita<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In questo sasso; e, perchè dorme, ha vita<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Destala, se no ’l credi, e parleratti.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Which may be thus rendered in <span class="locked">English:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Night, which in peaceful attitude you see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here sleeping, from this stone an angel wrought.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleeping, it lives. If you believe it not,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Awaken it, and it will speak to thee.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">And this was Michel Angelo’s <span class="locked">response:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> -<span class="iq">“Grato mi è il sonno, e piu l’ esser de sasso<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mentre che il danno e la vergogna dura<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Non veder non sentir m’ è gran ventura<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Però, non mi destar; deh! parla basso.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -<p class="in0"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18">18</a></span> -Which may be <span class="locked">rendered:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Grateful is sleep—and more, of stone to be;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So long as crime and shame here hold their state,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who cannot see nor feel is fortunate—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Therefore speak low, and do not waken me.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">This would clearly seem to show that under these -giant shapes he meant to embody allegorically at -once the sad condition of humanity and the oppressed -condition of his country. What lends itself -still more to this interpretation is the character -and expression of both the statues of Lorenzo -and Giuliano, and particularly that of Lorenzo, -who leans forward with his hand raised to his chin -in so profound and sad a meditation that the world -has given it the name of Il Pensiero—not even -calling it Il Pensieroso, the thinker, but Il Pensiero, -thought itself; while the attitude and expression -of Giuliano is of one who helplessly holds -the sceptre and lets the world go, heedless of all -its crime and folly, and too weak to lend his hand -to set it right.</p> - -<p>But whatever the interpretation to be given to -these statues, in power, originality, and grandeur -of character they have never been surpassed. It -is easy to carp at their defects. Let them all be -granted. They are contorted, uneasy, over-anatomical, -untrue to nature. Viewed with the keen -and searching eye of the critic, they are full of -faults, <em>e pur si muove</em>. There is a lift of power, -an energy of conception, a grandeur and boldness -of treatment which redeems all defects. They are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19">19</a></span> -the work of a great mind, spurning the literal, -daring almost the impossible, and using human -form as a means of thought and expression. It -may almost be said that in a certain sense they are -great, not in despite of their faults, but by very -virtue of these faults. In them is a spirit which -was unknown to the Greeks and Romans. They -sought the simple, the dignified, the natural; -beauty was their aim and object. Their ideal -was a quiet, passionless repose, with little action, -little insistence of parts. Their treatment was -large and noble, their attitude calm. No torments -reach them, or if passion enter, it is subdued to -<span class="locked">beauty:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Calm pleasures there abide, majestic pains.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Their gods looked down upon earth through the -noblest forms of Phidias with serenity, heedless of -the violent struggles of humanity—like grand -and peaceful presences. Even in the Laocoön, -which stepped to the utmost permitted bounds of -the antique sculpture, there is the restraint of -beauty, and suffering is modified to grace. But -here in these Titans of Michel Angelo there is a -new spirit—better or worse, it is new. It represents -humanity caught in the terrible net of Fate, -storming the heavens, Prometheus-like, breaking -forth from the bonds of convention, and terrible -as grand. But noble as these works are, they afford -no proper school for imitation, and his followers -have, as has been fitly said, only caught the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20">20</a></span> -contortions without the inspiration of the sibyl. -They lift the spirit, enlarge the mind, and energize -the will of those who feel them and are willing -only to feel them; but they are bad models -for imitation. It is only such great and original -minds as Michel Angelo who can force the grand -and powerful out of the wrong and unnatural; -and he himself only at rare intervals prevailed in -doing this violence to nature.</p> - -<p>Every man has a right to be judged by his best. -It is not the number of his failures but the value -of his successes which afford the just gauge of -every man’s genius. Here in these great statues -Michel Angelo succeeded, and they are the highest -tide-mark of his power as a sculptor. The -Moses, despite its elements of strength and power, -is of a lower grade. The Pietà is the work of a -young man who has not as yet grown to his full -strength, and who is shackled by his age and his -contemporaries. The David has high qualities of -nobility, but it is constrained to the necessities of -the marble in which it is wrought. The Christ in -the Church of the Minerva is scarcely worthy of -him. But in these impersonations of Day, Night, -Twilight, and Dawn, his genius had full scope, and -rose to its greatest height.</p> - -<p>These statues were executed by Michel Angelo, -with various and annoying interruptions, when he -was more than fifty-five years of age, and while he -was in ill-health and very much overworked. Indeed, -such was his condition of health at this time<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21">21</a></span> -that it gave great anxiety to his friends, and Giovanni -Battista Mini, writing to his friend Bartolommeo -Valori on the 29th of September, 1531, -says: “Michel Angelo has fallen off in flesh, and -the other day with Buggiardini and Antonio Mini -we had a private talk about him, and we came to -the conclusion that he will not live long unless -things are remedied. He works very hard, eats -little and that little is bad, sleeps not at all, and -for a month past his sight has been weak, and he -has pains in the head and vertigo, and, in fine, his -head is affected and so is his heart, but there is a -cure for each, for he is healthy.” He was so besieged -on all sides with commissions, and particularly -by the Duke of Urbino, that the Pope at -last issued a brief, ordering him, under pain of excommunication, -to do no work except on these -monuments,—and thus he was enabled to command -his time and to carry on these great works -to the condition in which they now are, though he -never was able completely to finish them.</p> - -<p>Of the same race with them are the wonderful -frescoes of the sibyls and prophets and Biblical figures -and Titans that live on the ceiling of the Sistine -Chapel. And these are as amazing as, perhaps -even more amazing in their way than, the -sculpture of the Medicean Chapel. He was but -thirty-four years of age when, at the instigation of -Bramante, he was summoned to Rome by Pope -Julius II. to decorate the ceiling. It is unpleasant -to think that Bramante, in urging this step<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22">22</a></span> -upon the Pope, was animated with little good-will -to Michel Angelo. From all accounts it would -seem he was jealous of his growing fame, and -deemed that in undertaking this colossal work failure -would be inevitable. Michel Angelo had indeed -worked in his youth under Ghirlandajo, but -had soon abandoned his studio and devoted himself -to sculpture; and though he had painted some few -labored pictures and produced the famous designs -for the great hall of the municipality at Florence, -in competition with his famous rival Leonardo da -Vinci, yet these cartoons had never been executed -by him, and his fame was chiefly, if not solely, as a -sculptor. Michel Angelo himself, though strongly -urged to this undertaking by the Pope, was extremely -averse to it, and at first refused, declaring -that “painting was not his profession.” The Pope, -however, was persistent, and Michel was forced at -last to yield, and to accept the commission. He -then immediately began to prepare his cartoons, -and, ignorant and doubtful of his own powers, summoned -to his assistance several artists in Florence, -to learn more properly from them the method of -painting in fresco. Not satisfied with their work -on the ceiling, he suddenly closed the doors upon -them, sent them away, and, shutting himself up -alone in the chapel, erased what they had done and -began alone with his own hand. It was only about -six weeks after his arrival in Rome that he thus -began, and in this short space of time he had completed -his designs, framed and erected the scaffolds,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23">23</a></span> -laid on the rough casting preparatory to the finishing -layer, and commenced his frescoes. This alone -is an immense labor, and shows a wonderful mastery -of all his powers. The design is entirely original, -not only in the composition and character of the -figures themselves, but in the architectural divisions -and combinations in which they are placed. -There are no less than 343 figures, of great variety -of movements, grandiose proportions, and many of -them of colossal size; and to the sketches he first -designed he seems to have absolutely adhered. Of -course, within such a time he could not have made -the large cartoons in which the figures were developed -in their full proportions, but he seems only -to have enlarged them from his figures as first -sketched. With indomitable energy, and a persistence -of labor which has scarcely a parallel, -alone and without encouragement he prosecuted -his task, despite the irritations and annoyances -which he was forced to endure, the constant delays -of payment, the fretful complaints of the impatient -Pope, the accidents and disappointments incident -to an art in which he had previously had no -practice, and the many and worrying troubles from -home by which he was constantly pursued. At -last the Pope’s impatience became imperious; and -when the vault was only one half completed, he -forced Michel Angelo, under threats of his severe -displeasure, to throw down the scaffolding and exhibit -it to the world. The chapel was accordingly -opened on All Saints’ Day in November, 1508.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24">24</a></span> -The public flocked to see it, and a universal cry of -admiration was raised. In the crowd which then -assembled was Raffaelle, and the impression he received -is plain from the fact that his style was at -once so strongly modified by it. Bramante, too, -was there, expecting to see the failure which he -had anticipated, and to rejoice in the downfall of -his great rival. But he was destined to be disappointed, -and, as is recounted, but as one is -unwilling to believe, he used his utmost efforts to -induce the Pope to discharge Michel Angelo and -commission Raffaelle to complete the ceiling. It -is even added that Raffaelle himself joined in this -intrigue, but there is no proof of this, and let us -disbelieve it. Certain it is that in the presence -of the Pope, when Michel Angelo broke forth in -fierce language against Bramante for this injurious -proposal, and denounced him for his ignorance and -incapacity, he did not involve Raffaelle in the same -denunciation. Still there seems to be little doubt -that the party and friends of Raffaelle exerted -their utmost influence to induce the Pope to substitute -him for Michel Angelo. They did not, -however, succeed. The Pope was steadfast, and -again the doors were closed, and he was ordered to -complete the work.</p> - -<p>When again he began to paint there is no record. -Winter is unfavorable to fresco-painting, -and when a frost sets in, it cannot be carried on. -In the autumn of 1510 we know that he applied -to the Pope for permission to visit his friends in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25">25</a></span> -Florence, and for an advance of money; that the -Pope replied by demanding when his work would -be completed, and that the artist replied, “As soon -as I shall be able;” on which the Pope, repeating -his words, struck him with his cane. Michel Angelo -was not a man to brook this, and he instantly -abandoned his work and went to Florence. The -Pope, however, sent his page Accursio after him -with pacific words, praying him to return, and -with a purse of fifty crowns to pay his expenses; -and after some delay he did return.</p> - -<p>Vasari and Condivi both assert that the vault -of the Sistine Chapel was painted by Michel Angelo -“alone and unaided, even by any one to grind -his colors, in twenty months.” But this cannot -be true. He certainly had assistance not only for -all the laying of the plaster and the merely mechanical -work, but also in the painting of the architecture, -and even of portions of the figures; and -it now seems to be pretty clear that the chapel was -not completed until 1512. But this in itself, considering -all the breaks and intervals when the work -was necessarily interrupted, is stupendous.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary rapidity with which he worked -is clearly proved by the close examination which -the erection of scaffolding has recently enabled Mr. -Charles Heath Wilson and others to make. Fresco-painting -can only be done while the plaster is -fresh (hence its name); and as the plaster laid -on one day will not serve for the next, it must -be removed unless the painting on it is completed.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26">26</a></span> -The junction of the new plaster leaves a slight -line of division when closely examined, and thus it -is easy to detect how much has been accomplished -each day. It scarcely seems credible, though there -can be no doubt of the fact, that many of the nude -figures above life-size were painted in two days. -The noble reclining figure of Adam occupied him -only three days; and the colossal figures of the -sibyls and prophets, which, if standing, would be -eighteen feet in height, occupied him only from -three to four days each. When one considers -the size of these figures, the difficulty of painting -anything overhead where the artist is constrained -to work in a reclining position and often lying flat -on his back, and the beauty, tenderness, and careful -finish which has been given to all parts, and -especially to the heads, this rapidity of execution -seems almost marvelous.</p> - -<p>Seen from below, these figures are solemn and -striking; but seen near by, their grandeur of character -is vastly more impressive, and their beauty -and refinement, which are less apparent when seen -from a distance, are quite as remarkable as their -power and energy. Great as Michel Angelo was -as a sculptor, he seems even greater as a painter. -Not only is the design broader and larger, but -there is a freedom of attitude, a strength and loftiness -of conception, and a beauty of treatment, -which are beyond what he reached, or perhaps -strove for, in his statues. The figure of Adam, -for instance, is not more wonderful for its novelty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27">27</a></span> -and power of design than for its truth to nature. -The figure of the Deity, encompassed by angelic -forms, is whirling down upon him like a tempest. -His mighty arm is outstretched, and from his extended -fingers an electric flash of life seems to -strike into the uplifted hand of Adam, whose reclining -figure, issuing from the constraint of death, -and quivering with this new thrill of animated being, -stirs into action, and rises half to meet his -Creator. Nothing could be more grand than this -conception, more certain than its expression, or -more simple than its treatment. Nothing, too, -has ever been accomplished in art more powerful, -varied, and original than the colossal figures of -the sibyls and the prophets. The Ezekiel, listening -to the voice of inspiration; the Jeremiah, surcharged -with meditative thought, and weighed -down with it as a lowering cloud with rain; the -youthful Daniel, writing on his book, which an -angel supports; Esaias, in the fullness of his manhood, -leaning his elbow on his book and holding -his hand suspended while turning he listens to the -angel whose tidings he is to record; and the aged -Zacharias, with his long beard, swathed in heavy -draperies, and intently reading,—these are the -prophets; and alternating with them on the span -of the arch are the sibyls,—the noble Erythrean, -seated almost in profile, with crossed legs, and -turning the leaves of her book with one hand -while the other drops at her side, grand in the -still serenity of her beauty; the aged Persian<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28">28</a></span> -sibyl, turning sideway to peruse the book which -she holds close to her eyes, while above her recline -two beautiful naked youths, and below her sleeps -a madonna with the child Christ; the Libyan, -holding high behind her with extended arms her -open scroll, and looking down over her shoulder; -the Cumæan, old, weird, Dantesque in her profile, -with a napkin folded on her head, reading in self-absorption, -while two angels gaze at her; and last, -the Delphic, sweet, calm, and beautiful in the perfectness -of womanhood, who looks serenely down -over her shoulder to charm us with a peaceful -prophecy. All the faces and heads o£ these -figures are evidently drawn from noble and characteristic -models,—if, indeed, any models at all -are used; and some of them, especially those of -the Delphic and Erythrean, are full of beauty as -well as power. All are painted with great care -and feeling, and a lofty inspiration has guided a -loving hand. There is nothing vague, feeble, or -flimsy in them. They are ideal in the true sense—the -strong embodiment of great ideas.</p> - -<p>Even to enumerate the other figures would require -more time and space than can now be given. -But we cannot pass over in silence the wonderful -series illustrative of Biblical history which form -the centre of the ceiling, beginning with Chaos -struggling into form, and ending with Lot and his -children. Here in succession are the division of -light from darkness—the Spirit of God moving -over the face of the waters (an extraordinary conception,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29">29</a></span> -which Raffaelle strove in vain to reproduce -in another form in the Loggie of the Vatican); -the wonderful creation of Adam; the temptation -of the serpent, and the expulsion from -Paradise, so beautiful in composition and feeling; -the sacrifice to God; and finally the Flood.</p> - -<p>Besides these are the grand nude figures of the -decoration, which have never been equaled; and -many Biblical stories, which, in the richness and -multitude of greater things, are lost, but which in -themselves would suffice to make any artist -famous: as, for instance, the group called Rehoboam, -a female figure bending forward and resting -her hand upon her face, with the child leaning -against her knee—a lovely sculptural group, admirably -composed, and full of pathos; and the -stern, despairing figure entitled Jesse, looking -straight out into the distance before him—like -Fate.</p> - -<p>Here is no attempt at scenic effect, no effort for -the picturesque, no literal desire for realism, no -pictorial graces. A sombre, noble tone of color -pervades them,—harmonizing with their grand -design, but seeking nothing for itself, and sternly -subjected and restrained to these powerful conceptions. -Nature silently withdraws and looks on, -awed by these mighty presences.</p> - -<p>Only a tremendous energy and will could have -enabled Michel Angelo to conceive and execute -these works. The spirit in which he worked is -heroic: oppressed as he was by trouble and want,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30">30</a></span> -he never lost courage or faith. Here is a fragment -of a letter he wrote to his brother while employed -on this work, which will show the temper -and character of the man. It is truly in the spirit -of the Stoics of <span class="locked">old:—</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Make no friendship nor intimacies with any one -but the Almighty alone. Speak neither good nor evil -of any one, because the end of these things cannot yet -be known. Attend only to your own affairs. I must -tell you I have no money.” (He says this in answer to -constant applications from his unworthy brother for -pecuniary assistance.) “I am, I may say, shoeless and -naked. I cannot receive the balance of my pay till I -have finished this work, and I suffer much from discomfort -and fatigue. Therefore, when you also have trouble -to endure, do not make useless complaints, but try to -help yourself.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>The names of Raffaelle and Michel Angelo are -so associated, that that of one always rises in the -mind when the other is mentioned. Their geniuses -are as absolutely opposite as are their characters. -Each is the antithesis of the other. In the -ancient days we have the same kind of difference -between Homer and Virgil, Demosthenes and -Cicero, Æschylus and Euripides; in later days, -Molière and Racine, Rousseau and Voltaire, -Shakespeare and Sir Philip Sidney, Beethoven and -Mozart, Dante and Ariosto, Victor Hugo and -Lamartine; or to take our own age, Delacroix and -Ary Scheffer, Browning and Tennyson. To the -one belongs the sphere of power, to the other that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31">31</a></span> -of charm. One fights his way to immortality, the -other woos it.</p> - -<p>Raffaelle was of the latter class—sweet of nature, -gentle of disposition, gifted with a rare sense -of grace, a facile talent of design, and a refinement -of feeling which, if it sometimes degenerated -into weakness, never utterly lost its enchantment. -He was exceedingly impressionable, reflected by -turns the spirit of his masters,—was first Perugino, -and afterwards modified his style to that of -Fra Bartolommeo, and again, under the influence -of Michel Angelo, strove to tread in his footsteps. -He was not of a deep nature nor of a powerful -character. There was nothing torrential in his -genius, bursting its way through obstacles and -sweeping all before it. It was rather that of the -calm river, flowing at its own sweet will, and reflecting -peacefully the passing figures of life. He -painted as the bird sings. He was an artist because -nature made him one—not because he had -vowed himself to art, and was willing to struggle -and fight for its smile. He was gentle and friendly—a -pleasant companion—a superficial lover—handsome -of person and pleasing of address—who -always went surrounded by a corona of followers, -who disliked work and left the execution of his -designs in great measure to his pupils, while he -toyed with the Fornarina. I do not mean to undervalue -him in what he did. His works are -charming—his invention was lively. He had the -happy art of telling his story in outline, better,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32">32</a></span> -perhaps, than any one else of his age. His highest -reach was the Madonna di S. Sisto, and this certainly -is full of that large sweetness and spiritual -sensibility which entitles him to the common epithet -of “Divino.” But when he died at the early -age of thirty-seven, he had come to his full development, -and there is no reason to suppose that -he would ever have attained a greater height. Indeed, -during his latter years he was tired of his -art, neglected his work, became more and more -academic, and preferred to bask in the sunshine -of his fame on its broad levels, to girding up his -loins to struggle up precipitous ascents to loftier -peaks. The world already began to blame him -for this neglect, and to say that he had forgotten -how to paint himself, and gave his designs only to -his students to execute. Moved by these rumors, -he determined alone to execute a work in fresco, -and this work was the famous Galatea of the Palazzo -Farnese. He was far advanced in it, when, -during his absence one morning, a dark, short, -stern-looking man called to see him. In the absence -of Raffaelle, this man gazed attentively at -the Galatea for a long time, and then taking a -piece of charcoal, he ascended a ladder which -stood in the corner of the vast room, and drew offhand -on the wall a colossal male head. Then he -came down and went away, saying to the attendant, -“If Signore Raffaelle wishes to know who -came to see him, show him my card there on the -wall.” When Raffaelle returned, the assistant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33">33</a></span> -told him of his visitor, and showed him the head. -“That is Michel Angelo,” he said, “or the devil.”</p> - -<p>And Michel Angelo it was. Raffaelle well knew -what that powerful and colossal head meant, and -he felt the terrible truth of its silent criticism on -his own work. It meant, Your fresco is too small -for the room—your style is too pleasing and trivial. -Make something grand and colossal. Brace -your mind to higher purpose, train your hand to -nobler design. I say that Raffaelle felt this stern -criticism, because he worked no more there, and -only carried out this one design. Raffaelle’s disposition -was sweet and attractive, and he was beloved -by all his friends. Vasari says of him, that -he was as much distinguished by his <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">amorevolezza -ed umanità</i>, his affectionate and sympathetic nature, -as by his excellence as an artist; and another -contemporary speaks of him as of <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">summæ -bonitatis</i>, perfect sweetness of character. All this -one sees in his face, which, turning, gazes dreamily -at us over his shoulder, with dark, soft eyes, long -hair, and smooth, unsuffering cheeks where Time -has ploughed no furrows—easy, charming, graceful, -refined, and somewhat feminine of character.</p> - -<p>Michel Angelo was made of sterner stuff than -this. His temper was violent, his bearing haughty, -his character impetuous. He had none of the -personal graces of his great rival. His face was, -as it were, hammered sternly out by fate; his -brow corrugated by care, his cheeks worn by -thought, his hair and beard stiffly curled and bull-<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34">34</a></span>like; -his expression sad and intense, with a weary -longing in his deep-set eyes. Doubtless, at times, -they flamed with indignation and passion—for -he was very irascible, and suffered no liberties to -be taken with him. He could not “sport with -Amaryllis in the shade, or with the tangles of -Neæra’s hair.” Art was his mistress, and a stern -mistress she was, urging him ever onward to -greater heights. He loved her with a passion of -the intellect; there was nothing he would not sacrifice -for her. He was willing to be poor, almost -to starve, to labor with incessant zeal, grudging -even the time that sleep demanded, only to win her -favor. He could not have been a pleasant companion, -and he was never a lover of woman. His -friendship with Vittoria Colonna was worlds away -from the senses,—worlds away from such a connection -as that of Raffaelle with the Fornarina. They -walked together in the higher fields of thought -and feeling, in the region of ideas and aspirations. -Their conversation was of art, and poesy, and religion, -and the mysteries of life. They read to -each other their poems, and discoursed on high -themes of religion, and fate, and foreknowledge. -The sonnets he addressed to her were in no trivial -vein of human passion or sentiment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35">35</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Rapt above earth” (he writes) “by power of one fair face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hers, in whose sway alone my heart delights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I mingle with the Blest on those pure heights<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where man, yet mortal, rarely finds a place—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Him who made the Work that Work accords<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So well that, by its help and through His grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I raise my thoughts, inform my deeds and words,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clasping her beauty in my soul’s embrace.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">In his <em>soul’s</em> embrace, not in his arms. When -he stood beside her dead body, he silently gazed -at her, not daring to imprint a kiss on that serene -brow even when life had departed. If he admired -Petrarca, it was as a philosopher and a -patriot,—for his canzone to Liberty, not for his -sonnets to Laura. Dante, whom he called <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">Stella -di alto valor</i>, the star of high power, was his favorite -poet; Savonarola his single friend. The -“Divina Commedia,” or rather the “Inferno” -alone, he thought worthy of illustration by his -pencil; the doctrines of the latter he warmly espoused. -“True beauty,” says that great reformer, -“comes only from the soul, from nobleness of -spirit and purity of conduct.” And so, in one of -his madrigals, says Michel Angelo. “They are -but gross spirits who seek in sensual nature the -beauty that uplifts and moves every healthy intelligence -even to heaven.”</p> - -<p>For the most part he walked alone and avoided -society, wrapped up in his own thoughts; and once, -when meeting Raffaelle, he reproached him for being -surrounded by a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">cortège</i> of flatterers; to which -Raffaelle bitterly retorted, “And you go alone, -like the headsman”—<i xml:lang="it" lang="it">andate solo come un boia</i>.</p> - -<p>He was essentially original, and, unlike his -great rival, followed in no one’s footsteps. “<span xml:lang="it" lang="it">Chi -va dietro agli altri non li passa mai dinanzi,</span>” he -said,—who follows behind others can never pass -before them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36">36</a></span> -Yet, with all his ruggedness and imperiousness -of character, he had a deep tenderness of nature, -and was ready to meet any sacrifice for those whom -he loved. Personal privations he cared little for, -and sent to his family all his earnings, save what -was absolutely necessary to support life. He had -no greed for wealth, no love of display, no desire -for luxuries: a better son never lived, and his unworthy -brother he forgave over and over again, -never weary of endeavoring to set him on his -right path.</p> - -<p>But at times he broke forth with a tremendous -energy when pushed too far, as witness this letter -to his brother. After saying, “If thou triest to do -well, and to honor and revere thy father, I will aid -thee like the others, and will provide for thee in -good time a place of business,” he thus breaks out -in his <span class="locked">postscript:—</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“I have not wandered about all Italy, and borne -every mortification, suffered hardship, lacerated my body -with hard labor, and placed my life in a thousand dangers, -except to aid my family; and now that I have begun -to raise it somewhat, thou alone art the one to -embroil and ruin in an hour that which I have labored -so long to accomplish. By the body of Christ, but it shall -be found true that I shall confound ten thousand such as -thou art if it be needful,—so be wise, and tempt not one -who has already too much to bear.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>He was generous and large in his charities. He -supported out of his purse many poor persons, -married and endowed secretly a number of young<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37">37</a></span> -girls, and gave freely to all who surrounded him. -“When I die,” asked he of his old and faithful -servant Urbino, “what will become of you?” “I -shall seek for another master in order to live,” -was the answer. “Ah, poor man!” cried Michel -Angelo, and gave him at once 10,000 golden -crowns. When this poor servant fell ill, he tended -him with the utmost care, as if he were a brother, -and on his death broke out into loud lamentations, -and would not be comforted.</p> - -<p>His fiery and impetuous temper, however, led him -often into violence. He was no respecter of persons, -and he well knew how to stand up for the -rights of man. There was nothing of the courtier -in him; and he faced the Pope with an audacious -firmness of purpose and expression unparalleled at -that time; and yet he was singularly patient and -enduring, and gave way to the variable Pontiff’s -whims and caprices whenever they did not touch -his dignity as a man. Long periods of time he -allowed himself to be employed in superintending -the quarrying of marble at Carrara, though -his brain was teeming with great conceptions. He -was oppressed, agitated, irritated on every side by -home troubles, by papal caprices, and by the intestine -tumult of his country, and much of his life -was wasted in merely mechanical work which any -inferior man could as well have done. He was -forced not only to quarry, but to do almost all the -rude blocking out of his statues in marble, which -should have been intrusted to others, and which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38">38</a></span> -would have been better done by mere mechanical -workmen. His very impetuosity, his very genius, -unfitted him for such work: while he should have -been creating and designing, he was doing the -rough work of a stone-cutter. So ardent was his -nature, so burning his enthusiasm, that he could -not fitly do this work. He was too impatient to -get to the form within to take heed of the blows -he struck at the shapeless mass that encumbered -it, and thus it happened that he often ruined his -statue by striking away what could never be replaced.</p> - -<p>Vigenero thus describes <span class="locked">him:—</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“I have seen Michel Angelo, although sixty years of -age, and not one of the most robust of men, smite down -more scales from a very hard block of marble in a quarter -of an hour, than three young marble-cutters would -in three or four times that space of time. He flung -himself upon the marble with such impetuosity and fervor, -as to induce me to believe that he would break the -work into fragments. With a single blow he brought -down scales of marble of three or four fingers in breadth, -and with such precision to the line marked on the marble, -that if he had broken away a very little more, he -risked the ruin of the work.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>This is pitiable. This was not the work for a -great genius like him, but for a common stone-cutter. -What waste of time and energy to no purpose,—nay, -to worse than no purpose,—to the -danger, often the irreparable injury, of the statue. -A dull, plodding, patient workman would have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39">39</a></span> -done it far better. It is as if an architect should -be employed in planing the beams or laying the -bricks and stones of the building he designed. In -fact, Michel Angelo injured, and in some cases -nearly ruined, most of his statues by the very impatience -of his genius. Thus the back head of the -Moses has been struck away by one of these blows, -and everywhere a careful eye detects the irreparable -blow beyond its true limit. This is not the -Michel Angelo whom we are to reverence and -admire; this is an <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">abbozzatore</i> roughing out the -work. There is no difficulty in striking off large -cleavings of marble at one stroke—any one can -do that; and it is pitiable to find him so engaged.</p> - -<p>Where we do find his technical excellence as a -sculptor is when he comes to the surface—when -with the drill he draws the outline with such force -and wonderful precision—when his tooth-chisel -models out, with such pure sense of form and such -accomplished knowledge, the subtle anatomies of -the body and the living curves of the palpitant -flesh; and no sculptor can examine the colossal -figures of the Medici Chapel without feeling the -free and mighty touch of a great master of the -marble. Here the hand and the mind work together, -and the stone is plastic as clay to his power.</p> - -<p>It was not until Michel Angelo was sixty years -of age that, on the death of Antonio San Gallo, -he was appointed to succeed him as architect, and -to design and carry out the building of St. Peter’s, -then only rising from its foundations. To this appointment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40">40</a></span> -he answered, as he had before objected -when commissioned to paint the Sistine Chapel, -“Architecture is not my art.” But his objections -were overruled. The Pope insisted, and he was -finally prevailed upon to accept this commission, -on the noble condition that his services should be -gratuitous, and dedicated to the glory of God and -of His Apostle, St. Peter; and to this he was -actuated, not only by a grand sentiment, but because -he was aware that hitherto the work had -been conducted dishonestly, and with a sole view -of greed and gain. Receiving nothing himself, he -could the more easily suppress all peculation on -the part of others.</p> - -<p>He was, as he said, an old man in years, but in -energy and power he had gained rather than lost, -and he set himself at once to work, and designed -that grand basilica which has been the admiration -of centuries, and to swing, as he said, in air the -Pantheon. That mighty dome is but the architectural -brother of the great statues in the Medicean -Chapel, and the Titan frescoes of the Sistine -Chapel. Granted all the defects of this splendid -basilica, all the objections of all the critics, well or -ill founded, and all the deformities grafted on it -by his successors—there it is, one of the noblest -and grandest of all temples to the Deity, and one -of the most beautiful. The dome itself, within and -without, is a marvel of beauty and grandeur, to -which all other domes, even that of Brunelleschi, -must yield precedence. It is the uplifted brow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41">41</a></span> -and forehead that holds the brain of papal Rome, -calm, and without a frown, silent, majestic, impressive. -The church within has its own atmosphere, -which scarcely knows the seasons without; and -when the pageant and the pomp of the Catholic -hierarchy passes along its nave, and the sunlight -builds its golden slanting bridge of light from the -lantern to the high altar, and the fumes of incense -rise from the clinking censer at High Mass, and -the solemn thrill of the silver trumpets sounds -and swells and reverberates through the dim -mosaicked dome where the saints are pictured -above, cold must be his heart and dull his sense -who is not touched to reverence. Here is the -type of the universal Church—free and beautiful, -large and loving; not grim and sombre and sad, -like the northern Gothic cathedrals. We grieve -over all the bad taste of its interior decoration, all -the giant and awkward statues, all the lamentable -details, for which he is not responsible; but still, -despite them all, the impression is great. When -at twilight the shadows obscure all these trivialities, -when the lofty cross above the altar rays -forth its single illumination and the tasteless details -disappear, and the towering arches rise unbroken -with their solemn gulfs of darkness, one -can feel how great, how astonishing this church is, -in its broad architectural features.</p> - -<p>At nearly this time Michel Angelo designed the -Palazzo Farnese, the Church of Sta Maria degli -Angeli in the ruins of the Baths of Diocletian,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42">42</a></span> -the Laurentian Library and the palaces on the -Capitol, and various other buildings, all of which -bear testimony to his power and skill as an architect.</p> - -<p>For St. Peter’s as it now stands Michel Angelo -is not responsible. His idea was to make all subordinate -to the dome; but after his death, the -nave was prolonged by Carlo Maderno, the façade -completely changed, and the main theme of the -building was thus almost obliterated from the -front. It is greatly to be regretted that his original -design was not carried out. Every change -from it was an injury. The only point from -which one can get an idea of his intention is -from behind or at the side, and there its colossal -character is shown.</p> - -<p>We have thus far considered Michel Angelo as a -sculptor, painter, and architect. It remains to consider -him as a poet. Nor in his poetry do we find -any difference of character from what he exhibited -in his other arts. He is rough, energetic, strong, -full of high ideas, struggling with fate, oppressed -and weary with life. He has none of the sweet -numbers of Petrarca, or the lively spirit of Ariosto, -or the chivalric tones of Tasso. His verse is -rude, craggy, almost disjointed at times, and with -little melody in it, but it is never feeble. It was -not his art, he might have said, with more propriety -than when he thus spoke of painting and -architecture. Lofty thoughts have wrestled their -way into verse, and constrained a rhythmic form<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43">43</a></span> -to obey them. But there is a constant struggle -for him in a form which is not plastic to his touch. -Still his poems are strong in their crabbedness, -and stand like granite rocks in the general sweet -mush of Italian verse.</p> - -<p>Such, then, was Michel Angelo,—sculptor, -painter, architect, poet, engineer, and able in all -these arts. Nor would it have been possible for -him to be so great in any one of them had he not -trained his mind to all; for all the arts are but -the various articulations of the self-same power, -as the fingers are of the hand, and each lends aid -to the other. Only by having all can the mind -have its full grasp of art. It is too often insisted -in our days that a man to be great in one art must -devote himself exclusively to that; or if he be solicited -by any other, he must merely toy with it. -Such was not the doctrine of the artists of old, -either in ancient days of Greece or at the epoch of -the Renaissance. Phidias was a painter and architect -as well as a sculptor, and so were nearly all -the men of his time. Giotto, Leonardo, Ghiberti, -Michel Angelo, Verrocchio, Cellini, Raffaelle,—in -a word, all the great men of the glorious age in -Italy were accomplished in many arts. They -more or less trained themselves in all. It might -be said that not a single great man was not versed -in more than one art. Thence it was that they -derived their power. It does not suffice that the -arm alone is strong; the whole body strikes with -every blow.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44">44</a></span> -The frescoes in the Sistine Chapel at Rome, and -the statues in the Medicean Chapel at Florence, -are the greatest monuments of Michel Angelo’s -power as an artist. Whatever may be the defects -of these great works, they are of a Titanic brood, -that have left no successors, as they had no progenitors. -They defy criticism, however just, and -stand by themselves outside the beaten track of -art, to challenge our admiration. So also, despite -all his faults and defects, how grand a figure -Michel Angelo himself is in history, how high a -place he holds! His name itself is a power. He -is one of the mighty masters that the world cannot -forget. Kings and emperors die and are forgotten,—dynasties -change and governments fall,—but -he, the silent, stern worker, reigns unmoved -in the great realm of art.</p> - -<p>Let us leave this great presence, and pass into -the other splendid chapel of the Medici which adjoins -this, and mark the contrast, and see what -came of some of the titular monarchs of his time -who fretted their brief hour across the stage, and -wore their purple, and issued their edicts, and -were fawned upon and flattered in their pride of -ephemeral power.</p> - -<p>Passing across a corridor, you enter this domed -chapel or mausoleum—and a splendid mausoleum -it is. Its shape is octagonal. It is 63 metres in -height, or about 200 feet, and is lined throughout -with the richest marbles—of jasper, coralline, -persicata, chalcedony, mother-of-pearl, agate, giallo<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45">45</a></span> -and verde antico, porphyry, lapis-lazuli, onyx, -oriental alabaster, and beautiful petrified woods; -and its cost was no less than thirty-two millions -of francs of to-day. Here were to lie the bodies -of the Medici family, in honor of whom it was -raised. On each of the eight sides is a vast arch, -and inside six of these are six immense sarcophagi, -four of red Egyptian granite and two of gray, -with the arms of the family elaborately carved -upon them, and surmounted with coronets adorned -with precious gems. In two of the arches are -colossal portrait statues,—one of Ferdinand III. -in golden bronze, by Pietro Tacca; and the other -of Cosimo II. in brown bronze, by John of Bologna, -and both in the richest royal robes. The -sarcophagi have the names of Ferdinand II., -Cosimo III., Francesco I., Cosimo I. All that -wealth and taste can do has been done to celebrate -and perpetuate the memory of these royal -dukes that reigned over Florence in its prosperous -days.</p> - -<p>And where are the bodies of these royal dukes? -Here comes the saddest of stories. When the -early bodies were first buried I know not; but in -1791 Ferdinand III. gathered together all the -coffins in which they were laid, and had them piled -together pell-mell in the subterranean vaults of -this chapel, scarcely taking heed to distinguish -them one from another; and here they remained, -neglected and uncared for, and only protected -from plunder by two wooden doors with common<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46">46</a></span> -keys, until 1857. Then shame came over those -who had the custody of the place, and it was determined -to put them in order. In 1818 there -had been a rumor that these Medicean coffins -had been violated and robbed of all the articles of -value which they contained. But little heed was -paid to this rumor, and it was not until thirty-nine -years after that an examination into the real -facts was made. It was then discovered that the -rumor was well founded. The forty-nine coffins -containing the remains of the family were taken -down one by one, and a sad state of things was -exposed. Some of them had been broken into and -plundered, some were the hiding-places of vermin, -and such was the nauseous odor they gave forth, -that at least one of the persons employed in taking -them down lost his life by inhaling it. Imperial -Cæsar, dead and turned to clay, had become hideous -and noisome. Of many of the ducal family -nothing remained but fragments of bones and a -handful of dust. But where the hand of the robber -had not been, the splendid dresses covered -with jewels, the silks and satins wrought over -with gold embroidery, the richly chased helmets -and swords crusted with gems and gold, still survived, -though those who had worn them in their -splendid pageants were but dust and crumbling -bones within them.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Here were sands, ignoble things,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dropped from the ruined sides of kings.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>In many cases, where all else that bore the impress<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47">47</a></span> -of life had vanished, the hair still remained -almost as fresh as ever. Some bodies which had -been carefully embalmed were in fair preservation, -but some were fearfully altered. Ghastly and -grinning skulls were there, adorned with crowns -of gold. Dark and parchment-like faces were seen -with their golden locks rich as ever, and twisted -with gems and pearls and costly nets. The Cardinal -Princes still wore their mitres and red -cloaks, their purple pianete and glittering rings, -their crosses of white enamel, their jacinths and -amethysts and sapphires—all had survived their -priestly selves. The dried bones of Vittoria della -Rovere Montefeltro (whose very name is poetic) -were draped in a robe of black silk of exquisite -texture, trimmed with black and white lace, while -on her breast lay a great golden medal, and on -one side were her emblems and on the other her -portrait as she was in life, as if to say, “Look -on this picture and on this.” Alas, poor humanity! -Beside her lay, almost a mere skeleton, -Anna Luisa, the Electress Palatine of the Rhine, -and daughter of Cosimo III., with the electoral -crown surmounting her ghastly brow and face of -black parchment, a crucifix of silver on her breast, -and at her side a medal with her effigy and name; -while near her lay her uncle, Francesco Maria, a -mere mass of dust and robes and rags. Many had -been stripped by profane hands of all their jewels -and insignia, and among these were Cosimo I. and -II., Eleonora de Toledo, Maria Christina, and -others, to the number of twenty. The two bodies<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48">48</a></span> -which were found in the best preservation were -those of the Grand Duchess Giovanna d’Austria, -the wife of Francesco I., and their daughter Anna. -Corruption had scarcely touched them, and there -they lay fresh in color as if they had just died—the -mother in her red satin, trimmed with lace, -her red silk stockings and high-heeled shoes, the -ear-rings hanging from her ears, and her blond -hair fresh as ever. And so, after centuries had -passed, the truth became evident of the rumor -that ran through Florence at the time of their -death, that they had died of poison. The arsenic -which had taken from them their life had preserved -their bodies in death. Giovanni delle -Bande Nere was also here, his battles all over, his -bones scattered and loose within his iron armor, -and his rusted helmet with its visor down. And -this was all that was left of the great Medici. Is -there any lesson sadder than this? These royal -persons, once so gay and proud and powerful, -some of whom patronized Michel Angelo, and extended -to him their gracious favor, and honored -him perhaps with a smile, now so utterly dethroned -by death, their names scarcely known, or, -if known, not reverenced, while the poor stern -artist they looked down upon sits like a monarch -on the throne of fame, and, though dead, rules -with his spirit and by his works in the august -realm of art. Who has not heard his name? Who -has not felt his influence? And ages shall come, -and generations shall pass, and he will keep his -kingdom.</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49">49</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="ch2"></a>PHIDIAS, AND THE ELGIN MARBLES.</h2> - -<p>The marble statues in the pediment of the -Parthenon at Athens, as well as the metopes and -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">bassi-relievi</i> which adorned the temple dedicated to -Minerva, are popularly supposed to have been -either the work of Phidias himself, or executed by -his scholars after his designs and under his superintendence. -This opinion, by dint of constant -repetition, has finally become accepted as an undoubted -fact; but a careful examination into the -original authorities will show that it is unsupported -by any satisfactory evidence.</p> - -<p>The main ground upon which it is founded is -that Phidias was appointed by Pericles director -of the public works at Athens, and occupied -that office during the building of the Parthenon. -From being the director he is supposed to have -been the designer at least, not only of the temple, -but of all the works of art contained in it. -This deduction is certainly very broad to be drawn -from so small a fact, even if that fact should -be established beyond doubt. It resembles the -modern instance of the popular attribution of so -many nameless statues of the Renaissance to -Michel Angelo. And there seems to be about as -much reason to suppose that Phidias executed or<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50">50</a></span> -designed all the sculpture of the Parthenon, -because he was the general superintendent of public -works at Athens, as to attribute to Michel -Angelo the authorship of all the statues in St. -Peter’s, because he was mainly the architect and -superintendent of the work of that great Christian -temple.</p> - -<p>The first fact to be opposed to this entirely gratuitous -assumption is, that during the execution -of the great public works at Athens under the -administration of Pericles, Phidias himself was -occupied on his great chryselephantine statue of -Athena, which was the chief ornament of the Parthenon; -and this alone, without considering the -other great statues in ivory, and gold, and bronze, -on which he was probably engaged at or near the -same period, was amply sufficient to occupy his -entire time and thoughts.</p> - -<p>The next most important fact is that no ancient -contemporary author asserts that any of the sculptures -of the Parthenon, with the exception of the -chryselephantine statue of Athena, were executed -by him; and considering his fame in his own and -subsequent ages, it seems most improbable, to say -the least, that, had he been the author of any of -the other statues and <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">alti</i> or <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">bassi-relievi</i>, not only -no mention of this fact, but no allusion to it, -should ever have been made.</p> - -<p>In the next place, it will be found, on careful -examination of the ancient writers and of other -facts bearing on the question, to be exceedingly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51">51</a></span> -doubtful whether Phidias ever made any statues -in marble. If he did execute any works in this -material, they were exceptions to his general practice, -his art being chiefly in toreutic work, and in -gold and ivory, or bronze. It was in these arts -that he established his fame; and there is no mention -of any work by him in marble within five -hundred years of his death.</p> - -<p>Plutarch, in his Life of Pericles, says that -“Phidias was appointed by Pericles superintendent -of all the public edifices, though the Athenians -had other eminent architects, and excellent -workmen.” It is plain, however, that even if -Phidias was director of the works, Plutarch does -not mean to represent him as the architect or -artist by whom they were either designed or executed; -for he immediately adds that “the Parthenon -was built by Callicrates and Ictinus.” -Probably also Carpion was another architect -actively engaged upon it, for he and Ictinus -wrote a work upon it. Plutarch then goes on to -enumerate other buildings built by different artists -at this very period during which Phidias was director -of public works. Afterwards he positively -states that “the golden statue of Minerva was the -workmanship of Phidias, and his name is inscribed -on the pedestal;”<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> and adds that, “as we have -already observed, through the friendship of Pericles,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52">52</a></span> -he had the direction of everything, and all -the artists received his orders.” But he does not -say or intimate that Phidias himself made anything -in the Parthenon except the statue of -Athena, unless “having the direction of everything” -is to be understood as equivalent to making -everything himself. Such an interpretation -is, however, absolutely in contradiction with his -statements that the Parthenon was built by Callicrates -and Ictinus; that the Temple of Initiation -at Eleusis was begun by Corœbus, carried on by -Metagenes, and finished by Xenocles of Cholargos; -that the vestibule of the Citadel was finished in -five years by Mnesicles; and that the Odeum was -built under the direction of Pericles, by which he -incurred much ridicule.</p> - -<p>Strabo, however, would seem to differ from -Plutarch on this point, and to attribute to Pericles -himself, and not to Phidias, the general superintendence -of the public works. Speaking of the -Temple of the Eleusinian Ceres at Eleusis, and -the mystic inclosure, <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Σηκός</span>, built by Ictinus, he -adds, “This person it was who made the Parthenon -in the Acropolis in honor of Minerva, when -Pericles was superintendent of the public works;” -and in another passage he mentions “the Parthenon -built by Ictinus, in which is the Minerva -in ivory, the work of Phidias,”—thus clearly -distinguishing the work of Phidias, and saying -not a word about the metopes, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">bassi-relievi</i>, or -statues in the pediment, or indicating him as their -author.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53">53</a></span> -But granting that Plutarch is right, it is quite -manifest that it was impossible for Phidias to have -had more than an official superintendence of these -great works. The sole administration of public -affairs was conferred on Pericles in <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 444, and -it was not until then or subsequently that Phidias -could have been appointed to this office. Among -the public works built at this period were the -Propylæa, the Odeum, the Parthenon, the Temples -of Ceres at Eleusis, of Juno at Argos, of Apollo -at Phigaleia, and of Zeus at Olympia—the last -being finished in <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 433. Within these eleven -years, therefore, Phidias is supposed to have superintended -all or a portion of these temples, with -their manifold sculptures and statues, and, in addition, -to have made the colossal chryselephantine -statues of Athena in the Parthenon, Zeus at Olympia, -Aphrodite Urania at Elis, and also, perhaps, -the Athena Areia in bronze at Platæa.</p> - -<p>But excluding all consideration as to the other -temples, and confining ourselves solely to the Parthenon, -let us see if it be possible, with all his occupations, -for him to have executed the Athena -alone, and also executed or even designed the other -sculptures of the Parthenon.</p> - -<p>In the tympanum there are 44 statues, all of -heroic size. There were 92 metopes representing -the battles of the Centaurs and Lapithæ, and -the frieze, which was covered with elaborate <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">bassi-relievi</i> -representing processions of men, women, -and horses with riders, was about 524 feet in -length.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54">54</a></span> -There seems to be no distinct statement of -the exact time when the Parthenon was begun; -but it certainly was after the appointment of -Pericles in 444 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span>, and we know that it -was finished and dedicated in 438 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> This -gives us six years as the outside possible limits -within which it was built. Now, if Phidias made, -executed, or even modeled or designed, only the -44 statues of the tympanum within this period, -he must have been a man of astonishing activity -and rapidity in his work. To do this he must -have made more than seven heroic statues in each -year, or more than one statue every two months -for six years. This may safely be said to be impossible, -unless we mean by the term designing -the making of small sketches in clay or terra cotta, -with little elaboration or finish. But if we add -the 92 metopes and the 524 feet of figures in relief, -the mere designing in clay of all the figures -and groups becomes impossible.</p> - -<p>But this is not enough: we know that he executed -in this time the colossal chryselephantine -statue of Athena,—and to the other statues, -therefore, he could only have given the overplus of -his time which was not needed for his great work. -Nor are we without data by which we can estimate -the probable time given to the Athena alone. At -Elis he was engaged exclusively from four to five -years upon the Zeus, in the temple at Olympia; -and in the execution of this colossal work we know -that he had the assistance of other artists, and especially<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55">55</a></span> -of Kolotes; and we also know that he -did nothing else in this temple, the statues in the -two tympana having been executed by Alcamenes -and Pæonios. In all probability about the same -amount of time was given to the Athena. Supposing, -then, that he began his work on the Parthenon -immediately after the appointment of Pericles, -which is most improbable, he would have had -about a year’s time in which to make all the -statues and reliefs in the Parthenon, and exercise -supervision of the public works. If he modeled -the designs only of the tympana in this period, -he must have made a statue in eight days. If he -also modeled the designs of the metopes, 92 in -number, of two figures each, he must have given -less than three days to each, without allowing any -time for the performance of his functions of general -director, and supposing him also to have -worked without a day’s intermission. Such suppositions -must be rejected as approaching so near to -impossibilities as to render them utterly untenable. -All probabilities are in favor of the supposition -that, during the period in which the Parthenon -was constructed, Phidias was employed solely upon -the statue of Athena, and upon the duties incident -to his position as superintendent of public -works.</p> - -<p>This conclusion will seem all the more probable -when we consider that Phidias, far from being -rapid in his execution, was, on the contrary, a slow -and elaborate worker, devoting much time to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56">56</a></span> -careful and minute finish of his statues. Themistius -is reported by Plutarch as saying of him, that -“though Phidias was skillful enough to make in -gold or ivory” (it will be observed that he speaks -of his work in no other materials) “the true shape -of god or man, yet he did require abundance of -time and leisure to his work; so he is reported to -have spent much time upon the base and sandals -of his statue of the goddess Athena.”<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">2</a></p> - -<p>We must also add another consideration, and it -is this: that in the time of Phidias it was necessary -for a sculptor to do far more with his own hand -than it is now. Modern facilities have greatly -abridged the personal labor of the sculptor in -marble or bronze. The present method of casting -in plaster, which was then unknown, or at least -unpracticed, enables the sculptor of our days to -elaborate his work to the utmost finish, in its full -size, in the clay model; and when this is completed -and cast in such a permanent material as plaster, -the workman has an absolute model, which he may, -to a certain extent, copy with almost mathematical -accuracy. The greater portion of the work may -therefore be now committed to inferior hands, as -it requires only mechanical dexterity and care; -while it merely remains for the sculptor himself to -finish the work in marble, and add such elaboration -of detail and expression as he may desire. -But in the time of Phidias this method was unknown;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57">57</a></span> -and the sculptor himself was forced to do -a much greater part of his work in marble. In -like manner, the modern method of casting in -bronze is so admirable that the labor of the artist -in finishing the cast is comparatively small; but -in the earlier period of bronze casting, there is no -doubt that the cast originally was far more imperfect, -and the labor of the sculptor in finishing far -greater. These facts will in some measure seem to -account for the comparatively long time during -which Phidias was engaged on his works. As there -evidently was no full-sized and completely finished -model of the Athena or Zeus for the workmen mechanically -to copy, Phidias was forced to work out -the details of his great works with his own hands, -moulding and designing them as he went on; -and this he was obliged to do, not in a plastic -material like clay, but in the final material of his -statue—whether gold, ivory, or bronze. Assistants -of course he had, and undoubtedly they were -very numerous. Plutarch tells us that the public -works gave employment to carpenters, modelers, -brass cutters and stampers, chiselers and engravers, -dyers, workers of ivory and gold, and even -weavers;<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">3</a> and some of these men certainly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58">58</a></span> -worked for Phidias. In fact, he used the hands of -others as much as he could—as any sensible artist -would; but a great part of his invention and work -was carried on in hard and difficult materials, instead -of being perfected in a facile clay, as it -would be by a modern sculptor; and this carried -with it, of course, a great expense of time and -labor.</p> - -<p>With these facts in view, and considering the -great size and elaboration of the ivory and gold -statue of Athena, it is quite evident that the few -years which elapsed between the commencement -of the Parthenon and its dedication would have -been amply occupied by this work alone,—and -with the other duties incident to his position as -superintendent of public works. More than this, -we shall find it difficult to fix the time when he -made some other of his statues, unless it was during -these six years; and it would seem probable -that at or about this time he must have been engaged -upon the Athena Areia for the Platæans, -or at least upon his chryselephantine statue of the -celestial Venus for the Eleans.</p> - -<p>Before proceeding farther in this argument, it -may be as well to give a glance at the artistic -career of Phidias, and the various works executed -by him, or assigned to him by different writers of -an after-age.</p> - -<p>A good deal of discussion has arisen as to the -age of Phidias at his death. The date of his -birth is distinctly given by no one, and is purely a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59">59</a></span> -matter of conjecture. Thiersch, among others, -supposes him to have been already an artist of -some distinction in the 72·3 Olympiad, or about -<span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 490—the date of the battle of Marathon; -and this opinion he founds chiefly on the fact that -the Athena Promachos, as well as the group of -statues at Delphi and the acrolith of Athena at -Platæa made by him, were cast, according to Pausanias, -from the tithe of the spoils taken from -the Medes who disembarked at Marathon. Other -writers suppose him to have been born at about the -date of the battle of Marathon, and that the -statues executed by him out of the spoils were -made some twenty-five years later. Mr. Philip -Smith, in his “Dictionary of Biography and Mythology,” -taking this view, places his birth in the -73d Olympiad; and Müller is of the same opinion. -Dr. Brunn, on the contrary, thinks it probable -that he was born about the 70th Olympiad, and -Welcker and Preller agree substantially with him.</p> - -<p>According to the supposition of Thiersch, placing -his birth at 67·2 Olympiad, or <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 510, he -would have been twenty years of age at the battle -of Marathon (<span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 490), seventy-two years of -age when he finished the chryselephantine statue -of Athena in the Parthenon in 85·1 Olympiad -(<span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 438), and seventy-seven years of age when -he finished the chryselephantine statue of Zeus at -Olympia in 87·3 Olympiad (<span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 433). This, -if we suppose that five years elapsed after the -battle of Marathon before the group of statues at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60">60</a></span> -Delphi was executed, would make Phidias twenty-five -years old when he made them.</p> - -<p>Taking the supposition that he was born in the -72·3 Olympiad, and that the statues at Delphi -were modeled twenty-five years after, this would -make him also twenty-five years of age when he -executed them; and fifty-two years of age, instead -of seventy-two, when he finished the Athena of the -Parthenon; and fifty-seven, instead of seventy-seven, -when he completed the Zeus—shortly previous -to his death.</p> - -<p>Dr. Brunn’s supposition that he was born in the -70th Olympiad, which is also held by Welcker and -Preller, would make him fifty-six when he made -the Athena, and sixty-one when he made the Zeus.</p> - -<p>In opposition to these two later suppositions, -there is this one undisputed fact, that on the -shield of the Athena of the Parthenon he introduced -his own likeness as well as that of Pericles, -in which he is described as representing himself -as a bald old man (<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">πρεσβύτου φαλακρός</span>) hurling a -stone, which he lifts with both hands, while Pericles -is portrayed as a vigorous warrior in the full -prime of manhood. He must therefore have intended -to represent himself as a much older man -than Pericles; and Pericles at this time was over -fifty-two years of age<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">4</a>—which is the age assigned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61">61</a></span> -to Phidias himself by some writers. Besides, -a man of fifty-two, or even of fifty-six, could -scarcely be accurately described as an “old man;” -and an artist making a portrait of himself at that -age would be inclined to give himself a little more -youth than he really possessed. The mere fact -that he represents himself as old shows that he -had in all probability arrived at a more advanced -period of life, when one accepts old age as too notorious -and well-established a fact to be disguised. -The supposition of Thiersch, therefore, would, in -view of this fact alone, seem to be the best -founded, as this would make him seventy-two years -old when the Athena was completed,—an age -which might fairly be called old.</p> - -<p>Mr. Smith seems to think it very improbable -that at the age of eighty-three Phidias could have -undertaken to execute the Zeus; but the fact is, -that Thiersch’s conjecture would only make him -seventy-three when the Zeus was begun, and certainly -at this age it is by no means uncommon for -sculptors to undertake large works. Tenerani, for -instance, in our own time, had passed that age -when he executed the monument of Pius VIII., -one of his largest works, and consisting of four -colossal figures. Besides, it is to be taken into -account that the Zeus was the last work of Phidias, -and that death overtook him immediately -after.</p> - -<p>On the whole, it would seem that the probabilities -of the period of his birth lie between the middle<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62">62</a></span> -of the 67th Olympiad (<span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 510) and the beginning -of the 70th Olympiad (<span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 500).</p> - -<p>There is also another consideration which is -entitled to weight in this connection. Suppose -Phidias to have commenced his artistic career -four years after the battle of Marathon—in <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> -490 (Olymp. 72·3). From that time to <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 444 -(Olymp. 83·4), when he began the Athena of the -Parthenon, there are forty-five years; and during -this time he is supposed to have executed six -colossal statues in bronze or acrolith,—two of -which, the Athena Promachos and the Athena -Areia, were from 50 to 60 feet in height—and -one, the Athena Lemnia, was considered as perhaps -his most beautiful work. Besides this, he -executed thirteen statues at Delphi, the size of -which is not stated. Nineteen statues in forty-five -years give a little over 2⅓ years to each; and -if the thirteen statues at Delphi were colossal, -this will certainly seem insufficient for their execution, -when we keep in mind the facts—1st, That -Phidias was a slow and elaborate worker; 2d, -That of necessity he must have done a great part -of the work in bronze personally; 3d, That he -was occupied four years on the Zeus alone; 4th, -That two of these statues, at least, were larger -than the Athena of the Parthenon, though not in -the same material. It is, however, probable, that -the thirteen statues at Delphi were not of colossal -proportions, but rather of heroic size, and therefore -requiring less time in their execution; and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63">63</a></span> -this would enable us to assign a longer time to the -mighty colossi of Athena.</p> - -<p>Certainly, however, if we accept the theory that -Phidias commenced working twenty-five years -after the battle of Marathon, we are in very great -straits as to time, unless the date when these colossal -statues were made be incorrect, and unless -some of them were made after the Athena of the -Parthenon. This, again, we cannot accept; for, -from the date of the completion of the Athena of -the Parthenon until his death, there are only at -most some seven years, four of which were dedicated -to the Zeus. We are then forced to believe -that these nineteen statues were made in -twenty years; and this is certainly very improbable.</p> - -<p>In this view other difficulties also appear, which -it would seem impossible to overcome, if we accept -all the statues attributed to Phidias as having -been executed by him; for in such case, not only -must he have made these nineteen statues in -twenty years, but some fifteen more at least. Taking, -then, the longest supposition as to his age, -and giving him forty-five years of labor for some -thirty-five statues, the time will altogether be too -restricted. It may be as well at this point of the -discussion to give a catalogue of the works which -he is supposed to have executed, and to examine -into the probable authenticity of some of them. -The list is as <span class="locked">follows:—</span></p> - -<p>1. The Athena, at Pellene, in Achaia. This<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64">64</a></span> -was probably his first great work, if we credit -Pausanias, who says it was made before the Athena -of the Acropolis and the Athena at Platæa. “They -say,” says Pausanias, “that this statue was made -by Phidias, and before he made that for the Athenians, -which is in their town, or that which is -among the Platæans.”</p> - -<p>2–14. Thirteen statues in bronze, made from -the spoils of the Persian war, and dedicated at -Delphi as a votive offering by the Athenians, representing -Athena, Apollo, Miltiades, Erechtheus, -Cecrops, Pandion, Peleus, Antiochus, Ægeus, -Acamas, Codrus, Theseus, and Phyleus. “All -these statues,” says Pausanias, “were made by -Phidias;” and on his sole authority the statement -stands. He does not mention their size.</p> - -<p>15. The colossal Athena Promachos in bronze -in the Acropolis. This statue, which was from -50 to 60 feet in height, was made from the spoils -of Marathon. It represented the goddess holding -up her spear and shield in the attitude of a combatant, -and was visible to approaching vessels as -far off as Sunium. “On the shield,” says Pausanias, -“the battle of the Centaurs and Lapithæ -was carved by Mys; but Parrhasius, the son of -Evenor, painted this for Mys, and likewise the -other figures that are seen on the shield.” Pausanias, -however, must be mistaken in this, since -Parrhasius lived about Olymp. 95 (<span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 400), or -about thirty years after the death of Phidias; -and it would scarcely be probable that this shield<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65">65</a></span> -would have remained uncarved and unpainted for -from seventy to eighty years after the statue was -executed.</p> - -<p>16. The Athena Areia, at Platæa. This was an -acrolith, also made from the spoils of Marathon. -“This statue,” says Pausanias, “is made of wood, -and is gilt, except the face and the extremities of -the hands and feet, which are of Pentelic marble. -Its magnitude is nearly equal to that of the Minerva, -which the Athenians dedicated on their -tower” (the Promachos). “Phidias too made -this statue for the Platæenses.”</p> - -<p>17. The Athena in bronze, in the Acropolis, -called the Lemnia, which, according to Pausanias, -“deserves to be seen above all the works of Phidias.” -Lucian also speaks specially of its beauty.</p> - -<p>18. The Athena mentioned by Pliny as having -been dedicated at Rome, near the Temple of Fortune, -by Paulus Æmilius. But whether this originally -stood in the Acropolis is unknown. Possibly -or probably it was the same statue as that last -mentioned.</p> - -<p>19. The Cliduchus (Key-Bearer), also mentioned -by Pliny, may have been an Athena; but -more probably it represented a priestess holding -the keys, symbolic of initiation into the mysteries.</p> - -<p>20. The Athena of the Parthenon, in ivory and -gold.</p> - -<p>21. The Zeus at Olympia, in ivory and gold.</p> - -<p>22. The Aphrodite Urania, in ivory and gold, at -Elis. This statue, attributed by Pausanias to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66">66</a></span> -Phidias, “stands with one of its feet on a -tortoise.”</p> - -<p>23. A bronze figure of Apollo Parnopius, in -the Acropolis. The authority for this statue is -Pausanias, who states that “it is said to be the -work of Phidias,”—<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λέγουσι Φειδίαν ποιῆσαι</span>. Tradition -alone gives it to Phidias.</p> - -<p>24. Aphrodite Urania, <em>in marble</em>, in the temple -near the Ceramicus. This also is attributed by -Pausanias to Phidias.</p> - -<p>25. A statue of the Mother of the Gods, sitting -on a throne, supported by lions, in the Metroum -near the Ceramicus. This is attributed by Pausanias -and Arrian to Phidias. Pliny, on the contrary, -says it is by Agoracritos.</p> - -<p>26. The Golden Throne, so called, and supposed -generally to be that of the Athena. What this -was is very dubious. It could not be the throne -of the Athena, for she had no throne, and probably -was another name for the Athena herself. Plutarch -calls it “<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">τῆς θεοῦ τὸ χρυσοῦν ἕδος</span>,” and Isocrates, -“<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">τὸ τῆς Ἀθηνὰς ἕδος</span>.”</p> - -<p>27. Statue of Athena, at Elis, in ivory and gold. -Pausanias says it is attributed to Phidias,—“<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">φασὶν -Φείδιου</span>,”—<em>they say</em> it is by Phidias. Pliny, -however, says it was executed by Kolotes.</p> - -<p>28. Statue of Æsculapius, at Epidaurus. This -is attributed to Phidias by Athenagoras (Legat. -pro Arist.); but by Pausanias to Thrasymedes of -Paros.</p> - -<p>29. At the entrance of the Ismenion, near<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67">67</a></span> -Thebes, are two <em>marble</em> statues called Pronaoi—one -of Athena, ascribed by Pausanias to Scopas, -and one of Hermes, ascribed by Pausanias to -Phidias.</p> - -<p>30. A Zeus, at the Olympieum at Megara. -The head of this statue was made of gold and -ivory, the rest of clay and gypsum. “This work <em>is -said</em> (<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λέγουσι</span>) to have been made by Theocosmos, -a citizen of Megara, with the assistance of Phidias,” -says Pausanias, and it was interrupted by the -breaking out of the Peloponnesian war. Probably -it was executed solely by Theocosmos.</p> - -<p>31. The statue of Nemesis, at Rhamnus, <em>in marble</em>, -attributed to Phidias by Pausanias; but there -can be little question that it was made by Agoracritos.</p> - -<p>32. The Amazon. This statue, which is highly -praised by Lucian, was, according to Pliny, made -by Phidias in competition with Polyclitus, Ctesilaus, -Cydon, and Phradmon; the first prize being -given to Polyclitus, the second to Phidias, the -third to Ctesilaus, and the fourth to Cydon.</p> - -<p>33, 34, 35. Three bronze statues mentioned by -Pliny, the subjects not stated, and placed by Catulus -in the Temple of Fortune.</p> - -<p>36. The marble Venus in the portico of Octavia, -which Pliny says “is said to be by Phidias.”</p> - -<p>37. The Horse-Tamer, in marble, now existing, -and standing before the Quirinal in Rome.</p> - -<p>There are some other statues attributed to -Phidias by various writers, which may be at once<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68">68</a></span> -rejected. Among them were the statues of Zeus -and Apollo at Patara, in Lycia, which were supposed -by Clemens Alexandrinus to have been by -Phidias, but which are clearly settled to have been -by Bryaxis. So also the Kairos, or Opportunity, -by Lysippus, was attributed to Phidias by Ausonius; -and the famous Venus of the Gardens -(<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐν κήποις</span>), by Alcamenes, was said to have received -its finishing touches from him.</p> - -<p>It will, I think, be clear that many of the statues -in the foregoing list must also be rejected. In the -last ten years of his life he executed only two -statues, each colossal—the Athena of the Parthenon, -and the Zeus at Olympia. Taking the earliest -date of his artistic career at five years before -the battle of Marathon, according to the theory of -Thiersch, he would, as we have seen, have had -forty-five years only in which to execute the -other thirty-five statues, besides all the other and -minute work to which, as we shall see, he gave -his genius. Several, at least, of these statues are -colossal, several elaborately wrought in ivory and -gold; and it is in the highest degree improbable -that they could have been executed in this period -of time.</p> - -<p>On examination of the list, three at least will be -seen to rest purely on tradition. The Apollo Parnopius -and the Athena at Elis are mentioned by -Pausanias as being “said to be” by Phidias. The -Venus of the portico of Octavia “is said to be by -Phidias,” says Pliny. Little weight can be given<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69">69</a></span> -to current and common opinion in respect to the -authorship of works of art executed many centuries -before, about which there is no written documentary -proof. In our own time it is always exceedingly -difficult, and often impossible, to decide upon -the authorship of pictures and statues of one hundred -years ago. Double that period, and the difficulty -would of course be enormously increased. -Now Pausanias wrote some six hundred years after -the death of Phidias, and yet we are ready to -accept as authoritative his passing statement that -a certain statue “is said” to be by Phidias. How -many statues at the present day are said to be by -Michel Angelo, which he never saw! How many -spurious Raffaelles and Titians adorn our galleries! -Do we not know that every traveler in -Italy sees statues “said to be” by Michel Angelo -in such numbers that ten Michel Angelos could -not have made them all? There is scarcely a -church that does not boast of something from his -hand. There is no reason to suppose that the case -was not similar in Greece fifteen hundred years -ago, and none to suppose that Pausanias was superior -in artistic knowledge and acumen to any -average intelligent traveler of his day. He did -not stop to investigate the grounds upon which the -popular or accidental account given him as to the -authorship of any work was founded, nor does he -pretend to have done so. He took it for what it -was worth. “They say the statue is by Phidias.” -He had, besides, as far as we know, no written<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70">70</a></span> -authority for what he said,—at least he cites -none.</p> - -<p>Again, in respect to the authorship of some of -the statues of which he speaks, he at times differs -from other writers, and at times unquestionably -mistakes. Thus, to cite only examples in the case -of Phidias, the statue of Athena, at Elis, he -attributes to Phidias, while Pliny says it was -by Kolotes. Again, the statue of Æsculapius, at -Epidaurus, he attributes to Thrasymedes of Paros, -while Athenagoras says it was the work of Phidias. -In like manner, the statue of the Mother of the -Gods, which Pausanias and Arrian give to Phidias, -Pliny declares to be the work of Agoracritos. -Still more, Pausanias distinctly affirms that the -Nemesis at Rhamnus was executed by Phidias; -while Pliny, on the contrary, asserts it to be the -work of Agoracritos. And in this assertion Pliny -is borne out by Zenobius, who gives us the inscription -on the branch in the hand of Nemesis: -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ΑΓΟΡΑΚΡΙΤΟΣ ΠΑΡΙΟΣ ΕΠΟΙΗΣΕΝ</span>. Strabo, however, -hesitates between Agoracritos and an unknown -Diodotos, and says it was remarkable for -beauty and size, and might well compete with the -works of Phidias; and to confuse matters still -more, at a later time Pomponius Mela, Hesychius, -and Solon agree with Pausanias. There would -seem, after weighing all authorities, to be little -doubt that the Nemesis was the work of Agoracritos.</p> - -<p>Nothing could more clearly show the easy way in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71">71</a></span> -which traditions grow like barnacles upon artists -and works of art, than the story connected with -this statue. Pliny says that Agoracritos contended -with Alcamenes in making a statue of Venus; and -the preference being given to that of Alcamenes, -he was so indignant at the decision that he -immediately made certain alterations in his own -statue, called it Nemesis, and sold it to the people -of Rhamnus, on condition that it should not be set -up in Athens. This is absurd enough. After a -statue of Venus is finished, what sort of change -would be required to make a Nemesis of it? But -let us see how well this statue would have represented -Aphrodite. Pausanias says that “out of -the marble brought by the barbarians to Marathon -for a trophy Phidias made a statue of Nemesis, -and on the head of the goddess there is a crown -adorned with stags and images of victory of no -great magnitude; and in the left hand she holds -the branch of an ash-tree, and in her right a -cup, on which the Æthiopians are carved—why, -I cannot assign any reason.” Now, in the first -place, the assertion that it was a work of marble -brought to make a trophy at Marathon is a myth. -In the next place, these are certainly peculiar -characteristics for an Aphrodite. The statue itself -was undoubtedly a noble statue, however, and -the best work of Agoracritos. As it was not the -custom for sculptors in Greece to inscribe their -names on their statues, it may have happened that -it soon came to be popularly attributed to Phidias,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72">72</a></span> -according to the general rule, that to the master is -ascribed the best work of his pupil and his school. -Then it was, probably, that the inscription was -placed on the statue, reclaiming it for its true -author. However this may be, Photias, Suidas, -and Tzetzes, as late as from the tenth to the -twelfth century, are determined that Phidias shall -have it, despite the inscription; and accordingly -they report and publish, many long centuries after—and -gifted by what second-sight into the past -who can tell?—that though it is true that the -statue is supposed to have been executed by Agoracritos, -yet in fact it was made by Phidias, who -generously allowed Agoracritos to put his name -on it, and pass it off as his own.</p> - -<p>In further illustration of this parasitic growth -of legend and tradition may be also cited in this -connection the story told by Tzetzes the Grammarian, -some seventeen centuries after the death -of Phidias. According to him, Alcamenes and -Phidias competed in making a statue of Athena, -to be placed in an elevated position; and when -their figures were finished and exposed to public -view near the level of the eye, the preference was -decidedly given to the figure of Alcamenes; but -as soon as the figures were elevated to their destined -position, the public declared immediately in -favor of that of Phidias. The object of the -writer of this story is to prove the extraordinary -skill of Phidias in optical perspective, and to show -that he had calculated his proportions with such<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73">73</a></span> -foresight, that though the figure, when seen near -the level of the eye, appeared inharmonious, it became -perfectly harmonious when seen from far -below. Now all that any artist could do to produce -this effect would be, perhaps, to give more -length to his figures in comparison with their -breadth. This, however, would be not only a -doubtful expedient in itself, but entirely at variance -with the practice of Phidias. His figures, -like all those of his period, were stouter in proportion -to their breadth, and particularly stouter -in the relation of the lower limbs to the torso, -than the figures of a later period. The canon -of proportion accepted then was that of Polyclitus; -and the proportions were afterward varied -and the lower limbs were lengthened, first by Euphranor, -and subsequently still more by Lysippus. -Any distortion or falsification of proportion would -be effective solely in a statue with one point of -view, and exhibited as a relief; for if it were a -figure in the round, and seen from all points, the -perspective would be utterly false, unless the proportions -were harmonious in themselves and true -to nature. Tzetzes is a great gossip, and peculiarly -untrustworthy in his statements; but his -story is of such a nature as to please the ignorant -public, and it has been accepted and repeated constantly, -though he does not give any authority for -it, and plainly invented it out “of the depths of -his own consciousness,” as the German <em>savant</em> did -the camel.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74">74</a></span> -One cannot be too careful in accepting traditions -about artists or their works. The public invents -its facts, and believes what it invents. Very -few of the pleasing anecdotes connected with -artists will bear critical examination, any more -than the famous sayings attributed on great occasions -to extraordinary men; still the grand phrase -of Cambronne is as gravely repeated in history as -if it had some foundation in fact, and everybody -believes that Da Vinci died in the arms of Francis -I. Perhaps it is scarcely worth while to break -up such pleasant traditions, and certainly the public -resists such attempts. It is so delightful to -think that the gallant and accomplished King of -France supported the great Italian artist, and -soothed his last moments, that it seems sheer brutality -to dissipate such an illusion; yet, unfortunately, -we know that Leonardo died at Cloux, near -Amboise, on May 2, 1679,—and from a journal -kept by the king, and still (disgracefully enough) -existing in the imperial library in Paris, we know -that on that very day he held his Court at St. -Germain-en-Laye; and besides this, Lomazzo distinctly -tells us that the king first heard the news -of Leonardo’s death from Melzi; while Melzi -himself, who wrote to Leonardo’s friend immediately -after his death, makes no mention of such a -fact.</p> - -<p>But to return from this digression to a consideration -of the list of works attributed to Phidias. -We have already seen that in regard to six of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75">75</a></span> -the statues there are, to say the least, strong -doubts as to his authorship; but still more must -be eliminated. The Zeus of the Olympieum at -Megara “is said,” according to Pausanias, “to -have been made by Theocosmos, with the assistance -of Phidias.” This again is mere tradition, -which is so weak that it only pretends that Phidias -assisted Theocosmos. Phidias assisting Theocosmos -has a strange sound; and it is plain that -Theocosmos is the real author of this statue, even -granting that the great master may have helped -the lesser one.</p> - -<p>Again, Pausanias tells us that of the two marble -statues called Pronaoi at the entrance of the -Ismenion, that representing Athena was made -by Scopas, and the other of Hermes was made -by Phidias. These so-called Pronaoi were statues -standing at the entrance of the building, opposite -each other, a chief decorative ornament to the -façade. Is it not strange that the statue on one -side should be made by Phidias, and the opposite -pedestal remain unoccupied until the time of Scopas, -nearly a century later? Is it not plain that -the temple would not have been considered finished -until both statues were placed there? And is it -probable that the Greeks would have allowed it to -remain thus incomplete for a century? Besides, -does it not seem singular, in view of the fact that -Phidias was peculiarly celebrated for his statues -of Athena, while Scopas was celebrated for his -heroic figures and demigods, that the Athena<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76">76</a></span> -should have been assigned to Scopas, and the -Hermes to Phidias? When we also add the fact -that these statues were in marble,—a material in -which, as we shall presently see, Phidias certainly -worked only exceptionally, if he ever worked at all, -while Scopas was a worker in marble,—it will, -I think, be pretty clear that Pausanias is mistaken -in attributing this statue of Hermes to Phidias.</p> - -<p>Again, “The Golden Throne” must probably -be considered as a name for the Athena of the -Parthenon, since there is no golden throne of -which we have any knowledge ever made by Phidias. -In like manner it is most probable that the -Athena mentioned by Pliny as being in Rome -near the temple of Julian, and dedicated by Paulus -Æmilius, was the Athena Lemnia in bronze, taken -from the Acropolis. These statues, which are reckoned -as four, must therefore in all probability be -considered as only two.</p> - -<p>There remains one other statue in the list -which certainly must be struck out—the Horse-Tamer, -still existing in Rome at the present day, -under the name of “Il Colosso di Monte Cavallo.” -This statue, or rather group, stands on the Quirinal -Hill, and on its pedestal are inscribed the -words “Opus Phidiæ.” It is cited by Dr. Smith -in his Dictionary as a work of Phidias, and he -thinks it may be the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">altrum colossicon nudum</span>” -of which Pliny speaks. But Pliny cited this “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">colossicon -nudum</span>” in his chapter on bronze works; -and as this is in marble, he could not have referred<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77">77</a></span> -to it. Independent of all other considerations, -however, there is one simple fact that makes -it almost impossible that it could have been the -work of Phidias, though curiously enough this -simple fact has apparently escaped the observation -of critics. It is, that the cuirass which supports -the group is a Roman cuirass and not a Greek -cuirass, such as Phidias would necessarily have -made.</p> - -<p>The legend about this group and its companion, -attributed with equal absurdity to Praxiteles, is -curious. In “<cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Roma Sacra, Antica e Moderna</cite>,” -which was published in Rome in the latter part of -the sixteenth century, and constantly reprinted -for at least a hundred years, we are told that these -two statues were made, one by Phidias, and the -other by Praxiteles, in competition with each -other,—that they represent Alexander taming -Bucephalus, and were brought to Rome by Tiridates, -King of Armenia, as a present to Nero,—and -that they were afterwards restored and placed -in the Thermæ of Constantine, from which place -they were transported to the Quirinal, and again -restored and set up by Sixtus V., with inscriptions, -stating, that they were brought by Constantine -from Greece.</p> - -<p>The inscriptions were as follows: under the -horse of the statue professing to be by Phidias, -was inscribed: “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Phidias, nobilis sculptor, ad artificii -præstantiam declarandam Alexandri Bucephaalum -domantis effigiem e marmore expressit</span>.”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78">78</a></span> -On the base was inscribed: “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Signa Alexandri -Magni celebrisque ejus Bucephal ex antiquitatis -testimonio Phidiæ et Praxitelis emulatione hoc -marmore ad vivam effigiem expressa a Fl. Constantino -Max. e Græcia advecta suisque in Thermis -in hoc Quirinali monte collocata, temporis vi deformata, -laceraque ad ejusdem Imperatoris memoriam -urbisque decorem, in pristinam formam -restituta hic reponi jussit anno MDXXXIX Pont. -IV.</span>” Under the horse of Praxiteles was inscribed: -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Praxiteles sculptor ad Phidiæ emulationem sui -monumenta ingenii relinquere cupiens ejusdem -Alexandri Bucephalique signa felici contentione -perficit.</span>”</p> - -<p>Here are a charming series of assumptions, so -completely in defiance of history that one cannot -help smiling; and were not the fact accredited, -it would be difficult to believe that these inscriptions -could have been placed under these statues. -Phidias died probably in <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 432, Praxiteles -flourished about <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 364, nearly a century later, -and Alexander was not born till <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 356. Here -we have Phidias making a group of Alexander and -Bucephalus, and representing an incident which -occurred a century after his death, and in competition -with Praxiteles. Absurdity and ignorance -can scarcely go further; and, as we learn from -“<cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Roma Sacra</cite>,” it afterwards occasioned such -ridicule that Urban VIII. removed the inscriptions, -and substituted the simple words, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Opus -Phidiæ</span>” and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Opus Praxitelis</span>” under the respective<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79">79</a></span> -statues, still adhering to the legend that -the two groups were the work of these great artists. -The fact is that they are Roman works, and were -neither brought by Tiridates from Armenia to -present to Nero, nor by Constantine from Greece.</p> - -<p>Of the statues attributed to Phidias we may -then strike out eleven as resting, on the face of -the facts, upon no sufficient authority. We still -shall have the large number of twenty-six important -statues, many of them colossal, which are -far more than sufficient to have occupied his life, -even when reckoned at its longest probable term. -To this number it would be impossible to add the -marble statues contained in the Parthenon.</p> - -<p>Michel Angelo lived to a great age. He was -throughout his life a very hard worker, devoting -all his time to art. It is true that he was devoted -to architecture and fresco-painting, as well -as to sculpture, and that to these arts he gave -much time; but still he was by profession specially -a sculptor, and a large portion of his life was -given to sculpture. He was, besides, impetuous -and even violent in his marble work; and not content -with the labor of the day, gave to it a portion -of his nights, working with a candle fixed in his -cap—unless, indeed, this also be a legend, into -which it is better not to inquire too anxiously. -Still, in the course of his long life he executed -very few statues: of the really accredited statues -of any size, the number, I think, does not exceed -fifteen—and some of these are merely roughed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80">80</a></span> -out and left unfinished. The explanation of this -is undoubtedly that casting in plaster having been -then just invented, and being very imperfect in its -development, he was accustomed at once to rough -out his large statues from small sketches in terra -cotta, after the probable practice of the ancients. -This obliged him personally to do with his own -hand much of the hard work which now, with the -increased facilities of the art and the perfecting of -plaster-casting, can safely be left to an ordinary -workman; at all events, there are no full-sized -models existing of his great works. If, then, -Michel Angelo, with twenty years more of life, -and with all his energy, could produce only some -fifteen statues of heroic size,—and these, many of -them, unfinished,—it will not seem necessary to -suppose that Phidias must have executed double -that number, particularly when we remember the -colossal size of many of them (from forty to sixty -feet in height), the extreme elaboration and fineness -of the workmanship, and the difficulties -growing out of the materials in which they were -executed.</p> - -<p>We have already seen, by the testimony of -Themistius, that Phidias was by no means rapid -in his workmanship, but, on the contrary, slow and -elaborate in his finish—just the opposite in these -respects from Michel Angelo. This testimony of -Themistius is borne out by all the ancient writers -who speak of him. His style was a singular combination -of the grand and colossal in design with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81">81</a></span> -the most minute and careful finish of all details. -He had a peculiar grace and refinement in his art -(<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">χάρις τῆς τέχνης</span>), says Dion Chrysostomus, who in -another passage distinguishes him from all his -predecessors by the delicate precision of his work -(<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">κατὰ τὴν ἀκρίβειαν τῆς ποιήσεως</span>); <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">τὸ ἀκριβές</span> is also -attributed to him by Demetrius, in his treatise -on Elocution; and Dionysius of Halicarnassus -celebrates his art as uniting these qualities of -<em>finesse</em> of workmanship with grandeur of design -(<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">τὸ σεμνὸν καὶ μεγαλότεχνον καὶ ἀξιωματικόν</span>). The -minute and almost excessive elaboration of his -great works, as they are described by ancient authors, -perfectly supports this judgment. Take, for -instance, the Zeus at Olympia, or the Athena of -the Parthenon—his two greatest statues in ivory -and gold. Not content with carefully finishing the -main figures, he chased and ornamented them, as -well as all the accessories in every part, with the -minute elaboration of a goldsmith. The surface of -the mantle of Zeus was wrought over with living -figures and flowers. Gold and gems were inserted. -Cedar, ebony, and ivory were inlaid and overlaid, -and the whole was exquisitely painted. Each leg -of the throne on which Zeus sat was supported by -four Victories dancing, and two men were in front. -The two front legs were surmounted by groups -representing a Theban youth seized by a sphinx, -and beneath each of these groups were Phœbus -and Artemis shooting at the children of Niobe; -and still further on the legs were represented the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82">82</a></span> -battle of the Amazons and the comrades of Achelous. -Over the back of the throne were three -Graces on one side, and three Hours on the other. -Four golden lions supported the footstool, and -along its border was worked in relief or intaglio -the battle of Theseus with the Amazons. The -sides of the throne were ornamented with numerous -figures representing various groups and -actions—such as Helios mounting his chariot, -Zeus and Charis, Zeus and Hera, Aphrodite and -Eros, Phœbus and Artemis, Poseidon and Amphitrite, -Athena and Heracles, and others. What -wonderful elaboration expended on a mere accessory -of this Colossus!</p> - -<p>Scarcely less remarkable for its extreme ornamentation -was the Athena of the Parthenon. The -goddess was represented standing, dressed in a -long tunic reaching to her feet, with the ægis on -her breast, a helmet on her head, a spear in her -left hand, touching a shield which rested at her -side upon the base, and holding in her right hand -a golden Victory, six feet in height. Her own -height was twenty-six cubits, or about forty feet. -Her robes were of gold beaten out with the hammer; -her eyes were of colored marble or ivory, with -gems inserted. Every portion was minutely covered -with work. The crest of the helmet was a sphinx, -on either side of which were griffins. The ægis -was surrounded by golden serpents interlaced, and -in its centre was a golden or ivory head of Medusa. -The shield was embossed with reliefs, representing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83">83</a></span> -on the inner side the battle of the Giants with the -Gods, and on the outer side the battle of the -Athenians with the Amazons. Beneath the spear -was couched a dragon; and even the sandals, -which were four dactyls high, were ornamented -with chasings representing the battle of the Centaurs -with the Lapithæ. The base, which alone -occupied months of labor, was covered by reliefs -representing the birth of Pandora, and the visit of -the divinities to her with their gifts—the figures -being some twenty in number. The interior or -core of the statue was probably of wood, and over -this all the nude parts were veneered with plates -of ivory to imitate flesh, while the draperies and -accessories were of gold plates so arranged as to -be removable at pleasure.</p> - -<p>Here is certainly work enough to employ any -man a very long time in designing and executing. -The Victory which Athena held in her hand was -of large life-size, and might easily have occupied a -year. Besides this, there are the embossed <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">bassi-relievi</i> -on both sides of the shield, the ægis, with -the Medusa’s head and golden serpents, the dragon -at her feet, the sphinx and griffins on her helmet, -and the <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">relievi</i> and chasings which ornamented -the base and the sandals. Yet these are merely -accessories. What, then, must have been the time -devoted to the figure itself, to the disposition and -working out of those colossal draperies, and to the -perfect elaboration of the head, the arms, and the -extremities!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84">84</a></span> -The tendency of Phidias’ mind to great elaboration -and refinement of finish is shown in both -of these works. Colossal as they were, august and -grand in their total expression, the parts were quite -as remarkable for laborious detail as the whole was -for grandeur and impressiveness. He is generally -considered and spoken of now solely in relation to -these great works; but it must be remembered -that with the ancients he was also renowned for -his minute works. Julian, in his Epistles, tells us -that he was accustomed to amuse himself with -making very small images, representing for example -bees, flies, cicadæ, and fishes, which were executed -with infinite delicacy, and greatly admired. -His skill in the toreutic art was also very remarkable; -and as a chaser, engraver, and embosser, he -was among the first, if not the first, of his time. -He might be called, in a certain sense, the Cellini -of Athens—vastly superior to the celebrated -Florentine in grandeur of conception, but uniting, -like him, the work of the goldsmith to that of the -sculptor, and, like him, distinguished for refinement -and fastidiousness of execution.</p> - -<p>To this character and style there is nothing that -responds in the fragments of the Parthenon which -we now possess. The style of the figures in the -pediment is broad, large, and effective, but it is -decorative in its character. The parts are classed -and distributed with skill, but they are often -forced, in order to produce effect at a distance -and in the place where they were to be seen. They<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85">85</a></span> -show the practiced hands of men who have been -trained in a grand school, but they cannot be said -to be finished with elaborate attention to details -or minute study of parts. Whatever characteristics -of his style they may have, they certainly -want <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">τò ἀκριβές</span>, which was the distinguishing feature -of the work of Phidias.</p> - -<p>The same remarks apply to the metopes and the -frieze. It is evident that all these works are of -the same period; but in style, design, and execution -they differ from each other, as the works of -various men in the same school might be expected -to differ. In grouping, composition, treatment, -and character of workmanship, the metopes are of -quite another class from the Panathenaic Procession -of the frieze. Compared with each other, the -metopes are rounder and feebler in form, tamer -and more labored in treatment, and they want -not only the spirit and freedom of design of the -figures in the frieze, but also their flat, decisive, -and squared execution. The frieze is very rich, -varied, and light in composition, while the metopes -are comparatively monotonous and heavy. -Nor do the metopes differ more from the frieze -than the figures in the pediment do from both the -frieze and the metopes. While in execution the -pediment sculpture is more flat and squared in -style than the metopes, it differs from the frieze -in the treatment of the draperies and in the proportions -and character of the figures. As a design, -the figures on the pediment are disconnected,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86">86</a></span> -while those of the frieze are interwoven with remarkable -skill. Again, not only do these three -classes, as classes, differ from each other, but in -each class there are very decided inequalities and -diversities of style and workmanship between one -part and another,—showing plainly that they -have been executed by various hands, some of -more and some of less skill. But the treatment -of all is purely decorative, as it properly should -be. All of these sculptures were subordinated to -the temple which they decorated, and they were -executed, not for near and minute examination, -but to produce a calculated effect in the position -they were to occupy. Fineness of workmanship, -delicacy and refinement of detail, would have been -out of place and unnecessary, and evidently were -not attempted. This, however, was not the style -of Phidias, who, as we have seen, even in the -colossal statues of Zeus and Athena, elaborated to -the utmost, with almost excessive labor, not only -the figures themselves, but also the least of the -accessories. It was in his nature to do this. He -wished to leave the impress of all his arts upon -these splendid works; and he wrought upon them, -not only as a sculptor in the large sense of the -word, but as a goldsmith, as an engraver, a -damascener, an embosser. Nothing was too rich, -nothing too large, nothing too small for him. He -enjoyed it all—the minute detail as well as the -colossal mass. It was this peculiarity of his -nature that led him to select, and almost to create,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87">87</a></span> -the chryselephantine school of art. He had been -a painter in his youth, and his eye craved color. -The coldness of marble did not satisfy him and he -rejected it, not only for this reason, but because as -a material it did not lend itself to the art of the -engraver and the goldsmith. Before his time the -colossi had been of bronze or wood. He introduced -and perfected the art of making them in -ivory and gold; and it was as a maker of statues -of divinities in these materials and in bronze that -he attained the highest renown.</p> - -<p>But abandoning the ground that these marble -sculptures of the Parthenon were <em>executed</em> by -Phidias, let us consider whether they were <em>designed</em> -by him. Of this there is not a vestige of evidence. -It is not only not stated as a fact by any ancient -writer, but not even intimated in the most shadowy -way, unless it be deduced from the fact stated by -Plutarch, that he was general superintendent of -public works, and that he had various classes of -workmen under his orders. What is meant by -designing these works? Is it meant that he -modeled the designs? If this were the case, is it -probable that no mention would be made of it by -any author? We are told of other cases in which -works were executed from his designs, and from the -designs of other artists. We are informed that the -figures in the tympana of the temple at Olympia -were executed by Alcamenes and Pæonios; but -nothing is said about those figures in the Parthenon. -Is there any necessity to suppose these<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88">88</a></span> -works to have been designed by Phidias? Surely -not. There were in Athens many other artists of -great distinction who were fully able to design -and execute them, and among them were men but -little inferior to Phidias himself, who would not -readily have accepted his designs, and who, by -profession, were sculptors in marble—not, like -Phidias, sculptors in bronze, or ivory and gold.</p> - -<p>Among those men by whom Phidias was surrounded, -and who were in these various branches -of art his rivals or his peers, may be named -Agoracritos, Alcamenes, Myron, Pæonios, Kolotes, -Socrates, Praxias, Androsthenes, Polyclitus, and -Kalamis,—all sculptors in marble. Besides these -there were Hegias, Nestocles, Pythagoras, Kallimachus, -Kallon, Phradmon, Gorgias, Lacon, -Kleoitas, and others of less note, who were more -specially toreutic artists and sculptors in bronze. -Here is a wonderful constellation of genius, and -in it are many stars of the first magnitude. Some -of these men were peers of Phidias in chryselephantine -art. Some contended with him and won the -prize over him. Let us take a glance at some of -the most eminent.</p> - -<p>Polyclitus studied under the great Argive -sculptor Ageledas, and was a fellow-scholar with -Phidias and Myron. He was the rival of Phidias -in his chryselephantine works, and but little if at -all inferior to him in his best works. He created -the type of Hera, as Phidias did that of Athena; -and his colossal statue of that goddess in ivory<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89">89</a></span> -and gold at Argos was admitted to be unsurpassed -even by the Athena of the Parthenon. Strabo -asserts that though inferior in size and nobleness -to the Athena and Zeus of Phidias, it equaled -them in beauty, and in its artistic execution excelled -them (<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">τῇ μὲν τέχνῃ κάλλιστα τῶν πάντων</span>). -Dionysius of Halicarnassus accords to him, as to -Phidias, <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">τὸ σεμνὸν καὶ μεγαλότεχνον καὶ ἀξιωματικόν</span>—the -character of grandeur, dignity, and harmony -of parts. Xenophon places him beside Homer, -Sophocles, and Zeuxis as an artist. Among his -bronze works, the most celebrated were the Diadumenos -and the Doryphoros, the latter of which -was called the Canon, on account of its beauty -and perfection of proportion. If to Phidias was -accorded the highest praise as the sculptor of -divinities, Polyclitus was considered his superior -in his statues of men.</p> - -<p>Nor was it only as a sculptor in bronze, gold, -and ivory, that he was distinguished. He was -celebrated also for his marble statues, among -which may be mentioned the Apollo, Leto, and -Artemis in the Temple of Artemis, and the Orthia -in Argolis; as well as for his skill in the toreutic -art. In this last art he excelled all others; and -Pliny says of him that he developed and perfected -it as Phidias had begun it—“toreuticen sic erudisse -ut Phidias aperuisse.”</p> - -<p>Myron, his fellow-scholar, had scarcely a less -reputation, though in a different way. He devoted -himself to the representation of athletes, among<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90">90</a></span> -which the most celebrated was the Discobolos; of -animals, of which his Cow was the most famous; -and of groups of satyrs, and sea-monsters, and -mythical creatures. He excelled in the representation -of life, action, and expression; and such was -his skill, that Petronius says of him that he almost -expressed the souls of men and animals in his -bronzes.</p> - -<p>Agoracritos and Alcamenes had a still higher -distinction than Myron. The famous Aphrodite -of the Gardens (<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐν κήποις</span>), a marble statue by -Alcamenes, enjoyed a reputation among the ancients -scarcely if at all below that of the Aphrodite -of Praxiteles. Pliny, writing five hundred years -after, says that Phidias “<em>is said</em> to have given the -finishing touches to this statue.” But this is one -of those common and absurd traditions that attach -to the work of almost every great artist long after -his death, and it may be dismissed at once. Lucian -gives the statue directly and solely to Alcamenes—and -to him undoubtedly it belongs. He had -no need of the help of Phidias, being himself a -much more accomplished worker in marble, even -should we grant that Phidias ever worked at all -in this material. Indeed, it was specially as a -sculptor in marble that he was distinguished; and -among other works which he executed in this material -were the colossal statues of Hercules and -Minerva, a group of Procne and Itys, and the -statue of Æsculapius. But what is the more significant -in this connection is the fact, stated by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91">91</a></span> -Pausanias, that it was he who executed the statues -representing the Centaurs and Lapithæ at the -marriage of Pirithous, which adorned the back -tympanum of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia, -where the great Zeus of Phidias stood. Pausanias -speaks of him as an artist “who lived in the age -of Phidias, and was the next to him in the art of -making statues.”</p> - -<p>Agoracritos is called by Pausanias “the pupil -and beloved friend of Phidias,” and it is most -probable that he worked with him on the Athena -and the Zeus. His most famous statue was the -Nemesis at Rhamnus, which, as we have seen, is -attributed to Phidias by Pausanias, but which -clearly belongs to Agoracritos. The statue of the -Mother of the Gods, which Arrian and Pausanias -give to Phidias, was also made by him, according -to Pliny.</p> - -<p>Kolotes, who was also a pupil and assistant of -Phidias at one time, was a sculptor in marble as -well as a celebrated artist in ivory and gold. -Among other works, he probably made a statue -in gold and ivory of Athena at Elis, which Pausanias -attributes to Phidias, but which Pliny -asserts to be by Kolotes. There is no dispute that -he made the statue of Asclepius in gold and -ivory, which is much praised by Strabo; and he -is said by Pliny to have assisted Phidias in the -Zeus, and to have executed the interior of the -shield of the Athena at Elis, which was painted -by Panæus.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92">92</a></span> -Pæonios, a Thracian by birth, was a celebrated -sculptor in marble as well as bronze; and, -among other things, he executed the figures in the -front tympanum of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia. -In character and composition these figures -resemble those of the Parthenon, and they are executed -in the same spirit. A fragment from the -Temple of Zeus may be seen in the Louvre, standing -beside a fragment of one of the metopes of the -Parthenon. The fragment from the Temple of -Zeus represents Heracles with the Bull. It is -fuller and larger in style than the fragment from -the Parthenon, which, seen beside it, looks stiff and -meagre in character, and the body of the Centaur -in the one is decidedly inferior to the body of the -Bull in the other. This is probably a portion of -the work of Pæonios.</p> - -<p>Praxias and Androsthenes, too, worked in marble -in the same style, and the figures in the tympana -of the Delphic temple were executed by them. -The metopes also, of which five are alluded to -in the Chorus of Euripides, were probably their -work.</p> - -<p>Theocosmos, too, a contemporary of Phidias, -worked with him, according to Pausanias, on the -Zeus at Megara, which was afterwards left unfinished, -on account of the Peloponnesian war: -only the head was of ivory and gold, the rest of -the body being of plastic clay and wood.</p> - -<p>But perhaps the most distinguished of all was Kalamis, -who, though probably a little younger than<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93">93</a></span> -Phidias, was certainly a contemporary. Among -other works, he executed in bronze an Apollo Alexicacos; -a chariot in honor of Hiero’s Victory at -Olympia; a marble Apollo in the Servilian Gardens -in Rome; another bronze Apollo thirty cubits -high, which Lucullus carried to Rome from Apollonia; -a beardless Asclepius in gold and ivory; -a Nike; Zeus Ammon; Dionysos; Aphrodite; -Alcmena; and the famous Sosandra, so praised -by Lucian. But what in this connection is peculiarly -to be noticed is, that, besides being renowned -for his statues of gods and mortals, he -was celebrated for his skill in the representation -of animals; and the excellence of his horses is -specially spoken of by Ovid, Cicero, Pausanias, -Propertius, and Pliny. It would therefore, in -this view, seem much more probable that he may -have designed the Panathenaic frieze than that it -was designed by Phidias, who, as far as we know, -had no particular talent for horses or animals. -There is no indication, however, that either of -them had anything to do with it.</p> - -<p>It is useless to proceed further in this direction. -Here were men, specially marble workers, who were -amply able to execute all the marble figures of the -Parthenon, without recourse to Phidias; and as -there is no indication that he ever anywhere executed -similar works for any temple, while at least -Alcamenes and Pæonios are known to have made -the works corresponding to these in the Temple of -Zeus, there would seem to be far more reason to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94">94</a></span> -attribute these figures to them than to Phidias, -who, at the time when they were made, was too -much occupied with his other work to have been -able to execute them himself.</p> - -<p>In the absence, then, of all clear indications as -to the artist who made the marble sculptures of -the Parthenon, it would seem more probable that -they were executed by various hands, and in like -manner as those of the Erechtheum, built in the -93d Olympiad, about twenty-eight years after the -building of the Parthenon. Fortunately, from the -discovery of certain fragments on which the accounts -of the building of the Erechtheum were -inscribed at the time, we are enabled to say how -these reliefs were made. Portions were set off to -different artists, each of whom executed his part, -as described in these fragments. The names of -the artists were Agathenor, Iasos, Phyromachos, -Praxias, and Loclos. The inscription begins thus—I -give only a fragment of it—<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Τὸν παῖδα τὸν τὸ -δόρυ ἔχοντα [Δ</span> Δ. Φυρόμαχος Κηφισιεὺς τὸν νεανίσκον -τὸν παρὰ τὸν θώρακα ΓΔ. Πραχσίας ἐμ Μελίτῃ οἱκῶν τὸν -ἵππον καὶ τὸν ὀπισθοφανῆ τὸν παρακρούοντα ΗΔΔ]; and -so on. The sign <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ΓΔ</span> occurs four times in the inscription. -Three times the work is by Phyromachos, -and belongs apparently to the same group.<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">5</a></p> - -<p>Here we have names of artists who are unknown -to us, unless the Phyromachos named here is the -same who, according to Pliny, made Alcibiades in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95">95</a></span> -a chariot with four horses. And as for Praxias, -he cannot be the well-known Praxias, since he in -all probability died before the 92d Olympiad. -If, then, these sculptures were intrusted to artists -whose very names have not come down to us, -is it not probable that the decorative sculptures -of the Parthenon would have been confided to -artists of the same class? In such case it would -seem most natural that no mention would be made -of them, more than of the artists who worked on -the Erechtheum, since they were persons of no -peculiar note and fame; while in the Temple of -Zeus, inasmuch as artists of distinction worked, -their names are given. Why tell us that Alcamenes -and Pæonios made the groups in the tympana -at Olympia, and omit to say anything about -similar works in the Parthenon, if they were executed -by Phidias or any other artist of great distinction?</p> - -<p>Here, too, we see that different portions of the -same work were assigned to different artists, each -working out his subjects separately, though all -working in agreement, to develop a certain story or -series of stories. Such a practice would account -for all sorts of varieties of design and execution, -and would explain the differences to be observed -between the various portions of the sculptures of -the Parthenon.</p> - -<p>A careful examination of the frieze alone shows -that it must have been executed by various artists, -so distinct are the different parts as well in execution -as in design.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96">96</a></span> -The notion commonly entertained, that Phidias -was considered in his age to be vastly superior to -all contemporary sculptors, will scarcely bear examination. -He undoubtedly surpassed them all in -his colossal chryselephantine statues of divinities; -though even in this branch of art there was a -difference of opinion, and one other artist at least, -Polyclitus, was held, in his statue of Hera, to -have stood abreast of him. Strabo declares that -it excelled in beauty all the works of Phidias. But -in other branches of the art the superiority of -Phidias was not admitted; and he was, if report -be true, repeatedly adjudged a second place in his -competitions with his rivals. Alcamenes, Polyclitus, -Kalamis, and Ctesilaus were his superiors -in their marble statues and representations of mortals, -and we hear of no work of his in marble to -compete with theirs. Lucian, for instance, in his -Dialogue on Statues, praises equally the Venus of -Praxiteles, the Sosandra of Kalamis, the Aphrodite -of the Gardens by Alcamenes, and the -Athena Lemnia and Amazon of Phidias; and out -of the special beauties of each he reconstructs an -ideal image of the most beautiful woman. From -the Cnidian Aphrodite of Praxiteles he takes the -head, having no need of the rest of the body -(he says), as the figure is not to be nude; and from -this head he selects the outlines of the hair, or rather -the outline of the forehead where it joins the hair, -the forehead, the delicately penciled eyebrows, and -the liquid and radiant charm of the eyes. From<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97">97</a></span> -the Aphrodite of Alcamenes he takes the cheeks -and the lower part of the face, and especially the -base of the hands, the beautifully proportioned -wrists, and the flexile taper fingers. From Phidias -he takes the total contour of the face, the softness -of the jaw, and the symmetrical nose of the -Athena, and the lips and the neck of the Amazon. -From the Sosandra of Kalamis he takes her modest -grace and her delicate subtle smile, her chastely -arranged dress and her easy bearing. Her age and -stature, he says, shall be that of the Cnidian Aphrodite, -for this is most beautiful in Praxiteles. For -her other qualities he draws upon the painters. -This opinion of Lucian is particularly interesting -and valuable, from the fact that he had studied -and practiced the art of sculpture under his uncle, -who was a sculptor, and his judgment is therefore -of far more value than that of an ordinary connoisseur.</p> - -<p>Pliny also relates a story which has a bearing in -this connection, of a competition between various -celebrated artists, who were contemporaries at this -period. The subject was an Amazon. The artists -themselves were to be the judges; and it was -agreed that the statue should be held to be best -which each artist ranked second to his own. The -result was that the first prize was adjudged to -Polyclitus, the second to Phidias, the third to -Ctesilaus, the fourth to Cydon, and the fifth to -Phradmon. We may reject the story as a fact, -but its very existence proves that the fame of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98">98</a></span> -Phidias, great as it was, did not so entirely eclipse -that of other artists of his time as we generally -suppose. Who of us now would think that Phradmon -and Cydon, for example, stood on a level to -contend with him, with any chance of other than -a disastrous defeat? But it is plain that the ancients -did not think so, or this story would not -have been invented.</p> - -<p>We now come to the question whether Phidias -ever worked at all in marble. His renown undoubtedly -rested upon his magnificent statues in -ivory and gold, and especially upon his Zeus and -Athena of the Parthenon, which towered above -all his other works. So wonderful was the Zeus, -that it was said to have strengthened religion in -Greece; and the Athena of the Parthenon was -held to be the glory of Athens. The poets and -writers celebrate Phidias always as specially the -creator of these great chryselephantine works; -and though they praise the beauty of his bronze -works, and especially of the Athena Lemnia, it is -plain that these held a secondary place in public -estimation, or at all events did not stand alone and -apart as the others did. Thus Propertius says, -characterizing the <span class="locked">sculptors:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="la" lang="la"> -<span class="iq">“Phidiacus signo se Juppiter ornat eburno;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Praxitelem propria vindicat arte Lapis;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gloria Lysippi est animosa effingere signa;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Exactis Calamis se mihi jactat equis.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">So Quinctilian says of him: “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Phidias tamen diis -quam hominibus efficiendis melior artifex traditur—in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99">99</a></span> -ebore vero longe citra æmulum, vel si nihil -nisi Minervam Athenis aut Olympium in Elide -Jovem fecisset</span>” (lib. xii. ch. 10). But no writer -anywhere near this period—even within five centuries -of it—ever mentions a marble figure by -Phidias, or celebrates him in any way as a sculptor -in this material.</p> - -<p>In the evidence given before a committee of the -House of Commons upon the Elgin collection of -marbles, previous to the purchase of them by the -nation, Richard Payne Knight and William Wilkins -gave it as their opinion that these works were -not by Phidias, and that he was not a worker in -marble. This statement has been rejected by the -author of the work on the Elgin and Phigaleian -Marbles, in the Library of Entertaining Knowledge, -as entirely without foundation. In this conclusion -it must be admitted that he follows the -opinion generally entertained at the present day, -and repeated by nearly every modern writer. Visconti, -to whom he refers as refuting satisfactorily -the notion of Knight and Wilkins, thus argues the -question: “If it were imagined that Phidias devoted -himself to the toreutic art, and that he employed -in his works only ivory and metals, this -opinion would be confuted by Aristotle, who distinguishes -this great artist by the appellation of -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">σοφὸς λιθουργός</span>—a skillful sculptor in marble—in -opposition to Polyclitus, whom he styles simply a -statuary, <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀνδριαντοποιός</span>, since the latter scarcely -ever employed his talents except in bronze. In<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100">100</a></span> -fact, several marble statues of Phidias were known -to Pliny, who might even have seen some of them -at Rome, since they had been removed to this city; -and the most famous work of Alcamenes, the -Venus of the Gardens, had only, as it was said, -acquired so high a degree of perfection because -Phidias, his master, had himself taken pleasure in -finishing with his own hand his beautiful statue -in marble.”</p> - -<p>An examination into these statements will show, -not only that not one of them is well founded, but -that the authorities on which they profess to stand -will not at all sustain them. Visconti’s mind is -in a nebulous state as to the whole question, and -he confounds things which have no relation to each -other. The first mistake he makes is in confusing -the toreutic art with the art of making statues in -ivory and gold. I am aware that M. Quatremere -de Quincy, in his treatise on chryselephantine statues, -constantly uses these two terms as equivalent; -but in so doing he is admitted by all persons who -have critically studied the matter to be entirely -incorrect. The toreutic art was the art of the engraver, -the chaser, the damascener, the embosser. -It might be employed, and undoubtedly was employed, -by Phidias in decorating part of his statue, -as it might be applied to a bronze statue, or to any -metal surface or slab; but it was not the art of -making statues in any material. Visconti’s next -proposition is, that by the term <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">σοφὸς λιθουργός</span> Aristotle -meant to indicate a worker in marble as distinguished<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101">101</a></span> -from an <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀνδριαντοποιός</span>, who was a statuary -in bronze, and to show that Phidias worked in -marble, while Polyclitus worked only or chiefly in -bronze. Neither of these statements can be supported; -and it is impossible that Aristotle could -have meant to make them. In the first place, <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λιθουργός</span> -does not mean a worker in marble; <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λιθουργική</span> -and <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λιθοτριβική</span> were specially the art of cutting -and polishing gems and precious stones; and -a <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λιθουργός</span> was a lapidary in relief or intaglio,<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">6</a> not -a sculptor of marble statues. Again, <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀνδριαντοποιός</span> -does not mean a sculptor in bronze as distinguished -from a sculptor in marble, but merely a maker of -statues, of athletes or heroes, in any material, -whether in wood, bronze, marble, gold, or ivory.</p> - -<p>Now, when we remember that Phidias was celebrated -not only for his colossal works, but also for -his skill as an engraver, embosser, and damascener—in -a word, for his skill in the toreutic art, which -Pliny tells us was developed by him and perfected -by Polyclitus, as well as for his minutely elaborated -representations of flies, cicadæ, fishes, and -bees—the meaning of Aristotle in applying to -him the title of <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λιθουργός</span> is clear. He was a -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λιθουργός</span> in the exact meaning of that term, and a -very skillful one. Aristotle is equally correct in -applying the term <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀνδριαντοποιός</span>, maker of athletes -and heroes, to Polyclitus; for that great artist -had won the highest fame of his age for statues of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102">102</a></span> -this kind, and established the laws of proportion -in his Diadumenos and Doryphoros. If, however, -as Visconti imagines, Aristotle meant to indicate -that Phidias was a worker in marble, while Polyclitus -was not, he is clearly wrong; for we know -that Polyclitus executed various and celebrated -statues in marble, whereas, as we shall see, we have -no clear proof that Phidias ever did. Still further, -if Aristotle intended to distinguish Phidias -from Polyclitus by saying that the one was a skillful -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λιθουργός</span>, and the other was not, he is again -quite wrong, whether he meant by that term to -indicate a toreutic artist or, as Visconti thinks, -a marble worker; for Polyclitus was even more -skilled than Phidias in both these arts. Again, -if he meant to distinguish the one artist from the -other as a maker of <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀγάλματα</span>, or statues of divinities, -he is wrong; for the chryselephantine Hera -of Polyclitus rivaled the Athena of Phidias. The -plain fact is that Aristotle did not mean to distinguish -one of these great artists from the other -in any such way. He is perfectly right in the -terms he applies to each; but he did not say, nor -could he have intended to say, that one was a -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">σοφὸς λιθουργός</span> or an <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀνδριαντοποιός</span>, and the other -was not—since, as we know, both of them were -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λιθουργοί</span> and <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀνδριαντοποιοί</span>, and he must have known -it.</p> - -<p>Stress has also been laid by some writers on the -fact that Phidias is called a <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">γλυφεύς</span> by Dionysius -of Halicarnassus, and that Tzetzes speaks of him<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103">103</a></span> -as <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀνδριάντας χαλκουργῶν καὶ γλύφων τε καὶ ξέων</span>, and -that Hesychius uses the phrase <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Φειδίαι λιθοξόοι</span>. -These phrases, even were they inconsistent with -the view here taken, would be of very little consequence -if standing by themselves, as the earliest of -these writers flourished some six hundred years, -and the latest some nine hundred years, after -Phidias; but taken in connection with the words -of Aristotle, they may perhaps have some little -weight. What is a <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">γλυφεύς</span>, then? Why, simply -an engraver and a chiseler. And what does Tzetzes -mean by <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀνδριάντας χαλκουργῶν καὶ γλύφων τε καὶ -ξέων</span>? Why, that Phidias made statues of heroes -and athletes in brass, and that he was a chiseler -and engraver. The words <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">γλυφή</span> and <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">γλαφή</span> in -Greek, and <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">scalptura</i> and <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">sculptura</i> in Latin, -though originally they signified generically cutting -figures out of every solid material, were afterwards -specifically applied to intagli and camei, -and are the art of the cœlator, or <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">τορευτής</span>, or more -properly, perhaps, restricted to the cutting and -engraving of precious stones.</p> - -<p>The next statement of Visconti is that several -marble statues by Phidias were known to Pliny, -and that the Aphrodite of Alcamenes acquired its -perfection because Phidias himself finished it. -As to the latter branch of this statement nothing -more need be said. It is evidently one of those -idle traditions which are not worth considering. -But let us see what Pliny actually says. In his -account of Phidias he does not even pretend to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104">104</a></span> -state, as an accredited fact, that Phidias ever -worked in marble. In the chapter devoted to -sculptors in marble he says, “<em>It is said</em>, that <em>even</em> -Phidias worked in marble” (<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">et ipsum Phidiam -<em>tradunt</em> scalpsisse marmora</span>) “and that there is a -Venus by him at Rome, in the buildings of Octavia, -of extraordinary beauty; but <em>what is certain -is</em>” (<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">quod certum est</span>) “that he was the -master of Alcamenes, many of whose works are on -the sacred temples, and whose celebrated Venus, -called <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐν κήποις</span>, is outside the walls. Phidias <em>is -said</em>” (<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">dicitur</span>) “to have put the finishing touches -to this.” Pliny, therefore, by no means asserts -that Phidias ever executed anything in marble; he -merely says that there is a rumor or tradition -to that effect; but he absolutely states as an established -fact that Alcamenes was his pupil, and -executed the beautiful statue of Aphrodite; and -he then goes on to say, as another tradition, that -Phidias assisted him in finishing it. Here he -clearly distinguishes between fact and tradition, -and his language shows that he placed no reliance -on the latter. He does not even pretend to have -seen the statue of Venus, supposed to be by Phidias, -in the buildings of Octavia; and it is evident, -from the turn of his sentence, that, gossiping and -credulous as he generally was, he gave no credence -to this rumor.</p> - -<p>The whole argument of Visconti thus falls to -the ground with the facts by which he attempts -to support it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105">105</a></span> -There remain for us to consider the marble -statues ascribed to Phidias by Pausanias, which are -as follows: 1st, The Nemesis at Rhamnus; 2d, -The Hermes at the entrance of the Ismenium at -Thebes; 3d, The Aphrodite Urania at Athens, -near the Ceramicus.</p> - -<p>We have already seen that the Nemesis at -Rhamnus was not the work of Phidias, but of -Agoracritos; that Pausanias disagrees with other -authorities in attributing it to Phidias; and that -the name of Agoracritos was inscribed upon it as -its author. This, therefore, must be rejected.</p> - -<p>In the next place, as to the marble Hermes at -the entrance to the Ismenium. This statue, as we -have seen, was a decorative entrance statue standing -before the temple; and its pendant, Athena, -according to Pausanias, was the work of Scopas, -who died a century later. The one pedestal could -scarcely be left unoccupied for a century, yet this -must have been the case if Pausanias is right; -and for reasons which have already been given, -this statue is, to say the least, not without very -grave doubts. No other author speaks of it, and -it rests solely on the authority of Pausanias, who -lived more than six centuries after Phidias.</p> - -<p>There remains, then, the Aphrodite Urania. -Pausanias is the sole authority for considering this -statue the work of Phidias; and as, being in marble, -it would be the only one ascribed to him upon -which there are not either the gravest doubts as -to his authorship or the clearest indications that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106">106</a></span> -he was not the author, we should accept it with -caution. Can we trust Pausanias? He certainly -does not agree with other writers as to the authorship -of various statues. The statue of Athena at -Elis, attributed by him to Phidias, Pliny says is -by Kolotes. The Mother of the Gods, said by -him to be a work of Phidias, is, according to -Pliny, the work of Agoracritos. The Æsculapius -at Epidaurus, given by him to Thrasymedes, is -given by Athenagoras to Phidias. In respect of -the Nemesis, he is clearly mistaken. Pausanias -wrote long after Pliny, when facts were still -more obscured by time. Tradition changes names; -transmutes facts, and tends always to give great -names to nameless works. He was a traveler in -Greece in the age of Marcus Aurelius, when the -arts, even in Rome, were in their decline; and -he only reports what he sees and hears. He does -not pretend to be a critic or a connoisseur in art. -He was not one; and his accounts of the great -statues in Greece are singularly dry and meagre. -He would naturally be told who was the author of -this, that, and the other statue that he saw; and -he seems to have taken common report without a -question, just as a traveler in Rome without particular -knowledge or interest in art would accept -the authorship of the Colossi in the Quirinal, and -without hesitation follow the tradition and ascribe -them in his book to Phidias and Praxiteles. If -he were always accurate in these matters, or if he -had ever shown any critical doubts about the authorship<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107">107</a></span> -of any work, a statement by him on such -a subject would be entitled to more consideration; -but as it is, in view of the facts that no other -author before him has ascribed the Aphrodite -Urania to Phidias, and that if it be by him it is -his only marble work of which we have any clear -testimony, little faith can be placed in the statement -by Pausanias. Add to this that no contemporary -of Phidias, and no writer anywhere near -his age, has ever spoken of any marble work of his, -and I think we must reject this statue as we have -rejected the others.</p> - -<p>In estimating the value of any such statements -as to the authorship of statues, we must keep in -mind the fact that it was not only not the custom -for the ancient Greek sculptors to inscribe their -names on their own statues, but it was not ordinarily -permitted to them to do so on any public -work; and undoubtedly it was for this reason that -Phidias himself made his own likeness as well as -the portrait of Pericles on the shield of the -Athena, to indicate that the work was done by -him while Pericles had the administration of affairs -at Athens. In the same way Batrachus and -Saurus, two Lacedæmonian artists who built the -temples inclosed in the Portico of Octavia, being -prohibited from inscribing their names on the walls, -adopted the device of sculpturing on the spirals of -the columns a lizard and a frog, which their names -signified,—thus punning in marble, to perpetuate -their names as architects of the temples. So<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108">108</a></span> -also Myron is said to have inscribed his name on -the thigh of his Discobolos in such minute characters -as to be visible only on the closest inspection. -In the case of some of the great statues, the -names of the authors were exceptionally allowed -to be inscribed after their deaths; and this was -probably the case with the Zeus of Phidias. Ordinarily -no such practice was permitted. Such -being the case, the authorship of Greek statues -at the time of Pausanias would rest entirely upon -tradition—and tradition is little to be trusted.</p> - -<p>Besides, what adds to the difficulty is that it was -the custom in later times to put the names of -ancient sculptors on works not made by them, to -give them a higher value; it is of this practice -that Phædrus speaks in one of his <span class="locked">Fables:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="la" lang="la"> -<span class="iq">“Æsopi nomen sicubi interposuero<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cui reddidi jampridem quidquid debui<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Auctoritatis esse scito gratia;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ut quidem artifices nostro faciunt sæculo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qui pretium operibus majus inveniunt, novo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Si marmore adscripsere Praxitelem suo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trito Myronem argento.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Of the statues which now exist, there are only -some thirty on which names are inscribed, and -these are certainly for the most part, if not entirely, -apocryphal. The name of Phidias, together with -that of Ammonius, for instance, appears on a monkey -in basalt in the Capitol at Rome; that of -Praxiteles on a draped figure in the Louvre; and -that of Lysippus on a marble Hercules in the Pitti -Gallery at Florence—not one of which is of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109">109</a></span> -least value as a work of art. So, on the torso of -the Belvidere is the name of Apollonius; on the -Farnese Hercules that of Glycon; on the Gladiator -of the Louvre that of Agasias the Ephesian, -son of Dositheos—though these names are not -mentioned by any writers of antiquity. No authority -can be granted to these inscriptions, and possibly -the very fact that these names are on the statues -is an indication that they are copies; all have -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐποίει</span>. D’Hancarville and Dallaway make a distinction -between <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐποίει</span> and <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐποίησεν</span>,—the former, according -to them, signifying a copy, and the latter -an original work. On the Nemesis at Rhamnus -was the inscription, <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ΑΓΟΡΑΚΡΙΤΟΣ ΠΑΡΙΟΣ -ΕΠΟΙΗΣΕΝ</span>; and this would seem to confirm their -notion. On the Zeus of Phidias, also, was the inscription, -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ΦΕΙΔΙΑΣ ΧΑΡΜΙΔΟΥ ΥΙΟΣ ΑΘΗΝΑΙΟΣ -Μ’ ΕΠΟΙΗΣΕΝ</span>.</p> - -<p>I do not recall, however, a single statue which -has come down to us on which the word <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐποίησεν</span> occurs, -except an interesting and coarsely executed -relief in the British Museum, representing the deification -of Homer. Where there is any inscription -it is <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐποίει</span>; but it is an exceedingly rare -exception that any ancient statue has a name inscribed -on it. Almost all, if not all, the statues -having names of the artists are of a late date, and -probably most of them as late as the time of Hadrian. -It was he who revived the art of sculpture; -and during his reign a great number of copies, -more or less good, were made of the famous statues<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110">110</a></span> -of antiquity; but unfortunately there has not -come down to us a single accredited statue by any -of the great sculptors of antiquity.</p> - -<p>There are only two other authorities, so far as I -am aware, who mention or make any allusion to -marble work by Phidias; these must be considered. -Seneca, nearly five hundred years after the -death of Phidias, says of him, “Not only did Phidias -know how to make a statue in ivory, but he -also made them in bronze.” Thus far he speaks -absolutely; he then continues hypothetically, “If -you had given him marble, or even a viler material, -he would have made the best thing out of it that -could be made.”<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">7</a> This is considered by the author -of the work on the Elgin and Phigaleian Marbles -an important statement in confirmation of -Pliny. In reality it contains nothing but a simple -hypothetical expression of belief that if you had -given Phidias a piece of marble he would have made -something excellent out of it. Does any one doubt -this? Seneca states as a fact only that Phidias -really <em>did</em> work in ivory and bronze; and it is -plain that he knew no work of Phidias in marble, -or he never would have expressed a purely hypothetical -opinion on such a matter.</p> - -<p>The other authority which has been evoked in -favor of the theory that Phidias worked in marble -is that of Valerius Maximus, who states that there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111">111</a></span> -existed a tradition that he desired to execute the -Athena of the Parthenon in marble, but that the -Athenians would not permit him to do so: “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Iidem -Phidiam <em>tulerunt</em> quamdiu is marmore potius quam -ebore Minervam fieri debere dicebat, quod diutius -nitor esset mansurus; sed ut adjecit et vilius tacere -jusserunt.</span>” (Lib. i. c. i., Externa 7.)</p> - -<p>There is no authority for this tradition. It -comes up five hundred years after the death of -Phidias, and is manifestly absurd. Phidias had -identified himself and his fame with his great -chryselephantine and bronze works. He knew too -well his own power, and his mastery over these -arts, to wish to make the Athena in any other -material than that in which it was made. But -suppose he did so advise the Athenians, his advice -was not accepted. The statue was not made -of marble. Perhaps also he proposed to them to -give it to Alcamenes, Agoracritos, or Polyclitus. -What sort of value can be given to a statement -like this appearing suddenly and solely in one -writer five hundred years after the Athena was -made? If we are to accept such traditions as -this, we may as well “gape and swallow” any -<em>gobemouche</em>. Let us have at once a life of Shakespeare -written in Leipzig, or any other foreign -country at least as far away as that.</p> - -<p>This is all the testimony we have as to any work -by Phidias in marble. Has it any real weight? -But grant all these statements, vague and visionary -as they are, to their fullest extent, what do they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112">112</a></span> -prove? Not that Phidias was especially a marble-worker, -but only that he made, exceptionally, one -or two statues in marble, and was supposed by -some writers five hundred years after his death, -to have had a connection with two more, though -other testimony, and the facts and dates, clearly -show that he could not have made them, or at -least throw the very gravest doubts upon his having -done so. In this way, we might assert that -Raffaelle was a sculptor, because he is supposed to -have made, or helped to make, the statue of Jonah -in the Santa Maria del Popolo at Rome. But to -jump from such shaky facts to the statement and -belief that Phidias was the author, or at all events -the designer, of all the marble figures in the pediment, -theme topes, and the frieze of the Parthenon, -is truly “a long cry.” Where is the ground on -which such a belief can be founded? There is -not a statement or even an allusion by any ancient -writer to justify it. The testimony of Plutarch, -so far as it goes, is directly opposed to it, and all -the known facts are in contradiction of it.</p> - -<p>Plutarch says that Phidias was appointed general -superintendent of public works; that he made the -statue of Athena in the Parthenon; and that, -through the friendship of Pericles, he had the direction -of everything, and all the artists received his -orders. But he contradicts this immediately, if he is -understood to mean anything more than that Phidias -generally ordered who should be employed to do -this or that work; for he distinctly says that Ictinus<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113">113</a></span> -and Callicrates made the Parthenon,—and -we know that Ictinus and Carpion wrote a book -upon it. If Phidias designed or executed anything -else than the Athena, why does not Plutarch -say so, when he takes pains to tell us he made the -Athena? The mention of the one excludes the -other. If Ictinus and Callicrates made the building, -why may they not have made all the rest of the -work? Were they not able to do it? There is no -reason to doubt their ability to design and execute -all the decorative figures belonging to the temple -they built. To Ictinus was intrusted the building -of the Temple of Apollo at Phigaleia, in the -sculptures of which there is shown remarkable -ability; and he also built the Temple of the Eleusinian -Ceres, and its mystic inclosure or Secos. If -Ictinus and Callicrates, or Carpion, did not execute -these marbles of the Parthenon, why may they -not have intrusted them to some of the numerous -artists with whom Athens swarmed at that -time? Libon the architect built the temple of -Zeus in which the Zeus of Phidias stood, and its -pediment figures were sculptured by Alcamenes -and Pæonios. Is there any reason to reject such -a theory? However, as to this we are entirely in -the dark; all our suppositions are purely speculative. -Nothing seems clear, except that the figures -were not made by Phidias.</p> - -<p>Why did not Plutarch tell us who were the -sculptors of the marbles in the Parthenon? Probably -for the very simple reason that he did not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114">114</a></span> -know. He wrote many centuries after Phidias -was dead (about <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 66), and tradition may not -have brought down the names of any who were -concerned in the building of the Parthenon, save -those of the architects and of Phidias. He did not -attempt to supply the hiatus—being, to use his -own words, convinced “of the difficulty of arriving -at any truth in history: since if the writers live -after the events they relate, they can but be imperfectly -informed of facts; and if they describe -the persons and transactions of their own times, -they are tempted by envy and hatred, or by interest -and friendship, to vitiate and pervert the -truth.”</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115">115</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="ch3"></a>THE ART OF CASTING IN PLASTER AMONG THE ANCIENT GREEKS AND ROMANS.</h2> - -<h3>I.</h3> - -<p>The question whether the art of making moulds -and casts in plaster was known to the ancient -Greeks and Romans was discussed some years ago -by Mr. Charles C. Perkins, in an interesting pamphlet -entitled “Du Moulage en Plâtre chez les -Anciens,”<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">8</a> in which he collected various passages -from ancient writers bearing more or less on this -subject, and endeavored by their authority to establish -the fact that this process was known and -practiced at a comparatively early period in the -history of art. After a careful examination of -all his citations and arguments, as well as other -authorities which he does not cite, we feel compelled -to dissent entirely from his conclusions. -We do not think he has made out his case. The -question is an interesting one, however, from an -archæological point of view at least, and well deserves -consideration.</p> - -<p>The only passage among the writings of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116">116</a></span> -ancients which at first sight would seem directly -to affirm that the process of casting in plaster -from life, from clay models, or from statues in the -round, in the modern meaning of that phrase, was -known to the Greeks and Romans occurs in the -“Natural History” of Pliny, and is as <span class="locked">follows:—</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Hominis autem imaginem gypso e facie ipsa primus -omnium expressit, ceraque in eam formam gypsi infusa -emendare instituit Lysistratus Sicyonis, frater Lysippi, -de quo diximus. Hic et similitudinem reddere instituit, -ante eum quam pulcherrimum facere studebant. Idem -et de signis effigiem exprimere invenit, crevitque res in -tantum, ut nulla signa statuæve sine argilla fierent. Quo -apparet antiquiorem hanc fuisse scientiam quam fundendi -æris. Plastæ laudatissimi fuere Damophilus et Gorgasus -idemque pictores qui Cereris ædem Romæ ad Circum -Maximum utroque genere artis suæ excoluerunt.</span>”<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">9</a></p></blockquote> - -<p>Mr. Perkins, following in substance other translators, -thus freely translates and develops this -<span class="locked">passage:—</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Lysistrate de Sicyone fut le premier à prendre en -plâtre des moules de la figure humaine. Dans ces -moules il coulait de la cire, puis il corrigeait ces masques -de cire d’après la nature. De la sorte, il atteignit -la ressemblance, tandis qu’avant lui on ne s’appliquait -qu’à faire de belles têtes. Lysistrate imagina aussi de -reproduire l’image des statues, procédé qui obtint une -telle vogue, que depuis lors ni figure ni statue ne fut -faite sans argile, et l’on soit en conclure que ce procédé -est antérieur à la fonte du bronze.</span>”</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117">117</a></span> -If this translation be correct, there seems to be -no doubt either that Pliny was mistaken, or that -the ancients knew and practiced the modern art -of casting in plaster.</p> - -<p>Is, then, this translation correct? It seems to -us to be an utter misapprehension of the whole -meaning of the passage. Pliny says nothing about -moulding or casting, and thus to translate and -amplify the words he does use is to assume the -very facts in question. What he really says is literally -as <span class="locked">follows:—</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Lysistratus of Sicyon, brother of Lysippus, of whom -we have spoken, first of all expressed the image of a -man in gypsum from the whole person [that is, made -full-length portraits], and improved it with wax [or -color, for, as we shall see, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</i> means both] spread over -the form. He first began to make likenesses, whereas -before him the study was to make persons as beautiful -as possible. He also invented expressing effigies from -statues; and this practice so grew that no statues or -signa [which were full-length figures either painted, -modeled, cast in bronze, or executed in marble] were -made without white clay. From which it would seem -that this science [or process] was older than that of casting -in bronze. The most famous modelers were Damophilus -and Gorgasus, who were also painters, and who -decorated the temple of Ceres at Rome with both -branches of their art.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>The first sentence, thus literally rendered, it -will be perceived, has in many respects the same -ambiguity in English as in Latin. The words<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118">118</a></span> -“image,” “expression,” and “form” have all a -double signification, and the question is what is -their true meaning in this connection.</p> - -<p>If it can be shown that this passage neither -describes nor proposes to describe the process of -casting in plaster, as we understand that phrase, -the keystone of the whole argument that it was -known to the ancients falls out. No other writer -directly asserts that such a knowledge or practice -existed, and all allusions to this matter contained -in any ancient author are purely collateral, and -have no force in themselves. Further, some well-known -facts which we shall have occasion to bring -forward later are entirely opposed to the probability -of such a knowledge and practice.</p> - -<p>It is upon this passage in Pliny, then, that the -whole case depends. Now, in a doubtful and obscure -question like this, dependent upon the statement -of any single author, we have a right to -claim three things: first, that the statement should -be clear and fairly susceptible of only one explanation; -second, that it should not be contradicted -by a subsequent statement immediately following; -third, that the author himself should be trustworthy.</p> - -<p>And in the first place, as to the author. The -“Natural History” of Pliny is certainly a most -interesting, amusing, and in many respects valuable -book, but quite as certainly it is one of the -most inaccurate that ever was written, abounding -in half-knowledge, second-hand information, legendary<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119">119</a></span> -statements, and rubbish of every kind. It -is, in a word, the commonplace book of an agreeable, -gossiping man, of a wide reading, who took -little pains to be accurate, who reported everything -he heard with slight examination, who was -exceedingly credulous, and who accepted as truth -and fact the most ridiculous stories. All is fish -that comes to his net. In his chapters relating -to artists and art he is singularly devoid of judgment -or accurate knowledge; he constantly confuses -things which have no relation to each other, -often contradicts himself, and becomes at times -utterly unintelligible. Yet we are forced to turn -to Pliny, to give a weight and authority to his -words upon art, and to own a deep debt of gratitude -to him, not because he is trustworthy, but -simply because he alone of all the ancient authors, -with the exception of Pausanias, has given -us a detailed account of the statues and artists -of antiquity. His account of the ancient artists -and their works is the fullest we have, and adrift -as we often are on a wide sea of conjecture, we -are glad to seize upon any straws and fragments, -“rari nantes in gurgite vasto” of blankness -and doubt; seizing here a bit from Pausanias, -Herodotus, or Lucian, there a waif from -Cicero, or a floating fragment from one of the -great tragic poets, and glad enough to get upon -any such raft as that which Pliny gives us, however -leaky and rickety. But seaworthy or trustworthy -in emergencies Pliny certainly is not.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120">120</a></span> -In the next place, as to the passage under discussion. -So far from its being clear and distinct, -its obscurity, confusion, and apparent contradiction -are so great as to have baffled every effort to -explain it satisfactorily; and Dr. Brunn, one of -the most accomplished of archæologists, in his -history of Greek art, finding it impossible to reconcile -the different sentences, does not hesitate to -treat a portion as an interpolation, or at least out -of place where it appears.</p> - -<p>Two views are to be taken of the process described -by Pliny: first, that by the term “cera” -he means wax; and second, that he means color. -Taking the first view, let us now consider the passage -in question, sentence by sentence, and endeavor -to unravel its real meaning. Lysistratus, -first of all, made likenesses of men in gypsum from -their whole figure (that is, whole-length portraits), -and improved them with wax (or color) spread -over the form (core or model) of gypsum. “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Imaginem -gypso e facie ipsa expressit</span>” are the words -of Pliny which Mr. Perkins in common with other -translators supposes to mean “made moulds in -plaster from the face,”—“prendre en plâtre des -moules.” But this simple phrase cannot be -twisted into such a meaning. “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Exprimere</span>,” according -to Forcellinus, is “effingere, rappresentare, -assomigliare, <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">ritrarre dal vivo</i>.” “Exprimere” -alone would be, therefore, according to this last -definition, to make a portrait from life. The additional -words, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem e facie ipsa</span>,” make<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121">121</a></span> -this meaning still stronger. “Imaginem” means -a full-length figure or likeness, and not a mould, -as would be required by Mr. Perkins’s translation. -“Exprimere imaginem” cannot be forced to mean -“made a mould,” whether in gypsum or in any -other material. Suppose we translate the words -literally, “to express an image in plaster,” and interpret -“image” to mean mould, it is plain that -the phrase is wrong; it should be <em>impress</em> and not -<em>express</em>. You cannot express a mould. It is impressed -on the face. In like manner when Plautus -says “expressa imago in cera,” or “expressa -simulacra ex auro,” he means making a portrait in -color or in gold. Again, “facies” does not mean -face, but the total outward shape, appearance, or -figure of a man. “Vultus” is the proper term -for face, and is so used by Pliny himself; as when -he speaks, for instance, of the portraits of the -head of Epicurus as “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">vultus Epicur</span>i,” and distinguishes -them from the full-length figures of -athletes, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imagines athletarum</span>,” with which the -ancients adorned their palæstra and anointing-rooms. -In fact, the whole chapter in which this -passage occurs relates to portraits, and is entitled -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">honos imaginum</span>.” If there could be any question -on this point, it would be settled by a passage -in Aulus Gellius (13, 29), in which he defines -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">facies</span>” as the build of the whole body,—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">facies -est factura quædam totius corporis</span>;” and -Cicero, in his treatise “De Legibus” (1, 9), says, -“That which is called ‘<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">vultus</span>’ exists in no living<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122">122</a></span> -being except man,”—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Is qui appellatur vultus -nullo in animante esse præter hominem potest.</span>”<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">10</a> -So Virgil in “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">vivos ducent de marmore vultus</span>” -means the face. “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Imago</span>,” on the contrary, and -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">facies</span>” mean the whole figure; only “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">facies</span>” -means the real figure, and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imago</span>” the imitation -of it. Pliny himself invariably uses them so, -and in one of his letters (ep. 7, 33, 2) he recommends -that we should be careful to select the best -artist to make a full-length likeness,—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Esse nobis -curæ solet ut facies nostra ab optimo quoque -artifice exprimatur.</span>” By the word “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">exprimatur</span>” -he certainly does not refer to casting. So mechanical -an operation as this surely does not require -the best of artists. “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Imaginem e facie ipsa</span>” -means therefore a full-length likeness.</p> - -<p>Again, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">infundere</span>” does not necessarily mean -pour in, but is quite as often used in the sense of -poured over or spread on; as where Ovid says, -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">infundere ceram tabellis</span>;” or where Virgil says, -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">campi fusi in omnem partem</span>,” or “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">sole infuso -terris</span>;” or again where Ovid uses the phrases -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">collo infusa mariti</span>” or “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">nudos humeris infusa -capillos</span>,” it can only mean spread over. Wax -cannot be poured into a flat surface like a tablet, -or hair poured into shoulders.</p> - -<p>Mr. Perkins, with Forcellinus before his eyes, -after citing his definitions of “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">exprimere</span>” says:<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123">123</a></span> -“<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Explications qui toutes rentrent dans l’idée de -représenter, de reproduire, de prendre sur le vif, -comme on dit en français, et par conséquent dans -l’idée du moulage.</span>” But “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">ritrarre dal vivo</span>” -means nothing more than to make a portrait from -life, whatever “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">prendre sur le vif</span>” may mean; nor -can any one of Forcellinus’s definitions be tortured -into an allusion to casting. “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Mais</span>,” he continues, -“<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">cette idée surtout est accusée dans Tacite, qui dit -en parlant d’un vêtement que dessinait les formes, -un vêtement collant ‘<em>vestis</em> artus exprimens.</span>’” -But surely this phrase means simply a garment -expressing, or as we should say showing, the limbs, -and has nothing more to do with “casting” than -“<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">dessinait les formes</span>” has to do with drawing, -or a “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vêtement collant</span>” has to do with glue. He -also thinks another phrase used by Pliny—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">expressi -cera <em>vultus</em></span>”—has a similar significance. -If all our metaphors are to be subjected to this -strict test, we must be very careful how we speak. -Yet these and similar examples, which he says he -could multiply, “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">peuvent suffire</span>,” he thinks, “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">pour -nous autoriser à croire que Pline a voulu dire que -Lysistrate était l’inventeur de la reproduction des -statues par le plâtre, en d’autres termes qu’il était -le premier qui avait eu l’idée de se servir du gypse -pour mouler</span>.” This, to say the least, is going -very far. With such philologic views, what would -he think of this phrase, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">vera paterni oris effigies</span>,” -or “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">vivos ducent de marmore vultus</span>,” or “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">infans -omnibus membris expressa</span>”? Or, to take an -English line, what would he make <span class="locked">of—</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124">124</a></span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“The express form and image of the King”?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>But if Pliny meant casting, why did he not use -the appropriate Latin word for that process—“fundere”? -In the subsequent sentence, speaking -of casting in brass, he says “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">fundendi æris</span>.” -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Fundere</span>” meant to cast, not “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">exprimere</span>.”</p> - -<p>Besides, let us look at the practical difficulty in -this process. After the moulds were made and -the wax cast into them, as Mr. Perkins interprets -Pliny to mean, we have still only wax impressions, -and not plaster castings. And how were they got -out of the mould after they were cast? We, in -modern times, have learned no method of doing -this; we should be obliged first to make the -mould in plaster, then to make a cast in plaster in -that mould, then on that cast to make a piece-mould -with sections to take apart,—an elaborate -process; and then we could get a wax cast, but -not before. The fact that the cast mentioned by -Pliny (supposing he means a cast) is in wax not -only involves quadruple labor and skill on the -part of the caster, but makes the process impossible, -or next to impossible, if it were simply as he -is supposed to describe it. If the cast were in -plaster, it would resist, so that the mould could be -broken off from it in bits; but with wax this -would be entirely impracticable.</p> - -<p>Let us still further consider the phrase “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">ceraque -in eam formam gypsi infusa emendare instituit</span>.” -What does “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera in eam formam infusa</span>” mean? -Simply to cover or spread wax (or color) over<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125">125</a></span> -that model; just as Ovid says “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">infundere ceram -tabellis</span>,” to spread wax over the tablets, not to -pour wax into the tablets, for that was impossible, -they being flat surfaces, nor to cast them. Again, -Pliny does not say that Lysistratus introduced the -practice of spreading wax over a core, or of pouring -wax into a form, or casting; but only of improving -the likenesses, or working them up in the -wax after it was spread over the plaster: “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">instituit -emendare</span>,” he says, not “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">instituit infundere</span>.” -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Formam</span>” here has not the signification of mould, -but of model or image. Undoubtedly the term -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">forma</span>” in Latin was used to signify a mould as -well as a cast, or a model, or a form; and in this -respect it had the same ambiguity that the corresponding -terms “mould” and “form” have in -English. A “form” is a seat, as well as a shape -and a ceremony, and “mould” is constantly, -though improperly, used to indicate a model or -the thing moulded, as well as the real mould in -which it is cast; the phrases “to model” and “to -mould” are often synonymous in meaning. So -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">forma</span>” was sometimes employed in its primary -significance of figure, shape, and configuration, as -when Quinctilian says, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Eadem cera aliæ atque -aliæ formæ duci solent</span>,”—various shapes may -be given to the same wax; sometimes in the sense -of image, as when Cicero speaks of “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">formæ clarissimorum</span>,” -the images of distinguished men; sometimes -to mean a model or shape over which a thing -is wrought, as a shoemaker’s last,—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Si scalpra<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126">126</a></span> -et formas non sutor emat</span>,” as Horace says; and -sometimes as indicating a hollow mould in which -bronze is cast, as when Pliny says, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ex iis [silicibus] -formæ fiunt, in quibus æra funduntur</span>,”—from -these pebbles moulds are made, in which -brass is cast. But when he uses it in this last -sense, it will be observed, Pliny employs the term -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">fundere</span>,” to cast, and not “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">exprimere</span>,” nor -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">emendare</span>.” In the passage about Lysistratus, -then, “forma” would seem to mean a model, or -core, like the shoemaker’s last, on which the wax -was spread for the purpose of emending or improving -something. What is that something which -Pliny tells us he improved by this means? What -can it be except the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem</span>,” the likeness? -There is no other word to which “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">emendare</span>” can -refer. If, then, we understand the passage as meaning -that Lysistratus modeled a likeness in gypsum, -and then improved it or finished it in wax which -he spread over the gypsum, the statement is quite -intelligible, and not a word is warped from its correct -significance. If we adopt the other interpretation, -however, we must understand “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem -gypso expressit</span>” to mean that he made a mould -in gypsum, contrary to the direct force of the -words; and with wax poured into that mould -(making “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">formam</span>” equivalent to “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem</span>,” -and referring to it) he emended or improved—something. -What? Why, the mould,—which -is absurd. Again, we cannot begin by making -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem</span>” mean the cast, before the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">formam</span>”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127">127</a></span> -or mould is made; not only because the practical -process is thus reversed, but because then we -should have a cast in plaster made by pouring -wax into the mould, which is even more absurd. -Taking “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">forma</span>” to have in this sentence any of -its meanings except “mould,” we have no difficulty -in understanding it; taking it as “mould,” we -are forced to change the primary significance of -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem</span>” and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">expressit</span>,” and are involved in -very serious questions.</p> - -<p>In addition to these considerations, it must not -be forgotten that this cast of gypsum, according to -Mr. Perkins’s interpretation of the sentence, was -made not of the face alone (“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">vultus</span>”) which is -by no means an easy process, but of the whole figure -(“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">facie</span>”), which is a very hazardous one, and -to which, with all the knowledge and experience -of the present day in casting, few people would -be willing to submit.</p> - -<p>A passage of Alcimus Avitus, in his poem “De -Origine Mundi” (lib. 1, 6, 75), throws a clear -light on the process which seems here to be described -as the invention of <span class="locked">Lysistratus:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="la" lang="la"> -<span class="iq">“Hæc ait, et fragilem dignatus tangere terram<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Temperat humentem conspersa pulvere limum<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Molliturque novum dives sapientia corpus<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Non aliter quam opifex diuturno exercitus usu.<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>Flectere laxatas per cuncta sequacia ceras</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>Et vultus complere rudes aut corpora gypso</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>Fingere</em> vel segni speciem componere massa<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sic Pater Omnipotens.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Here we have the body modeled (“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">fingere</span>” is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128">128</a></span> -to model) in gypsum, and the ductile “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>” -spread over all the undulations, and the rude face -finished, just as Pliny describes it.</p> - -<p>Let us now consider the next sentence, in which -he says, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Hic et similitudinem reddere instituit, -ante eum quam pulcherrimum facere studebant</span>.” -This certainly has nothing to do with casting. It -is very important as throwing a reflex light on the -previous sentence. The whole stress of the passage -is to bring out the fact that Lysistratus made -portraits. He used a peculiar process, perhaps, -but his specialty was that he made portraits from -life (“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem hominis e facie ipsa</span>”), which he -worked up in wax (“emendare cera”); and not -only this, but his portraits were exact likenesses -(“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">similitudinem reddere instituit</span>”), and not merely -ideal figures like those of the artists who preceded -him (“ante eum quam pulcherrimum facere studebant”).</p> - -<p>A slight glimpse at the history of the art will -clear up this matter. In the early period of sculpture, -only statues of divinities were made, and up -to a comparatively late time these archaic figures -were copied for religious and superstitious reasons, -and the old formal hieratic type was strictly observed. -It was not until the 58th Olympiad that -iconic statues began to be made in honor of the -victors in the national games, and these for the -greater part were rather portraits of the peculiarities -of general physical developments than of the -face. Portrait statues of distinguished men now<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129">129</a></span> -began to be made, but they were very few in -number, and only exceptionally allowed by the -state. The first iconic statues, representing Harmodius -and Aristogeiton, were made in 509 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> -by Antenor. Phidias followed (480 to 432 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span>), -and during his period the grand style was in its -culmination, and for the most part divinities or -demigods only were thought worthy subjects for -a great sculptor. Iconic statues were, however, -executed during this period, and among the legendary -heroes and divinities who formed the subjects -of the thirteen statues erected at Delphi -and executed by Phidias out of the Persian spoils, -the portrait of Miltiades was allowed,<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">11</a> but the -erection of public portrait statues was very rarely -permitted, and the introduction by Phidias of his -own portrait and that of Pericles among the combatants -wrought upon the shield of his ivory and -gold statue of Athena occasioned a prosecution -against him for impiety. It is said that Phidias, -in his statue of a youth binding his hair with a -fillet, made the portrait of Pantarces, an Elean -who was enamored of the great sculptor, and who -obtained the victory at the Olympian games in the -86th Olympiad (<span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 435). But this story, which -is given by Pausanias, rests, even by his own -account, purely on tradition, and was apparently<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130">130</a></span> -founded upon a supposed resemblance between -Pantarces and the statue. Portraiture in its true -sense, however, now began, and soon after the -death of Phidias, about the 90th Olympiad, Demetrius -obtained celebrity as a portrait sculptor. -He seems to have been the first to introduce the -realistic school of portraiture, copying so carefully -from life, particularly in his likenesses of old -persons, that he was reproved for being too faithful -to Nature. Quinctilian accuses him of being -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">nimius in veritate</span>” (xii. 10); Lucian in his -“Philopseudes” calls him an <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀνθρωποποιός</span>, and, -describing a statue by him of Pelichus the Corinthian, -says it was <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">αὐτῷ ἀνθρώπῳ ὁμοῖον</span>,—like the -very man himself. Callimachus, also, at the same -period obtained the nickname of <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Κατατηξίτεχνος</span>, on -account of the extreme detail and finish of his -works. These artists flourished nearly a century -before Lysistratus; and Pliny therefore is incorrect -in his sweeping statement that before the -time of Lysistratus sculptors had only endeavored to -make their statues as beautiful as possible, and -not to give accurate portraits. Still, these men -must be considered as exceptions to the general -practice, and it was not until the time of Alexander -that portrait-sculpture in the sense of accurate -likeness was developed. Up to that period it still -was heroic, generalized, and ideal in its character, -with comparatively little individuality or detail. -The portrait statues, for instance, of the Royal -Family by Leochares (372 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span>), and that of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131">131</a></span> -Mausolus (about 350 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span>) on the famous Mausoleum -erected by Artemisia, were treated in this -style. Lysippus, however, during the reign of -Alexander of Macedon, by his great talent gave a -new impulse and development to the school of portraiture, -and while retaining the heroic character -he gave a more realistic truth to his works. Pliny -speaks of him as distinguished for the finish of his -work in the remotest details,—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">argutiæ operum -custoditæ in minimis rebus</span>.” In his portraits of -Alexander he represented even the defects of his -royal patron, such as the stoop of his head sideways. -Such was his skill that Alexander declared -“that none but Apelles should represent him in -color, and none but Lysippus in marble.” Lysistratus -was the brother of Lysippus, and Pliny says -that he introduced the practice of making portraits -which were not merely heroic and ideal likenesses, -but faithful representations of the real men. In -attributing to Lysistratus the introduction of this -practice of individual portraiture, Pliny undoubtedly -goes beyond the real facts. He did not -introduce the practice, he merely developed it by -a peculiar process, giving additional verisimilitude -thereby. This process was roughly modeling the -likeness in plaster, and then finishing the surface -and the details in the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>” with which he covered -it.</p> - -<p>In painting, the sphere of portraiture was larger -than in sculpture, and subject apparently to no -such restrictions. The earliest portrait on record<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132">132</a></span> -by any great painter was not of hero, philosopher, -or athlete, but of Elpinice, the daughter of -Miltiades and the mistress of Polygnotus, who -painted her portrait as Laodice, one of the daughters -of Priam, in his famous picture representing -the “Rape of Cassandra,” in the Pœcile at Athens. -This picture was executed about 463 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span>, when -Elpinice must have been at least thirty-five years -of age. Dionysius of Colophon was also a distinguished -portrait-painter and celebrated for his excessive -finish. Nicephorus Chumnus, the grammarian, -describes Apelles and Lysippus as making -and painting <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Ζῶσας εἰκώνας καὶ πνοῆς μόνης καὶ κινήσεως -ἀπολειπόμενας</span>,—being likenesses only wanting -breath and motion. For one of his portraits of -Alexander Apelles received twenty talents of gold -(£5,000), which was measured, not counted, out -to him. He also painted the portraits of Campaspe -and Phryne in the character of Venus, taking -the face from Campaspe and the nude figure -from Phryne. Speaking of Apelles, Pliny himself -relates in his thirty-sixth book that “he painted -portraits so exact to the life that one of those -persons called Metoscopi, who divine events from -the features of men, was enabled, on examining -his portraits, to foretell the hour of the death of -the person represented.” And this monstrous story -Pliny apparently accepts. At all events, he does -not question it. Parrhasius, “the most insolent -and arrogant of artists,” says Pliny, “painted a -portrait of himself and dedicated it in a public<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133">133</a></span> -temple to Mercury; and though the Athenians -had publicly proceeded against Phidias for so -doing, they allowed it to Parrhasius, thus plainly -showing that the dignity of sculpture was higher -than that of painting.”</p> - -<p>But to return from this digression to the consideration -of the passage by Pliny relating to portraiture -in modeling and sculpture. In the sentence -immediately following, Pliny goes on to say, -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Idem et de signis effigiem exprimere invenit, crevitque -res in tantum, ut nulla signa statuæve sine -argilla fierent</span>,”—Lysistratus also made copies -from statues, and this practice came so into vogue -that no statues in brass or marble were made without -white clay. What the meaning of this sentence -is we can only guess; as it stands, it is quite -unintelligible. Perhaps he intended to say that -Lysistratus set the fashion of making small copies -in clay or terra cotta of all the statues that were -executed. But it is quite possible that he meant -nothing of the kind. It is plain that if Lysistratus -had already invented casting in plaster, it would -have been unnecessary to copy statues in clay, except -for the purpose of reduction to statuettes. -Mr. Perkins thinks he may have intended to speak -of “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">esquisses d’argile [maquettes] dont se servent -les sculpteurs comme point de départ, esquisse reproduite -plus tard en marbre et avec la mise aux -points</span>.” But there was nothing new in this; and -surely Lysistratus could not be said to have invented, -or set the fashion of, a process which certainly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134">134</a></span> -had been employed very long before his -time. And again, why make a small statue in clay -and enlarge it proportionally in marble, if you can -make it at once in full size and cast it? Nor does -Mr. Perkins seem to be aware that in adopting -this view, and translating as he does “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">de signis -effigiem exprimere</span>,”—to make a small model or -maquette in clay,—he abandons his explanation -of the sentence referring to gypsum. For if -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigiem argilla exprimere</span>” means, as he says, to -make a model in clay, why does not “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem -gypso exprimere</span>” mean to make a model in plaster? -Besides, the fact that Pliny applies the same -terms to a process in clay as to one in plaster at -once puts an end to the matter so far as the question -of casting goes. Clay is not a material to -cast with, in any proper sense of that term.</p> - -<p>Another objection to this interpretation that -Pliny meant a maquette, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">esquisse</span>,” or sketch is -that “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigies</span>” did not mean sketch. It carried -with it nearly the significance of our own word -effigy,—of great reality of imitation. “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Imago</span>” -was a vaguer word, and might indicate a delusive -resemblance as by painting; but “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigiem</span>” -was ordinarily employed to designate a more absolute -imitation. Thus Cicero says, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Nos vere -juris germanæ justitiæ que solidam et expressam -effigiem nullam tenemus. Umbra et imaginibus -utimur.</span>”<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">12</a> And again, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Consectatur nullam eminentem -effigiem virtutis sed adumbratam imaginem<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135">135</a></span> -gloriæ.</span>” “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Effigies</span>” would, therefore, carry no -such idea as that of sketch.</p> - -<p>Besides, not only is “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigies</span>” not the correct -word for sketch, but Pliny would scarcely have -used it in this sense, when immediately afterwards, -speaking of the sketches of Arcesilaus, -which sold for more than the finished works of -other artists, he employs the appropriate term for -sketches,—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">proplasma</span>.” In the translation of -Pliny, published by Mr. Bohn, and made by Mr. -Bostick and Mr. Riley, this term is translated -“models in plaster;” but it simply means sketches -or antijicta, in whatever material they were made. -The words “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">plastæ</span>” and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">plasma</span>” have nothing -to do with plaster. “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Plastæ</span>” were simply modelers, -and <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">πλαστική</span> was the art of modeling,—the -plastic art.</p> - -<p>Again, Pliny could scarcely have intended to -say that Lysistratus invented modeling sketches -of statues in clay before executing them in plaster, -since he tells us explicitly that Pasiteles used -to say that <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">plastice</i> was the mother of <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">statuaria, -scalptura, et cælatura</i>; and, though he was distinguished -as first in all these arts, he never executed -anything in them until he had first modeled -it in clay,—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">nihil unquam fecit, antequam -finxit</span>.”</p> - -<p>Before leaving this sentence, let us take a different -view of its possible meaning. May not Pliny -use the words “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">signa</span>” and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">signis</span>” to mean pictures -and not statues? Undoubtedly <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136">136</a></span>“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">signum</span>” -was thus used, as where Plautus speaks of a “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">signum -pictum in parieti</span>,”—a picture painted on the -wall; or where Virgil speaks of a “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">pallam signis -auroque rigentem</span>,”—a mantle stiff with embroidered -figures and gold. In this sense the passage -would mean that Lysistratus made effigies from -pictures as well as from statues, and that thenceforward -not only no statues but no pictures were -made without being copied in bas-relief, or in the -round, argilla, or white clay. This would account -for the use of the word “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigiem</span>,” which has a -stronger significance of reality than “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem</span>.”</p> - -<p>The succeeding sentence is even more obscure; -and, unless it be interpolated or out of its proper -place, is quite unintelligible. In the connection in -which it now stands it is absurd. It is as follows: -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Quo apparet antiquiorem hanc fuisse scientiam -quam fundendi æris</span>,”—by which it seems that this -knowledge or practice was older than that of casting -in bronze. What is the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">scientiam</span>” to which -he refers? He has previously spoken only of two: -first, that of making portraits in plaster and wax; -second, that of making copies of statues in clay,—both, -as he says, invented or introduced into practice -by Lysistratus. But to say that that artist -could have invented any process older than that of -casting in bronze is not only ridiculous in itself, -but inconsistent with what he has previously told -us; since at least two centuries previous to the -time of Lysistratus, Rhœcus and Theodorus of -Samos—as we learn from Pausanias, Herodotus,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137">137</a></span> -and even Pliny himself—exercised the art of -casting in bronze. Pausanias,<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">13</a> indeed, tells us -that these sculptors invented this art; but Pliny, -with his usual inaccuracy and carelessness, says -that they invented “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">plastice</span>,” or the art of modeling -(“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">In Samo primos omnium plasticen invenisse -Rhœcum et Theodorum</span>,” ch. xxxv.),—an -art which from the very nature of things must -have been practiced from the earliest and rudest -ages, almost from the time when the first child -made the first mud-pie.</p> - -<p>Dr. Brunn,<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">14</a> in commenting on this passage in -Pliny, accepts the first sentence as describing the -art of casting in plaster, but, finding it impossible -to reconcile it with the subsequent sentences, -ingeniously suggests that it was an addition inserted -in the margin, and afterwards interpolated -into the text by the copyists in the wrong place. -Throwing out this first sentence about Lysistratus -from this place, he still accepts it, and interprets -it to mean that Lysistratus invented the art of -casting. The subsequent sentences he connects -with a previous passage in Pliny, in which he -gives an account of Dibutades of Sicyon, a potter -by trade, and relates the legend that this artist -drew the outline of the face of a girl whom he -loved from her shadow on the wall, and his father -pressed clay upon it within those outlines, and -made a <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">typum</i> which he baked. The passage, according<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138">138</a></span> -to Dr. Brunn, then would continue: “He -[Dibutades] also invented the making of effigies -from signa, and this practice so increased that -thenceforward no statues or signa were made -without argilla; so that it appears that this art -was more ancient than that of casting in bronze.” -By accepting this suggestion of Dr. Brunn we certainly -relieve Pliny of the absurdity of stating -that any “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">scientiam</span>” or practice invented by -Lysistratus was older than casting in bronze, since -centuries before his time bronze figures of colossal -proportions had been cast. But even supposing -these sentences to refer to Dibutades and not to -Lysistratus, they are far from being clear or accurate. -Is it possible to believe that, while the -making of brick and earthenware utensils and -fictile vases is so ancient that the memory of man -runneth not to the contrary, no one before Dibutades -had ever attempted to model a figure or a face -in clay, or to put a model into a furnace and bake -it? All history is against such a supposition. -Images in terra cotta were made by the ancient -Egyptians, Babylonians, and Ephesians centuries -before Dibutades. The ancient Etruscan terra -cottas previous to his epoch were scattered, as -Pliny himself says, all over the world: “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Signa -Tuscanica per terras dispersa</span>.” The capitol was -decorated with earthen statues at the time of the -first Tarquin, and Pausanias mentions many clay -statues of gods and demigods executed in the earliest -ages of Greece itself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139">139</a></span> -Again, from this very passage it is clear that -Pliny himself admits that there were <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">signa</i> and -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">statuæ</i> already existing at the time of Dibutades, -of which he first made effigies. What did Dibutades -invent? Certainly not the art of modeling -in clay, or of baking the clay. His statement, -also, that thenceforward no statues were made -without clay is scarcely intelligible, unless we -suppose him to mean that clay models were made -thenceforward before executing statues in stone or -other materials. But he does not say this. Again, -he cannot mean that Dibutades first invented -taking impressions from indented outlines, or <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">intaglii</i>, -for this was as old as the first primitive -seal, and was no more invented by Dibutades than -by Lysistratus.</p> - -<p>Dr. Brunn interprets the statement in respect -to Dibutades as showing that he was probably the -first inventor of casting, at the same time that he -also interprets the sentences referring to Lysistratus -as declaring that he first invented casting,—the -only difference being that the process of the -one was in clay, and that of the other in plaster.</p> - -<p>But is it clear that Dibutades, according to -Pliny, ever made even a stamp in clay from indented -outlines on the wall? The passage is ordinarily -so interpreted, but is this interpretation -correct? Pliny says that Dibutades having traced -the shadow on the wall in outline, his father impressed -clay within that outline, and thus made a -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">typum</i> which he baked with other articles of earth,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140">140</a></span> -and which was long afterwards preserved in the -Nymphæum at Corinth. His words are, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">quibus -lineis pater ejus impressa argilla typum fecit</span>.” -What, then, is the meaning of “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">typum</span>”? Evidently -not a mould, or impression, but a relief. -Had it been a mould, he could have stamped from -it a hundred impressions, since it would have been -merely a seal with an irregularly relieved outline; -and in order to have the repetition of what was on -the wall he must perforce have stamped from it -an impression. This he evidently did not do, or -at least nothing is said to indicate anything of -the kind. He preserved and baked what he first -obtained, which, if it was merely a mould, would -have produced, to say the least, no effect. The -true as well as the literal translation of this passage -would seem to be, “within the outlines by -putting on clay he made a relief.” This clay he -probably modeled as well as he could, keeping -within the lines, and then removed it from the -wall and baked it. The same interpretation of -this passage is given by Giovanni Battista Adriani, -in a remarkable essay or rather letter addressed -by him to Giorgio Vasari in 1567, in which he -gives a summary of the most celebrated Greek artists -and their works. “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Typus</span>” in Latin had the -double significance of “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">intaglio</span>” and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">relievo</span>,” -as our word “type” has of the type itself and the -printed impression; and sometimes it was used -in one sense and sometimes in the other, but it -was usually employed to mean a relief. Thus<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141">141</a></span> -Cicero, in one of his letters to Atticus (lib. i. ep. -10), writes, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Præterea typos tibi mando quos in -tectorio atrioli possim includere</span>,”—I commission -you also to procure me some reliefs to be -inserted in the plaster of the anteroom. And -Pliny in this passage would plainly seem to use -the word in the same sense; otherwise he would -probably have written “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">forma</span>,” as he did in other -cases when he meant a mould. Not that even -that word would be free from all ambiguity, but -it would more appropriately signify a mould.</p> - -<p>But however ingenious is the suggestion of Dr. -Brunn that the passages relating to Lysistratus -ought to belong to Dibutades, the fact is that in -all editions of Pliny they are connected with Lysistratus; -and as this suggestion does not dispose of -all difficulties and clear up the matter, we will -proceed to consider them in that relation, and see -if anything can be made clearly out of them.</p> - -<p>Plainly, if the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">scientiam</span>” here spoken of refers -to the invention of Lysistratus, and is interpreted -to be the art of casting in plaster, it is -ridiculously incorrect to say that it was older than -casting in brass. If that invention be of modeling -in plaster, it is also entirely incorrect. We know -that this was practiced at least a century previous,—as, -for instance, in the construction of the -great statue of Zeus at Megara, the body of which -was of plaster and clay, the head alone being cased -in gold and ivory; and also of the Bacchus in -painted plaster, of which Pausanias speaks.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142">142</a></span> -The only way in which we can explain the statement -that any “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">scientiam</span>” or process described -by Pliny as used by Lysistratus was older than -the art of casting in bronze, is by supposing he -meant to say that the process he employed was in -itself an old one, and that it was only in the practical -application to the making of portraits that -there was any novelty,—the process of covering a -core of plaster with wax being older than casting -in bronze, while covering a sketch of plaster with -wax and then working that surface up from life -was new. The statement so understood would be -intelligible at least, and, as far as we know, perfectly -correct. The method of the ancients in -casting bronze statues is not described by any ancient -writer, but it is supposed to have been this: -A fire-proof core was first built up of plaster, clay, -earth, or other materials, and over this a thin and -even coating of wax or pitch was spread; or perhaps, -which is not so probable, the surface was -rasped down to the thickness intended for the -bronze, and afterwards covered with a thin coating -of wax. In either case the result would be the -same. The outside of this wax being then completely -covered with sand or packed clay-dust, -there would be a thin coating of wax inclosed between -the two surfaces, which, melting away before -the fused metal, would allow that metal to take -its place. This would account for the remarkable -thinness and evenness of the ancient bronzes; for -by such a method the core would be perfect, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143">143</a></span> -the artist would naturally put on as little wax as -possible. If we suppose the statue, after it was -nearly completed in plaster or clay, not to have -been rasped down but simply to have been covered -with wax, we shall see that the result would be -that the bronze cast would be a little fuller in -size and thicker in proportions than the original -model. And this is a peculiar characteristic of -the ancient bronzes, especially to be observed in -the limbs and joints, which are generally larger -and puffier in bronze than in marble statues.</p> - -<p>Now if Pliny meant to say of Lysistratus that -his method of modeling portraits by making a -plaster figure or core, and covering the surface -with wax, was older than that of casting in bronze, -he was quite right; for undoubtedly the process of -covering a core with wax must have preceded that -of casting in bronze, or at least must have been -coincident with it. But at the same time this -method had previously been used only, or at least -chiefly, in casting; whereas Lysistratus was the -first to use it for modeling from life and carefully -finishing every part. The process was old; the -application was new.</p> - -<p>Thus far in considering this passage we have -proceeded on the hypothesis that the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>” -spoken of was wax. But another and quite different -view is also possible, and seems in all probability -to be the correct one. Pliny may mean to -refer to quite a different thing, and by the term -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>” may have meant not wax but color.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144">144</a></span> -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ceræ</span>” was the common term for a painter’s -colors, and Pliny himself thus uses it in defining -encaustic painting: “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ceris pingere et picturam -inurere</span>.” Varro also says, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Pictores locutulas -magnas habent arculas ubi discolores sunt ceræ</span>.” -Statius also uses the same term when he says, -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Apelleæ cuperent te scribere ceræ</span>.” Anacreon, -in his odes, constantly uses <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">κηρός</span> for picture; as, -for <span class="locked">instance,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="grc" lang="grc"> -<span class="i0">Ἔρωτα κήρινόν τις<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Νεηνίης ἐπώλει.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Here it is not a waxen figure, but a wax, or oil,—that -is, a painting of Eros, not an <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀγάλμα</span>. And -in the same ode the youth replies in Doric, “<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Οὐκ -εἰμὶ κηροτέχνης</span>”—“I am not a painter;” or even -more manifestly in the ode <span class="locked">beginning,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="grc" lang="grc"> -<span class="i0">Ἄγε ζωγράφων ἄριστε,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">γράφε, ζωγράφων ἄριστε,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ῥοδίης κοίρανε τέχνης,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἀπεοῦσαν, ὡς ἂν εἴπω,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">γράφε τὴν ἐμὴν ἑταίρην.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">γράφε μοι τρίχας τὸ πρῶτον<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἁπαλάς τε καὶ μελαίνας·<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ὁ δὲ κηρὸς ἂν δύνηται,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">γράφε καὶ μύρου πνεούσας.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">And <span class="locked">again,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="grc" lang="grc"> -<span class="i0">ἀπέχει· Βλέπω γὰρ αὐτήν.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">τάχα, κηρὲ, καὶ λαλήσεις.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Wax was the common medium used by painters. -After it had been purified and blanched, their -colors were mixed with it just as ours are with oil; -and in like manner, as we speak of painting in -oils, they spoke of painting in wax. A head done<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145">145</a></span> -in chalk would no more necessarily mean a head -modeled in chalk or plaster, than “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem</span> [or -<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigiem</span>] <span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera expressam</span>” would mean a likeness -modeled in wax.</p> - -<p>The substances on which the ancients painted -were wood, clay, plaster, stone, parchment, and -perhaps canvas. The best painters, however, -rarely painted on anything but tablets or panels. -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Nulla gloria artificum est nisi eorum qui tabulas -pinxere</span>,” says Pliny (xxxv. 37). These panels -were of wood; they were prepared for painting by -spreading over them chalk or white plaster (gypsum), -and on that account were called “<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">λεύκωμα</span>.” -All the paintings on walls were also on plaster -covered with a composition of chalk and marble -dust, as is fully described by Vitruvius.<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">15</a></p> - -<p>Let us now apply these facts to Pliny’s statement. -May he not intend to say, and is not this -a legitimate meaning of his words, that Lysistratus -first of all modeled portraits in gypsum from life, -and then increased the likeness by color laid on to -the plaster bust. He also made colored copies or -effigies from brass statues (which were called, as -we know, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">ceræ</span>”), and these came so into vogue -that thenceforward there were no statues without -white clay or chalk, which, as we have seen, was a -preparation for the wax color as shown by Vitruvius. -In this view of his meaning, the statement -that this peculiar process is older than that of casting -in bronze becomes intelligible, if we suppose<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146">146</a></span> -him to intend to say that coloring statues was a -very old process, while coloring portraits in exact -imitation of life was the invention of Lysistratus. -The succeeding sentence then becomes clear, in -which he says that the most famous plastæ were -Damophilus and Gorgasus, who were also painters, -and who decorated the Temple of Ceres at -Rome in both these arts, since it is plain that -these works were both modeled and painted.</p> - -<p>The making of portraits in effigy, colored in -imitation of life, had been a common practice -in Rome, as we learn from Pliny himself, and -these, because they were colored, were technically -called “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">ceræ</span>” as well as “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imagines</span>.” It was the -custom of the great families to set up these colored -figures in their atria, and on particular festivals -to carry them in procession through the -streets of Rome, draped with actual robes such as -were worn by the persons whom they represented. -Pliny expresses his regret that in his time this -custom had fallen into disuse, tending as it did to -keep fresh and alive the personal memory of great -men who had passed away from this life.<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">16</a></p> - -<p>It will be useful here to consider the character -of the whole chapter in which this passage appears. -It is entitled, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Plastices primi inventores, -de simulacris, et vasis fictilibus et pretio eorum</span>.” -The object of the chapter is to give an account of -modeling and modelers, not of casting. In a -previous chapter, where Pliny is speaking of some<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147">147</a></span> -early products of the plastic art, and particularly -of the <em>signa Tuscanica</em>, or earthenware statues, he -says: “It appears to me a singular fact, that, -though the origin of statues was of such great antiquity -in Italy, the images of the gods, which -were consecrated to them in their temples, should -have been fashioned of wood or earthenware, until -the conquest of Asia introduced luxury among -us. It will be most convenient to speak of the -art of making likenesses [<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">similitudines exprimendi</i>] -when we come to speak of what the Greeks -call ‘plastice,’ for the art of modeling was prior -to that of statuary of bronze and marble,—[<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">prior -quam statuaria fuit</i>]. But this last art has flourished -in such an infinite degree that to pursue the -subject thoroughly would require many volumes.” -Thus he announces clearly beforehand what he intends -to speak of in this chapter which we are now -considering, on plasticæ. It is the art of “making -likenesses, of the first invention of modeling, of -fictile vases, and of their price,” but not of casting -or of any such invention. The previous chapter, -in which this announcement is made of his -subsequent intention, is devoted to casting in -bronze and brass-work, or statuaria. After making -this statement, he goes on to enumerate the -principal works in bronze, and then says that portrait -statues were long afterwards placed in the -Forum and in the atria of private houses; that -clients thus did honor to their patrons, and that -in former times the statues thus dedicated were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148">148</a></span> -dressed in togas: “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Togatæ effigies antiquitus ita -dicabantur;</span>” or ought not “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">dicabantur</span>” to be -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">dicebantur</i>,—meaning that these statues were -called “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">togatæ effigies</span>”?</p> - -<p>In the chapter we are now considering, he begins -by saying that, having already said enough about -pictures, he now proposes to append some account -of the plastic art. Then he speaks of Dibutades, -and relates the story of his making the portrait of -the girl he loved; and adds that he first invented -a method of coloring his works in pottery by adding -red earth or red chalk. Then follows the passage -about Lysistratus, who used plaster instead -of clay to make portraits, covering it with wax or -color to improve the resemblance. After the passages -cited, he goes on to mention other celebrated -modelers (<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">plastæ laudatissimi</i>), among whom -were Damophilus and Gorgasus, who were also -painters, and who adorned the Temple of Ceres at -Rome by the exercise of both their arts. According -to Varro, he says, everything in the temples -was <em>Tuscanica</em>,—that is, ancient pottery of the -Etruscan school; and when they were repaired the -painted coatings of the walls were removed and -framed. He also mentions Chalcosthenes, who -executed several works in baked earth. He cites -Varro again as saying that Possis at Rome executed -grapes, fruit, and fishes with such truth to -Nature that they could not be distinguished from -the real things. Dibutades, he also says, invented -a method of coloring plastic composition by adding -red earth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149">149</a></span> -Throughout the chapter Pliny is not speaking -solely of modelers, but most of those he mentions -colored their works. The grapes, fruit, and fishes -of Possis, the works of Damophilus and Gorgasus, -the <em>Tuscanica</em> in the temples, all were colored in -imitation of the objects represented. And besides -these he mentions particularly the Jupiter of Pasiteles, -made in clay, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">et ideo miniari solitum</span>,”—and -therefore proper for painting in vermilion. -He also speaks of “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">figlina opera</span>,”—earthenware -painted in encaustic,—which were on the baths -of Agrippa in Rome. All this seems to lend -probability to the interpretation of “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>” to -mean color and not wax; at all events, there is -not a word about casting, unless the words relating -to Lysistratus can be tortured into such a -meaning. What adds still more to the probability -that this was the real thought of Pliny in the -passage cited is the use of the words “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigies</span>” -and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">argilla</span>.” “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Effigies</span>” in Latin is distinguished -from “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">simulacrum</span>” (which may be a picture -as well as a statue), both being representations -indicating something which shows they are -not life itself, the one being flat and the other colorless; -while “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigies</span>” carries the idea of deception -with it, so far as resemblance goes. Thus Cicero -says, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Vidistis non fratrem tuum nec vestigium -quidem aut simulacrum, sed effigiem quamdam -spirantis mortui</span>.” So, also, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">argilla</span>” means white -clay, and not ordinary clay out of which terra cotta -images were made; and Pliny may have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150">150</a></span> -intended by these words to express the idea that -after Lysistratus had made effigies or colored -copies of brass or marble statues, white clay was -constantly used, for the reason that it was manifestly -better for coloring. This would relieve -him from the absurdity of saying that Lysistratus -invented or led the way in modeling in clay, -rather than in the use of white clay which he colored. -Argilla and gypsum would then be nearly the -same thing, both used as a basis for colored walls, -upon which “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>” or color was laid or infused. -This would clear up the subsequent statement that -this art was older than casting in bronze, since it -is plain that coloring statues was very ancient. -Pausanias mentions two,—one of the Ephesian -Diana and one of Bacchus in wood, gilt except the -faces,—which were painted with vermilion. So, -in the Wisdom of Solomon (ch. xiii. and xv.), -images of wood and clay are spoken of, painted -in red and vermilion and stained with divers colors; -and in 630 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> there were images in gold, -silver, stone, and wood in Babylon (Baruch, ch. -vi. and xiii.), painted and gilded and dressed, and -colored purple.</p> - -<p>In his chapter entitled “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Honos Imaginum</span>,”—the -honor attached to portraits,—Pliny says it -was the custom of the Romans to adorn their palæstra -and anointing-rooms with the portraits of -athletes (“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginibus athletarum</span>”), and to carry -about on their persons the face of Epicurus (“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">vultus -Epicuri</span>”); and that they also prized the portraits<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151">151</a></span> -of strangers (“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">alienasque effigies colunt</span>”). -Afterwards, contrasting the habits of the Romans -of his own day with those of the ancient Romans, -he says: “And since the former have no longer in -them any likeness to the minds of their ancestors, -they also neglect the likeness of their bodies. How -different it was,” he continues, “with our ancestors, -who placed in their atria to be gazed at these -‘imagines,’ and not statues by foreign artists in -brass or marble, and kept colored portraits of their -faces each in its separate case, to serve as ‘imagines’ -to accompany their funerals.”<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">17</a> It would -seem from this that, besides the draped images or -effigies in the halls, modeled and colored busts of -others of the family, probably of less distinction, -were also kept to be dressed up on occasion, made -into effigies, and carried in procession. Other -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imagines</span>” of the most distinguished personages -in the family were placed outside at the threshold -of the house, hung with the spoils of the enemy.</p> - -<p>It is of these “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">expressi cera vultus</span>” and these -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imagines</span>” kept by the Romans as proofs of their -nobility, and on which their pedigrees were inscribed, -that Ovid speaks when he <span class="locked">says,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="la" lang="la"> -<span class="iq">“Per lege dispositas generosa per atria ceras.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">On the sale of the house they were not allowed to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152">152</a></span> -be destroyed or removed, but passed with it, and -were bought by “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">novi homines</span>” (men of no family), -and passed off by them as the portraits of -their own ancestors,—just as the portraits of Wardour -Street are at the present day. Cicero in his -invective against Piso cries out, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Obrepsisti ad -honores errore hominum, commendatione fumosarum -imaginum, quarum simile habes nihil præter -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">colorem</i></span>;” and Sallust in his Jugurtha says, -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Quia imagines non habeo, et quia mihi nova nobilitas -est</span>.”</p> - -<p>Nor were the Romans singular in this custom of -draping figures with real stuffs. The images of -the gods in early Greece also were draped and -dressed in clothes, and crowns were placed on their -heads. They had false hair, too, which was -dressed regularly by attendants, and at stated -times they were washed and adorned with jewels -and had their dresses arranged, just as if they were -alive. In later times this custom died out; but -the colossal Athena’s solid drapery of gold was -washed at a certain festival appointed for the purpose, -called Plyntheria. In Rome, however, the -custom was maintained to a late day. The images -of the temples were adorned with real drapery, -and purple mantles were hung on the statues of -the emperors. The Greeks did not thus treat -their portrait statues, and in this the Romans were -peculiar.</p> - -<p>The Roman “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imagines</span>” and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">ceræ</span>” were probably -executed in plaster or some such material, certainly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153">153</a></span> -not in marble, or otherwise they would have -been too heavy to be carried about in procession. -Apparently they resembled the figures which Lysistratus -first began to make, and the process of -coloring them, if we understand “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>” to mean -color, was little else than the old practice, called -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">circumlitio</span>,” of covering marble statues with an -encaustic varnish of color so as to give them a delicate -and tinted surface. The most salient example -of this is to be found in the anecdote told of -Praxiteles, who, when he was asked which of his -statues he most admired, answered, “Those that -Nicias has colored,”—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">quibus Nicias manum admovisset</span>,”—Nicias, -who in his youth was celebrated -as a painter of statues, <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀγαλμάτων ἐγκαυστής</span>, -having assisted him, “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">in statuis circumliendis</span>.” -A similar process, called <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">καύσις</span>, was also employed -in finishing walls, and is thus described by Vitruvius: -After the wall had received its color, it was -covered with Punic wax and oil, which was laid on -evenly with a hard brush, and then half melted or -infused into a smooth surface by moving a “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cauterium</span>,” -or pan of hot coals, close over it; and after -that it was rubbed with a candle and a clean linen -cloth.</p> - -<p>This process, then, was old as applied to marble -statues and to plaster walls. What was new in -the work of Lysistratus was that he united the -two methods, by modeling in plaster the general -likeness and then finishing the surface in encaustic. -It was an old process with a new application.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154">154</a></span> -To explain such a process, what could be clearer -than the words Pliny uses? We do not need to -warp a word from its ordinary significance. Lysistratus -made portraits in plaster from life, and -improved them by color laid on to the model. He -thus made realistic, exact resemblances, whereas -before him artists had sought only to make heads -as beautiful as possible.</p> - -<p>What, then, were the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigies de signis</span>” that -he made? We have already seen that the term -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">effigies</span>” had a significance of reality and absolute -imitation, and corresponded in great measure to -the English word effigy, meaning colored effigies -with real dresses,—like those of Madame Tussaud, -for instance. The “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imagines</span>” and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">ceræ</span>” of the -ancient Romans were very much like them; and -does not Pliny mean to say that Lysistratus copied -marble or brass statues, or pictures, and made these -effigies from them, coloring them so as to add to -the likeness, and clothing them with real draperies? -and that this so grew into vogue that thenceforward -there were no statues which were not thus -copied in plaster or “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">argilla</span>”?—using the term -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">argilla</span>,” or white clay, as equivalent to gypsum, -with which possibly the plaster was mixed. As -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">argilla</span>” was the foundation with which the ancient -panels were prepared for painting, this would -seem most appropriate in such case.</p> - -<p>Such would be the figures alluded to by Lucian, -or by Lexiphanes when he says, “If you cull the -flower of all these various beauties, you will in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155">155</a></span> -your eloquence be like those makers of figures in -wax and clay [or argilla] in the Forum, colored -outside with minium and blue, and inside only -fragile clay.”</p> - -<p>According to this interpretation of the passage -in Pliny, it not only becomes intelligible as a -whole, but is consistent and without contradiction; -whereas, if we suppose that he meant to indicate -the process of casting in plaster, his statements -are not only entirely obscure and inconsecutive, -but ignorant and contradictory.</p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p>In the previous chapter we have critically considered -the text of Pliny bearing upon the question -whether the ancient Greeks and Romans were -acquainted with the art of casting. Let us now -proceed to some general considerations as to the -probability that this art was known and practiced -by them.</p> - -<p>In the first place, the distinction between modeling -and casting must be constantly kept in mind, -and care must be taken not to confound the two -totally different terms “mould” and “model.” -That gypsum was used in modeling there can be -no doubt, and it is quite possible that it may have -been used to fill prepared moulds of stone, terra -cotta, or other materials for the making of ectypa. -There is indeed no proof of this; but as we know<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156">156</a></span> -that moulds were made and cut in stone, into -which clay was pressed, to be then withdrawn and -baked for ectypa with which to adorn houses, so -also it is possible that gypsum may have been -used for this purpose. This, however, is merely a -supposition, and the fact that none of them have -ever been found in plaster renders it highly improbable. -In these ectypa of clay, as well as in -the impressions taken from them, there are no indications -of anything like what we call a piece-mould, -composed of many sections; and whenever -there are under-cuttings in the ectypa, which could -not be withdrawn from the mould and which -would fasten them into it, these parts of the -ectypa are invariably worked by hand. For instance, -in the collection of Mr. Fol in Rome there -are several terra cotta figures of low relief evidently -stamped from a mould, which are appliqué, -or fastened subsequently to the cista of which -they form a part. The sutures under each figure -are still visible, but they are all corrected and -worked by hand after being withdrawn, and have -evidently suffered in being removed from the -mould. In the same collection there are several -specimens of plaster reliefs, with such deep under-cuttings -that they could not have been withdrawn -from a single piece-mould; but all these under-cuttings -are freely worked by hand, showing plainly -that they were not in the stamp or mould; and it -is also clear that they were afterwards worked -over with fluid plaster, the edges and flats of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157">157</a></span> -which have not been rounded, but left as it was -freely laid on by hand. It is probable that in -these cases plaster was pressed into a mould in -the same manner as clay, and afterwards worked -up and finished. But the slightest examination -will show clearly that if a mould was employed -to give a general form to them, it certainly was -not a piece-mould; and that they are not castings -in the modern sense of the word, but only rude -stamps.</p> - -<p>These are the only specimens, however, so far as -we are aware, of any such use of plaster for low-relief -ornaments,—the ectypa which have been -preserved to us being invariably of baked clay. -If plaster had been used for this purpose, we -should expect to find casts in the interior of houses -or tombs, where they would be protected from the -weather, and where they could be easily introduced -into the walls and ceilings. But though -elaborately ornamented designs in relief, worked -in gypsum, are to be found still fresh and uninjured -on the ancient tombs and baths, all of them -were freely and rapidly modeled by hand while -the gypsum was still fresh and plastic, and not a -single specimen of cast plaster has been found. It -is but a few years since the tombs in the Via -Latina were opened, and in two of them the ceilings, -divided into compartments, were covered -with rich and fantastic designs of flowers, fruit, -arabesques, groups of imaginary animals, sea-nymphs, -and human figures; the designs varying<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158">158</a></span> -in each compartment, and all modeled in the -plaster with remarkable vivacity and spirit: not -one of them was cast. So in the houses at Pompeii, -not a vestige of a figure or ornament cast in -plaster has ever been found,—nor a mould in -plaster; and when one considers that, being completely -protected, they would naturally have survived -as well as other far more fragile and destructible -objects which have been preserved, the -evidence is almost absolute that they never could -have existed there. If so, it is in the highest -degree probable that they existed nowhere. It -would seem plain, then, that even the first, simplest, -and most natural processes of casting in gypsum -were unknown to the ancients, for no other -process is so easy and simple as to fill a flat mould -with plaster and then remove it, provided there -are no under-cuttings. In doing this, however, -there is a slight practical difficulty if the mould -is in one piece, as the least under-cutting would -render it impossible to remove the cast without -injury or breakage. Indeed, though there were -no under-cutting, it would at least be very difficult -to remove the plaster from a mould in one -piece. Clay would be removed with far greater -ease because of its pliancy, and any cracks or imperfections -could be at once remedied; add to -this that baked clay is one of the most enduring -of materials, and we have the probable reasons -why the ancients used it instead of gypsum. But -whatever may have been their reasons, it is perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159">159</a></span> -clear that they did use clay; and we have -no evidence that they ever used plaster.</p> - -<p>This use of gypsum to take impressions from -flat moulds is suggested by Theophrastus, it would -seem, in his treatise on mineralogy,<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">18</a> in which he -says that plaster “seems better than other materials -to receive impressions.” The term <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀπόμαγμα</span> -means nothing more than an impression, such as -one makes in wax from a seal ring, and such as is -common still in plaster; it is to this use that he -seems to refer. He does not say, however, that -gypsum was really put to this use; and if it were, -it would advance us little in our inquiry, since any -material which is soft will receive an impression, -whether it be bread, pitch, clay, wax, or any similar -substance.</p> - -<p>But the step from this simple process of stamping -in a shallow mould to casting from life or -from the round is enormous. The difficulties are -multiplied a hundred-fold. It is no longer a -simple operation, but a nice and complicated one. -The part to be cast must first be oiled or soaped, -then covered with plaster of about the consistency -of rich cream, then divided into sections while the -material is still tender, so as to enable the mould -to be withdrawn part by part without breakage, -then allowed to set, then removed, oiled or soaped -on the interior surface, the parts all properly -replaced, fluid plaster poured into the mould,—and -finally, after the cast is set, the mould must<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160">160</a></span> -be carefully removed by a hammer and chisel. -This is an elaborate process as applied to an arm -or a hand, but when applied to a living face it is -not only difficult but disagreeable, and unless due -care be used it may be dangerous; and after all -a cast from the face is hard, forced, and unnatural -in its character and impression, however skillfully -it may be done, and can only serve the sculptor -as the basis of his work. Yet if the common interpretation -of the passage in Pliny be accurate, -this is the process which was invented and practiced -by Lysistratus, and by means of which he -made portraits. <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Credat Judæus!</i> With all our -knowledge and practice, we do not find this to -answer in our own time.</p> - -<p>But to cast from a statue in clay is still more -difficult and complicated; there the extremest -care and nicety are required in making the proper -divisions, in extracting the clay and irons, recommitting -the sections, and breaking off the outer -shell of the mould. In fact, the modern process -is so complicated that no one can see it without -wondering how it ever came to be so thought out -and perfected, or without being convinced that it -must have been slowly arrived at by many steps -and many failures.</p> - -<p>That statues were modeled in plaster by the -ancients there is no doubt. Pausanias mentions -several;<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">19</a> and Spartianus<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">20</a> also speaks of “Three<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161">161</a></span> -Victories” in plaster, with palms in their hands, -erected at one of the games,—and says that on -one of the days of the Circensian games when according -to common custom they were erected, the -central one on which the name of Severus was inscribed, -and which bore a globe, was thrown down -by a gust of wind from the podium, and that -another bearing the name of Geta on it also fell -and was shattered to pieces.</p> - -<p>Firmicus<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">21</a> also relates that after Zagreus, son of -Jupiter, was slain by the Titans, his body was cut -to pieces and thrown into a cauldron, from which -Minerva rescued the heart and carried it to Jupiter. -He then gave it to Semele, who resuscitated -Zagreus, and Jupiter afterwards preserved his -likeness in plaster,—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ex gypso plastico opere -perfecit</span>.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Perkins cites all these instances, and says: -“They authorize us to believe that the Greeks and -Romans practiced casting in plaster.” But in -saying this he altogether overlooks the very plain -distinction between the two entirely different operations -of casting and modeling. We know that -they modeled in plaster; the only question is -whether they <em>cast</em> in that material. The term -for casting, as we have stated, was “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">fundere</span>,” and -is always used when real casting in brass or other -metal is spoken of; but nowhere is the term “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">fundere</span>” -applied to any work in gypsum. <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162">162</a></span>“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ars -fundendi æro</span>” is constantly spoken of,—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">ars -fundendi gypso</span>” never. Besides, the very phrase -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">ex gypso plastico opere perfecit</span>” is at variance -with casting. The words “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">plastico</span>” and “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">opere</span>” -mean modeling, and nothing else.</p> - -<p>But throughout this paper by Mr. Perkins these -two completely distinct processes are constantly -confounded with each other. It suffices for him -to find a statement in an ancient writer that anything -is made in plaster, or even an allusion to a -plaster statue, and at once he jumps to the conclusion -that the statue was necessarily cast, and not -shapen or modeled.</p> - -<p>“It remains for us now,” he says, “to establish -by undeniable proof how little foundation there -is for the opinion of those who pretend that the -ancients did not make use of plaster for casting, -supporting their opinion on the complete absence -of statues and statuettes in plaster, or fragments -of any kind found in excavations, when nevertheless -thousands of objects of the frailest kind are -found, such as stuccoes, vases, terra cotta, glass, -wax heads, etc. If it be true that the inclemencies -of weather and atmospheric agents could cause the -disappearance of plaster saturated with humidity, -or placed in conditions favorable to its destruction, -it does not necessarily follow that these conditions -always reproduce themselves. It suffices, to convince -one’s self of this, to <em>glance at the plates</em> 67, -76, 85, in the magnificent work published at St. -Petersburg on the antiquities of the Cimmerian<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163">163</a></span> -Bosphorus. These plates represent plasters preserved -in the Museum of the Hermitage, coming -from a tomb on Mount Mithridates opened in -1832, and from another tomb at Kertch excavated -in 1843. These plasters date back to the fourth -century before our era.<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">22</a> Adorned with various -colors and executed in relief, they were destined -to be attached as ornaments to other objects, such -as sarcophagi, pilasters, walls, etc.”</p> - -<p>Well! what if they were? Is this any proof -that they were cast? Mr. Perkins is easily satisfied, -if he is assured of this fact by looking at -engraved plates. Are they all of the same size? -Are they identical, as they would be if they were -cast from the same mould, or are they like all -other plaster and stucco work of the ancients of -which we are cognizant,—ornaments modeled by -hand? or are they pressures from a flat, shallow -mould, like the ectypa? If the latter, they are -almost unique; and so far they prove that the -artists who made them understood this first and -simplest process of casting, or rather of stamping. -But from plates it would be impossible to determine -this fact, and Mr. Perkins gives us no reason -to think they are unlike all the other ancient -stucco work. He does not profess to have seen -and examined them for himself; at all events, one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164">164</a></span> -fact is clear, that these, if they are in plaster, are -painted plaster.</p> - -<p>In the British Museum there exist some of these -so-called casts in plaster from Cyrenaica and from -Kertch. Undoubtedly they are nearer to being -true casts than anything else which has as yet been -discovered; but, after all, a careful examination -of them will show that they are not casts in the -legitimate sense of the word, but merely stamps -for a mould, and fashioned in precisely the same -way that was employed in making the hollow -terra cottas. To make these, a very rude stamp -was executed, with no under-cuttings of any kind, -everything being filled up which could impede the -removal of the clay, which was pressed into the -stamp, then carefully extracted again and finished -by hand. All the terra cotta reliefs called ectypa -were made in this way, and some of the moulds -still exist,—not one of them, however, in plaster. -The same process was employed to make some of -the figures of terra cotta in the round, by making -a mould of two pieces divided in the middle, of -a very generalized form, with no under-cuttings. -Into each of these moulds a quantity of clay was -squeezed; the two parts were then removed carefully, -and joined together. A general form was -thus obtained, and the artist proceeded to model -and to finish it with more or less care. In this way -not only ectypa were made in clay and afterwards -baked, but also small flat ornaments which were -afterwards appliqué, or fastened on to flat or round<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165">165</a></span> -surfaces,—as on to cista. This is the process by -which fragments of the figures from Cyrenaica -and Kertch in the British Museum were made. The -junction of the two halves is clear. The work is -very rude; there are no under-cuttings; everything -is filled up which would in the least impede -the withdrawal of the material from the stamp. -There is, for instance, an arm and hand, with the -interstices of the fingers quite filled up. But -what clearly proves that these figures were not -cast, as distinguished from stamped, is the head. -Here the hair being adorned with a wreath with -under-cuttings, it could not be withdrawn from the -stamp without destroying it, and it is entirely appliqué, -or worked on to the head after it was removed. -Had it been cast, there would have been -no such difficulty. Nor, again, is it quite clear -that the material of these figures is pure gypsum. -It would rather seem to be a mixture of gypsum -with white clay, or argilla, to give it flexibility, -and enable it to be withdrawn from the mould. -Indeed, it may here be observed that it is in every -way probable that the gypsum used by the ancients -in modeling and ornamental work was differently -prepared from that which we now use, and -was mixed with some material which prevented -it from setting rapidly, and gave it strength, ductility, -and plasticity. Otherwise it is difficult to -see how such works as those in the tombs of the -Via Latina, which no one can doubt are modeled -by hand, could have been executed with at once<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166">166</a></span> -so much finish and freedom. Gypsum, as we use -it, would set too soon to enable us to work it in -such a manner. In the tombs of the Via Latina -which were lately discovered, it is worked as freely -as if it were clay, and was plainly so prepared as -to enable the artist to take his own time in modeling, -without fear of its hardening—or, as we -call it, setting—immediately.</p> - -<p>This, then, is nothing new. It is not casting, -and these figures are not casts. They are stamps, -just like the ectypa of terra cotta. We know that -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">κοροκόσμια</span> or dolls were anciently made in this way -of wax and gypsum, or of terra cotta; and these -are <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">κοροκόσμια</span>.</p> - -<p>To infer from the fact that the Greeks knew -and practiced the art of pressing into shallow -moulds of stone, without under-cuttings, either -clay, pitch, wax, or plaster, that they also understood -and practiced the art of making moulds and -casts from life or from the round is utterly unwarrantable. -Nothing is more simple than the one -art, while the other is extremely complex. The -one is merely like making an impression from a -seal, which would naturally suggest itself to the -first person who left the pressure of his foot in -clay or mud; the other requires various processes -of calculation and invention. In inventions it is -not always or ordinarily the first step which costs, -but the subsequent and calculated steps. Centuries -often elapse between the first step and the -second. A remarkable instance of this is to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167">167</a></span> -found in the history of the invention of printing. -The first steps to this wonderful art were taken by -the ancient Romans; the very process by which -we now print was known and practiced by them; -but the application of it to the printing of books -does not seem to have occurred to their minds. It -cannot, however, but appear most extraordinary -that the idea of printing should not have occurred -to them when we consider the facts of the case. -Pliny relates that Cato published a book containing -portraits of distinguished persons of his time, -of which there were many copies; and so far as -we can conjecture, these copies were probably -stamped on parchment or some such material, and -afterwards colored. Putting this together with -the fact that ancient bricks have been lately found -in Rome with names and numbers stamped upon -them by means of movable types, so that the numbers -or letters could be arranged at will, we might -absolutely state that the ancient Romans understood -and practiced the art of printing. They -certainly did print on their brick; they probably -stamped the portraits of cuts in their books,—but -so far as we know they never united the processes, -and never stamped a book with movable -types. Adopting Mr. Perkins’s method of argument, -we might declare, however, that the mere -fact that none of these printed books have ever -come down to us was entirely inconclusive, since -these books might have utterly perished; while -we have the clearest proof that they did print with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168">168</a></span> -movable types on brick, and therefore it is plain -that they invented printing. The step from one -of these processes to the other does indeed seem so -evident, so natural, almost so inevitable, that we -are puzzled to imagine how they could ever have -overlooked it. Yet there is little doubt that they -did. But from the simple fact of stamping in -clay or plaster to the complex process of making -moulds and casts in the round requires not one -step but many, and each one of them requires -calculation and invention. Indeed, if the art were -now to be lost, it would be easy to conceive that -centuries might pass before it would be reinvented.</p> - -<p>In the collection of Mr. Fol of Rome, of which -we have heretofore spoken, there are some interesting -fragments of ancient statuettes in the round, -very carefully finished in plaster, being the leg and -thigh of one, and the half-breast and a portion of -the torso of another. These are as carefully finished -as if they were in marble, but they are elaborately -worked by hand in the plaster, and not cast. -These are exceedingly interesting as showing the -method of the ancients in working in plaster, and -they clearly illustrate the process of Lysistratus as -described by Pliny,—the only difference being -that the surface is of gypsum and not of wax, or -color. The interior or core of these fragments, -which is solid, is of lime, or a coarse kind of gypsum, -and over the surface of this core is spread a -thin coating of fine gypsum, which has been elaborately<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169">169</a></span> -worked and smoothed on while it was fluid. -The touches and creases on the surface are those of -a modeler’s hand and stick, and it differs in every -way from a cast. It is therefore plain that the -artist first made a core, or rough “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imaginem</span>” or -“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">formam</span>,” of coarse gypsum, and that he improved, -emended, and finished the surface, not by means -of “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera infusa in eam formam gypsi</span>,” but of -gypsum spread over it,—just as Lysistratus did. -The language of Pliny is an exact description of -this process.</p> - -<p>Again, a strong negative indication that gypsum -was not used for casting, or indeed to any extent in -modeling, is to be found in the chapter by Pliny on -gypsum. “Its use is,” he says, “to whitewash -[or parget], and to make small figures to ornament -houses, and for wreaths.” He also adds that it is -a good medicine for pains in the stomach; but he -entirely omits to mention that it was ever used for -casting. Is it possible to believe that if it were so -used he would not have alluded even to such a -fact? Would it be conceivable that at the present -day a chapter could be written on plaster of -Paris, omitting its employment for the purpose of -casting? After giving us this enumeration of the -uses to which gypsum is applied, Pliny goes on to -describe its nature, tell where it is found, and -name the different kinds; and he concludes with -no allusion to any other use than what he has previously -stated.</p> - -<p>Again, Pliny in the chapter on Lysistratus—which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170">170</a></span> -it must be remembered is devoted to modeling—mentions -one fact which seems to be inconsistent -with any knowledge at that time of casting. -Arcesilaus, he says, modeled a drinking-cup or -mixing-bowl in plaster, which he sold to Octavius, -a Roman knight,<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">23</a> for a talent (£250). It is impossible -to believe that such an enormous price -would have been given for a mere plaster bowl. If -the process of casting from it was then understood, -Arcesilaus might have repeated it in cast a thousand -times, and the original and the cast being in -the same material, one would have been quite as -good as the other, if retouched. Yet he seems -only to have made one, and to have asked a talent -for that. Again, Lucullus made a contract with -this same artist to model for him in plaster a -statue of Fabatus, for which he agreed to pay him -no less than 60,000 sesterces, or £530.</p> - -<p>It is worth noting, too, as a curious fact, that -just at the very time when Lysistratus is supposed -to have invented plaster-casting, the art of brass-casting -began to decline in character and style, -and soon after seems to have died out and been -lost; at all events, Pliny tells us that soon after -the 120th Olympiad the art perished,—“<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cessavit -deinde ars</span>.” And as Lysistratus lived only about -twenty-five years previously, it would be singular -to find one of these arts dying out just as the other -was being developed.</p> - -<p>Mr. Perkins also thinks it valuable to tell us<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171">171</a></span> -that Canova was of opinion that the sculptors of -antiquity made finished sketches, and then by -means of proportional compasses enlarged them and -took points on the marble; and he adds, “We -should weigh these words of a great sculptor who -devoted himself to the most minute researches on -this subject, as well as to everything that had -relation to the fine arts.”</p> - -<p>We agree that we should weigh the words of -this distinguished sculptor, though we were not -aware before that he was a profound archæologist, -or had made minute researches on this subject. -But how in any way does this tend to prove that -the ancient Greeks and Romans knew how to cast -in plaster? We are equally unable to see the precise -bearing on this question of the fact also stated -by him, that the drill is supposed by some to have -been invented by Callimachus, and by others to -have been used long before; or that the pointing -of a statue was probably known to the Greeks, and -certainly to the Romans.</p> - -<p>Yet in a certain way the opinion of Canova that -the ancients made small sketches, and by proportional -compasses transferred their proportions, -measures, and general forms to their large works, -has an argumentative relation to the subject different -from what Mr. Perkins probably supposed. -This opinion is undoubtedly well founded, and -accepting it as such, what does it indicate? That -the process of casting in plaster was known to -the ancients? By no means. So far as it goes,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172">172</a></span> -it proves diametrically the opposite,—as Mr. -Perkins might have seen, had he weighed the -words of this great sculptor.</p> - -<p>In fact, this leads us to one of the strongest arguments -against the opinion apparently advocated -by Mr. Perkins. Had the ancients known how to -cast in plaster from the model, as they knew how -to cast in bronze, this process of making small -statuettes and enlarging therefrom would have -been quite unnecessary. They would thus have -escaped the incorrectness which is unavoidable in -such a process, by at once making their models of -full size, and completely finishing them in clay or -other plastic material before transferring them to -the marble. Their process probably was to make -a small statuette in clay, and then bake it or dry -it. But in transferring proportionally this small -figure into a large one, an objection occurs. Defects -scarcely perceptible in a small figure become -gross defects when multiplied into a large one. -Not only variations of one eighth of an inch more -or less in small particulars in a figure a foot high -would alter entirely the relative proportions of a -figure eight feet high, but other inaccuracies inevitably -occurring in enlarging by proportional compasses -would increase these disproportions, so that -the increased figure would be invariably untrue in -its effect and in its measures. Now this is precisely -what is apparent to any one who carefully -studies the antique statues. Even in works showing -the highest artistic knowledge and skill, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173">173</a></span> -want of correspondence of measures and proportions -between the two sides of the figure is very -manifest; and the larger they are the more this is -exhibited. Thus, to take one of the highest examples, -in the Theseus we find astonishing knowledge -and artistic skill in treatment, beside disagreements -of measurement in corresponding parts, -which are evidently the result of the defective -mechanical process of enlargement. The legs are -beautifully modeled, but of unequal length,—one -being much longer in the thigh than the other. -The same observation is true of the clavicle, and -indeed throughout the statue. Now even an inferior -artist would have seen and avoided these -mistakes in modeling the statue full size, but the -defect would be easily passed over by the eye in -the small sketch, particularly if the statuette were -merely a sketch, as was in all probability the usual -case. It would be difficult to believe that an artist -with the mastery shown in this statue would not -have seen and corrected these mistakes, had the -model of this figure been of the same size. This -of course he perceived after the points were taken -in the marble and the work was roughed out, but -then it was too late to remedy them. This difficulty -he and all other artists must constantly have -felt. The question was how to avoid it. Nothing -could have been more simple, if the modern process -of casting in plaster from the clay model had -been known to them. They would simply have -modeled the statue in clay of its full size, cast it in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174">174</a></span> -plaster, and been sure of its exact proportions and -measures.</p> - -<p>Let us take one step further. Had they understood -the modern process of casting in plaster -from the clay or from a statue, they could from the -cast have multiplied in marble the same statue any -number of times, identically or with such minute -differences as few eyes could perceive. The repliche -in a modern sculptor’s studio are scarcely to -be distinguished from each other, and there would -have been no difficulty in doing the same thing in -an ancient sculptor’s studio. What is the fact -known? So far from this being the case, not only -are there comparatively very few repliche even of -the most famous statues, for which there would -necessarily be a great demand, but even in the -various repliche which we have there are not only -no two which approach to identity either in attitude -or in size, but one can scarcely say of any of -them that the artist had more at best than a vivid -recollection of the original or of some other replica, -much less that he had it before him to copy even -by eye. Often the attitude is changed, as well as -the size and proportions; sometimes the action is -reversed; and in all cases such differences exist -as it is impossible that the clumsiest workman -could have made with a cast of the original before -him. Nor do we read or hear of any copies in our -sense of copy; that is, exact reproduction of any -of the great works of the great sculptors. Look, -for instance, at the Venus of the Capitol and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175">175</a></span> -Venus de Medici and the St. Petersburg Venus; -they are all repliche of the renowned statue by -Praxiteles, but beyond the general attitude there -is no resemblance, not so much as any clever artist -of to-day could make from mere recollection. Look -again at the portrait busts; how many are there -of Marcus Aurelius, Octavius Cæsar, and Lucius -Verus!—and no two of them approaching identity. -Of the thousands of statues which have been -excavated, no two are exact copies from the same -model. There is at best nothing more than a -family resemblance among those which are most -alike. Would this be possible, if the ancients -knew and practiced the art of casting in plaster as -we do? It would seem to be utterly impossible, -or at least improbable to the highest degree.</p> - -<p>Again, why should not the great artists themselves, -or their scholars, have made repliche of -their famous statues? Nothing would have been -easier had there been any casts from them. They -were greatly coveted, and the prices paid for the -original works were enormous,—so enormous that -the largest prices of our day shrink into insignificance -beside them. For the famous nude Venus -by Praxiteles, Athens, in her extreme desire to -possess it, offered in exchange to pay the whole -public debt of the state to which it belonged. -This offer, however, was peremptorily refused. Yet -what could have been more easy, had a cast of it -been in existence, or had they known how to make -one, than for Praxiteles or his scholars to have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176">176</a></span> -made an exact replica, fully equal to the original -or even superior to it, with additional touches of -the master’s hand? That this was never done, or -hinted at, proves that, the statue once having -passed out of the artist’s hands, he could repeat it -from memory only by aid of his sketch; and this -would not only have cost him as much labor as -making a new statue, but would in no sense have -been identical. Again, is it to be supposed that if -Polyclitus had an absolute cast of his life-size -statue of the Doryphoros which would have enabled -him to repeat it with exactness, the original -would have commanded such a price as one hundred -talents, or £25,000? Or is it possible to -suppose that Arcesilaus would have received a -gold talent (£250) for a plaster bowl which could -have been repeated by casting, for almost nothing? -It was because it was modeled, and the modern -process of casting in a piece-mould was unknown, -that it commanded such a price. Here making -a rude stamp without under-cuttings would not -suffice. The <em>finesse</em> of the work could not be -given, and the work would have been destroyed or -greatly injured in the attempt.</p> - -<p>If it be a fact that the Greeks and Romans -knew this process, one would naturally expect to -find at least some fragments of casts or moulds in -plaster of their great works,—as for instance of -their small and exquisite Corinthian bronzes, if not -of their large figures. But, so far as we are aware, -nothing of the kind has ever been found. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177">177</a></span> -whole city of Pompeii in the height of its luxury -was buried under a fall of ashes, which for many -long centuries preserved the most refined, fragile, -and delicate utensils and works of art; and it is -but a few years since that we removed these ashes -and explored its houses and rooms which had been -untouched since that fatal calamity befell them -of which Pliny gives us so vivid an account. It -is on the statements of the younger Pliny himself -that those rely who claim that the ancients knew -and practiced casting in plaster. Long before his -day, then, this art had been invented; and we -should naturally expect to find some specimens of -it in this city of luxury, among its pictures, its -vases, its statues, and its glass. But in all Pompeii -there has not been found a vestige of a casting in -plaster. Its stuccoes still remain, the bas-reliefs -worked in plaster on its walls are still uninjured, -its paintings are still fresh, its vases unbroken, its -household utensils perfect. Hermetically sealed -up under that mound of ashes, there was nothing -to injure a cast in any house, if it existed. But -there is absolutely nothing of the kind. Yet this -was a people devoted to art, and whose houses -were filled with knick-knacks of every kind. We -find the sculptor’s studio, but there is not a -cast in it, nor is there the shop of a caster. It -is plain, therefore, that there was not a cast in -Pompeii.</p> - -<p>But if anywhere there were casts from the round -there were also piece-moulds from the round.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178">178</a></span> -Where are they? Has any person ever heard of -one? Now a hollow cast is comparatively a fragile -object; but a plaster mould, saturated as it -must be with oil, is anything but a fragile object. -Sheltered from the inclemencies of storm and rain, -it would last for thousands of years, and would -even resist a century of exposure to the weather -of Italy. But not underground nor aboveground -anywhere has such a thing been found. Whatever -moulds have been found are fit only for -mere stamping. They are extremely rude, without -under-cuttings, and seem merely to give a general -shape. They are not cast upon anything, -but worked out by hand, and are not in plaster. -They are all small; nothing ever has been found -which is either a mould, or a cast from life, or -from a statue, or from a vase or bowl, or any careful -work of art.</p> - -<p>An ancient manufactory of terra cotta has been -lately discovered and unearthed at Arezzo in Tuscany, -and a large number of moulds was found, -taken apparently from vases executed originally on -some hard metal, probably in silver. The figures -on these moulds are of the most exquisite design -and execution, and for beauty and delicacy of finish -exceed anything which remains to us of Greek or -Etruscan art. There are no under-cuttings, and -the relief is so low and flat as to yield an impression -scarcely, if at all, higher than a seal or intaglio. -All these moulds, however, are in terra cotta. -Not one is in plaster, though in this material they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179">179</a></span> -could have been executed more easily and exactly, -and could have been reproduced in the original -size. Of course, first taken, as they were, in soft -clay, then baked, they of necessity shrank in size -and were subject to warping and cracking, all -which defects would have been avoided had they -been made in plaster. All this would indicate that -the use of plaster in making moulds was not practiced -at that period, even in such a simple operation -as this.</p> - -<p>In face of this we must say we do not agree -with Mr. Perkins when he thinks he “establishes -by undeniable proof how little founded is the -opinion of those who pretend that the ancients did -not practice casting in plaster,—sustaining it by -the complete absence of statues and statuettes of -plaster or fragments of any kind in the excavations, -when nevertheless thousands of objects are -found of the most fragile nature;” and especially -when the undeniable proof which he offers is the -existence of some works and arabesque ornaments -in plaster found at Kertch, and supposed to belong -to the fourth century before the Christian era, and -which apparently he has never seen. On the contrary, -we should like to know how he explains the -fact that no indubitable ancient moulds or castings -have ever been found.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Perkins does not seem to reason beyond -his texts. He does not discuss the probabilities of -the case; he does not undertake to account for, or -to harmonize with his view, the great fact that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180">180</a></span> -nothing has been found of ancient art cast in -plaster. Outside of what is written in books he -does not venture. He does not even seem to have -a clear opinion of his own. He says, “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Sur ce point</span> -[casting in plaster] <span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">les textes nous laissent dans -les ténèbres. Faut-il s’en étonner? Non! Les -auteurs classiques trompent notre curiosité sur des -choses d’un bien autre intent. Que nous disent-ils -des vases peints, dont les musées de l’Europe regorgent? -Rien,</span>” etc. Well, if the texts leave us -in darkness, are we then to know nothing and to -think nothing? Are we not to exercise our minds, -and if a doubtful text seems to indicate a fact -utterly at variance with our reason and with the -facts we know, are we to treat that text as a -fetich, and bow down and worship it, because it is -written in a book? Are we to endeavor to wrench -everything into harmony with it? Or, if it will -not agree with facts of which there is no doubt, -are we not rather to sacrifice the text than our own -reason? And especially, are we to pay such reverence -to a doubtful text of Pliny, the most careless -of writers, the least accurate of archæologists? As -to the painted vases, no argument or ancient texts -are needed; there is no question in respect to them; -they existed in great numbers; but in respect to -casting in plaster there is nothing but texts to depend -upon. Nay more, there is only one passage -in any ancient author, so far as I am aware, that -<em>seems</em> to assert the existence of this process; and -the question is as to the meaning of this very ambiguous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181">181</a></span> -passage. If it means what Mr. Perkins -supposes, where are the moulds; where are the -casts; where are the finished likenesses; where is -there anything, in a word, to support the statements -of Pliny, as thus interpreted? Does it not -seem amazing that they should all have totally -disappeared?</p> - -<p>That the text of Pliny, on which all rests, does -not mean what it is supposed to mean by Mr. Perkins, -we have endeavored to show; but at all -events, since it is admitted to be most obscure and -scarcely intelligible, it would be better to throw the -text overboard, if it is in conflict with all we know -and is improbable in itself, particularly when we -take into consideration the corrupt condition of -the entire text of Pliny. Dr. Brunn, who is certainly -an able and learned archæologist, does not -hesitate to reject a portion of this very text, from -the words “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">idem et de signis effigiem exprimere</span>,” -as an interpolation; and there can be no doubt in -the mind of any one who carefully examines it -that this entire passage is full of confusion of ideas -and statements.</p> - -<p>Mr. Perkins endeavors to strengthen his position, -and also the text of Pliny as he understands -it, by a citation from the “Tragic Jupiter” of Lucian, -in which the statue of Hermes complains -that he is spotted by the pitch with which the -sculptors cover his limbs every day, “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">afin de les -reproduire</span>,” he gratuitously adds, with no authority -in the text for such a statement; and <em>apropos</em><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182">182</a></span> -of this he tells us that one may “model with -pitch mixed with marble dust or brick.” He adds: -“It is what the Italians call ‘ciment,’ and they -employ it for the most delicate parts of the mould. -It is sufficient in order to keep it in a malleable -state to set the piece on which one is working near -the fire, or to soften it from time to time in a bath -of hot water.” “Now this information,” he continues, -“which we owe to one of the most eminent -and learned artists of our age, is very precious, -since it gives us the real meaning of the passage -in Lucian.” This taken in connection with a -passage in Apollodorus representing Dædalus making -a statue to Hercules <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐν πίσσῃ</span> or <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐν πίσῃ</span>—the -word is doubtful—induces Mr. Perkins “to conclude, -first, that two centuries before the Christian -era, pitch was used, mixed without doubt with -other substances, to cast statues [mouler les -statues]; second, that the passage in Lucian not -only contains one of those railleries of which the -Voltaire of antiquity was so prodigal, but leads us -to suspect that it veils the indication of one of -the processes of casting.” That is, first he inclines -to the opinion that <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">πίσσῃ</span> (pitch) is a misprint for -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">πίτυς</span> (pine wood), and that the statue made by -Dædalus was in wood; and then he immediately -turns around, and thinks that it proves the existence -of casting in plaster. It cannot mean both; -and the probability would seem to be that he is -wrong in both suppositions, and that Dædalus was -only employed in painting his statue in resin or wax.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183">183</a></span> -The seriousness of this passage is more remarkable -than its accuracy. Who can the eminent and -learned artist be who has given us this so precious -information?—“<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ce renseignement tres-précieux</span>,”—which -is known to every humble caster in -Europe,—though he is not quite correct in the -composition of what he says the Italians call -“<span xml:lang="it" lang="it">ciment</span>.” He must be a French artist who scorns -the Italian language as being, in the words of another -of his countrymen, “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">rien que de mauvais -Français</span>.” “<span xml:lang="it" lang="it">Ciment</span>” is not an Italian word, and -“<span xml:lang="it" lang="it">cimento</span>” has a quite different significance,—that -of attempt or essay. The Italian casters call -this material “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>,” though it is not wax. But -aside from this, let us consider this passage from -Lucian to which Mr. Perkins, following other writers, -refers us as showing that the process of casting -in plaster was known to the ancient Greeks.</p> - -<p>The <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Ζεὺς Τραγῳδός</span> of Lucian is a satire on the -divinities of Greece, and a council of them is called -to deliberate on what should be done in consequence -of an assault upon their nature and power -by Damis. The gods are called upon, and a question -arises as to the precedence they should have, -whether it should be according to the material of -which they are made,—of ivory, gold, bronze, -stone, or clay,—or according to the excellence of -their workmanship and the skill of the artist; but -such confusion of claims is made that no precedence -is finally allowed to any one, and the question -as to the reasons and arguments of Damis<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184">184</a></span> -and his opponent Timocles is discussed. While -this is going on, a figure is seen approaching which -is thus <span class="locked">described:—</span></p> - -<p>“But who is this who comes in such haste -[<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ὁ χαλκοῦς, ὁ εὔγραμμος, ὁ εὐπερίγραφος, ὁ ἀρχαῖος τὴν -ἀνάδεσιν τῆς κόμης</span>], this bronze, this beautifully -chased or engraved, beautifully outlined, the archaic -in the arrangement of his hair [<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">πίττης γοῦν -ἀναπέπλησαι, ὁσημέραι ἐκματτόμενος ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνδριαντοποιῶν</span>]; -he is clogged with pitch from seals -or impressions being daily taken from it by the -sculptors.”</p> - -<p>Hermes, the bronze, then <span class="locked">answers:—</span></p> - -<p>“It happened lately that my breast and back -were covered with pitch by the <em>sculptors in bronze</em>, -and a ridiculous cuirass was thus formed on my -body, and by imitative art received a complete seal -from the brass.”<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">24</a></p> - -<p>This passage is supposed to indicate the process -of casting in plaster. It is possible that it may -indicate a preparation in pitch to cast in bronze, -but certainly not in plaster, which is the sole question. -It is not workers in plaster who are engaged -on it, but workers in bronze; and what they -were doing was plainly to take impressions of the -intaglio chasing or engraving on the body of the -figure. The description of the bronze is that it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185">185</a></span> -was archaic, and beautifully traced and engraved. -It may have been a term engraved with verses, -or figures, or inscriptions; and this is by no means -improbable, as it represented Hermes, and as -nothing but the breast and back was covered with -pitch. At all events, the process was one which -seems to have been carried on, not for once, but -daily. It may have been the famous Hermes -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἀγοραῖος</span>, which was cast in the 34th Olympiad, -and was a study for brass casters. Again, it -may not have been a figure in the round, but -merely a bas-relief, or intaglio; and this supposition -would be entirely in accordance with the -hieratic and archaic sculpture in brass, marble, -and terra cotta. Many were executed thus in intaglio -and engraved,—some of which still remain,—and -others in relief. A list of such may be -found in Müller’s “Ancient Art” (pp. 61–65). If -the passage refers to making a mould for casting, -it was for casting in bronze and not in plaster, -though nothing is said about casting, but merely of -taking impressions or seals. The words <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐκτυπούμενος</span> -and <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐκματτόμενος</span> mean ex-pressions from a seal or -stamp. Exactly what the sculptors were doing, -however, to this statue covers the process of brass -casters. Thus Lucian, speaking of a certain brass -statue in the Agora, says: <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">οἶσθα τὸν χαλκοῦν τὸν -ἑσῶτα ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ, καὶ τὰ μὲν πιττῶν τὰ δὲ εὔων διετέλεσα</span>,—“You -know the brass statue standing in the -forum, on which I was occupied pitching and drying,” -or burning.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186">186</a></span> -But there is nothing new in all this, and nothing -which throws any light upon the subject in question. -It was, as we well know, a common practice -of the Greeks, in making their large statues, to -build up a core of wood, brickwork, plaster, and -other materials as a foundation or rough sketch. -On the surface of this in their chryselephantine -statues they veneered sheets of gold and ivory, -sometimes covering the entire surface with these -precious materials, and sometimes finishing portions -of them with an exterior of plaster or clay, -which was painted in imitation of life. This for -instance was the case with the Dionysos in Kreusis, -described by Pausanias, of which the whole figure -was modeled in plaster and afterwards colored. -It would also seem to have been a practice with -the Greek artists to cover these roughly executed -cores with a composition of resin and pitch which -they indurated by fire; and afterwards to finish -the surface in the same material. Such at least -appears to be the process indicated by Lucian -in the passage just quoted, in which he speaks of -the statue he was engaged in pitching and drying; -as well as by Apollodorus in a passage in -which Dædalus is described as making a statue -of Hercules in pitch (<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">πίσσα</span>). The term “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">pissa</span>” -in this last passage has by some translators been -supposed to be a misprint for <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ἐν πίση</span>, meaning -that this statue was a <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">ζόανον</span> executed in pine -wood like other Dædalian figures. As it stands -in the original, certainly, it is <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">πίσσα</span>, and means<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187">187</a></span> -pitch; and it is quite as probable that it is correct -and means a sort of encaustic finish with resin and -gum. However this may be, there is little doubt -that in making their bronze statues the Greeks -used a surface of wax and pitch, or some such material, -which was plastic and would melt; and it is -well known that they spread wax over their statues -to give them a polished surface, and also finished -their plaster walls with a covering of wax.</p> - -<p>In making large statues, a skeleton framework -of wood was often employed, called <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">κίνναβος</span>, or -<span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">κάναβος</span>, which was covered with solid material,—clay, -plaster, brick, pitch, etc., all welded together -to form a solid core over which the surface was -finished in clay, plaster, pitch, ivory, or gold. In -the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Somnium, seu Gallus</span>” of Lucian, Gallus -says, speaking of himself, “If he were king, he -should be like one of the colossi of Phidias, -Praxiteles, or Myron, which though externally -like Neptune or Jupiter,—splendid with ivory -and gold, bearing the trident or the thunderbolt,—yet -if you look inside you will find them composed -of beams and bolts and nails traversing -them everywhere, and braces and ridges, and pitch -and clay, and other ugly and misshapen things.”</p> - -<p>It is a curious fact bearing generally on this -subject that no allusion is ever made to such a -person as a caster in plaster. Plutarch, enumerating -the various trades and occupations to which -the great public works of his time gave employment, -speaks of operatives, modelers, brass-workers,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188">188</a></span> -stone-workers, gold and ivory workers, weavers, -and engravers, but never mentions a caster. Philostratus -also, enumerating the different classes of -workmen in the plastic art, makes no mention of -casters. Pliny never speaks of them. Indeed, -their existence is never mentioned by any ancient -writer.</p> - -<p>All things considered, then, in conclusion, it -seems impossible to believe that Pliny intended, -in the passage relating to Lysistratus, to declare -that he invented any method of casting in plaster, -but rather that he intended to say that Lysistratus -either modeled likenesses in wax over a core of -gypsum, or, what is much more probable, that he -colored his likenesses in imitation of life; and -that his specialty was making accurate and literal -likenesses in the round with color, thus uniting -the two arts of the painter and the sculptor.</p> - -<p>The process of casting in plaster, in our acceptation -of the phrase, is of modern origin, and so -far as we know was invented in the fifteenth century, -a little before the time of Verrocchio (1432–1488), -the master of Leonardo da Vinci. He was among -the first who employed it, and may fairly be said -to have introduced it. At all events, the first -clear mention of this process of which we are -aware is by Vasari in his life of Verrocchio; and -he states that this sculptor and painter “cast -hands, knees, feet, legs, even torsi, in order to -copy them at his leisure; and that soon after -casts began to be made from the faces of persons<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189">189</a></span> -after death, so that one sees in every house in -Florence, on mantel-pieces, doors, windows, and -cornices, a great number of these portraits, which -seem alive.” For some time after it seems to -have been used chiefly for taking casts from dead -faces,—or hands and feet,—and not to have -been applied to casting from models of clay. The -general practice of that period was to make a -small model in clay, then to bake it, and from this -model by proportional compasses to enlarge it -and point it upon the marble. The process of -casting from clay models seems not to have been -practiced then, and so far as we know models of -full size in clay were rarely if ever made, until -rather a comparatively recent period.</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190">190</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="ch4"></a>A CONVERSATION WITH MARCUS AURELIUS.</h2> - -<p>It was a dark and stormy night in December. -Everybody in the house had long been in bed and -asleep; but, deeply interested in the “Meditations -of Marcus Aurelius,” I had prolonged my reading -until the small hours had begun to increase, and -I heard the bells of the Capucin convent strike -for two o’clock. I then laid down my book, and -began to reflect upon it. The fire had nearly -burned out, and, unwilling yet to go, I threw on -to it a bundle of canne and a couple of sticks; -again the fresh flame darted out, and gave a glow -to the room. Outside, the storm was fierce and -passionate. Gusts beat against the panes, shaking -the old windows of the palace, and lashing -them with wild rain. At intervals a sudden blue -light flashed through the room, followed by a -trampling roar of thunder overhead. The fierce -libeccio howled like a wild beast around the -house, as if in search of its prey, and then died -away, disappointed and growling, and after a -short interval again leaped with fresh fury against -the windows and walls, as if maddened by their -resistance. As I sat quietly gazing into the fire -and musing on many shadows of thought that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191">191</a></span> -came and passed, my imagination went back into -the far past, when Marcus Aurelius led his legions -against the Quadi, the Marcomanni, and the Sarmati, -and brought before me the weather-beaten -tent in which he sat so many a bleak and bitter -night, after the duty of the day was done, and all -his men had retired to rest, writing in his private -diary those noble meditations, which, though -meant solely for his private eye, are one of the -most precious heritages we have of ancient life -and thought. I seemed to see him there in those -bleak wilds of Pannonia, seated by night in his -tent. At his side burns a flickering torch. Sentinels -silently pace to and fro. The cold wind -flirts and flaps the folds of the prætorium, and -shakes the golden eagle above it. Far off is heard -the howl of the wolf prowling through the shadowy -forests that encompass the camp; or the silence -is broken by the sharp shrill cry of some -night bird flying overhead through the dark. Now -and then comes the clink of armor from the tents -of the cavalry, or the call of the watchword along -the line, or the neighing of horses as the circuitores -make their rounds. He is ill and worn -with toil and care. He is alone; and there, under -the shadow of night, beside his camp-table, he sits -and meditates, and writes upon his waxen tablets -those lofty sentences of admonition to duty and -encouragement to virtue, those counselings of -himself to heroic action, patient endurance of evil, -and tranquillity of life, that breathe the highest<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192">192</a></span> -spirit of morality and philosophy. Little did he -think, in his lonely watches, that the words he -was writing only for himself would still be cherished -after long centuries had passed away, and -would be pondered over by the descendants of nations -which were then uncultured barbarians, as -low in civilization as the Pannonians against whom -he was encamped. Yet of all the books that ancient -literature has left us, none is to be found -containing the record of higher and purer thought, -or more earnest and unselfish character. As I -glanced up at the cast of the Capitoline bust of -him which stood in the corner of my room, and -saw the sweet melancholy of that gentle face, ere -care and disappointment had come over it and -ruled it with lines of age and anxiety, a strange -longing came over me to see him and hear his -voice, and a sad sense of that great void of time -and space which separated us. Where is he now? -What is he now? I asked myself. In what other -distant world of thought and being is his spirit -moving? Has it any remembrance of the past? -Has it any knowledge of the present? Yet the -hand that wrote is now but dust, which may be -floating about the mausoleum where he was buried, -near the Vatican, or perhaps lying in that library -of the popes upon some stained manuscript of -this very work it wrote, to be blown carelessly -away by some studious abbé as he ranges the volume -on its shelf among the other precious records -of the past.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193">193</a></span> -The hand is but dust, yet the thoughts that it -recorded are fresh and living as ever. Since he -passed from this world, how little progress have -we made in philosophy and morality! Here in -this little book are rules for the conduct of life -which might shame almost any Christian. Here -are meditations which go to the root of things, -and explore the dim secret world which surrounds -us, and return again, as all our explorations do, -unsatisfied. All these centuries have passed, and -we still ask the same questions and find no answer. -Where he is now he knows the secret, or -he is beyond the desire to know it. The mystery -is solved for him which we are guessing, and his -is either a larger, sweeter life, growing on and on—or -everlasting rest. A stoic, he found comfort -in his philosophy, as great perhaps as we Christians -find in our faith. He believed in his gods -as we believe in ours. How could they satisfy a -mind like his? How could these impure and passionate -existences, given to human follies and -weaknesses, to low intrigues, to vulgar jealousies, -to degraded loves, satisfy a nature so high, so self-denying, -so earnest, so pure? Yet they were his -gods; to them he sacrificed, in them he trusted, -looking forward to a calm future with a serenity -at least equal to ours, undisturbed by misgivings; -believing in justice, and in unjust gods; believing -in purity, and in impure gods.</p> - -<p>“No!” said a mild voice, “I did not believe in -impure and unjust gods.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194">194</a></span> -And looking up, I saw before me the calm face -of the emperor and philosopher of whom I was -thinking. There he stood before me as I knew -him from his busts and statues, with his full brow -and eyes, his sweet mouth, his curling hair, now a -little grizzled with age, and a deep meditative look -of tender earnestness upon his face.</p> - -<p>I know not why I was not startled to see him -there, but I was not. It seemed to me natural, as -events seem in a dream. The realities, as we call -those facts which are merely visionary and transitory, -vanished; and the unrealities, as we call -those of thought and being, usurped their place. -Nothing seemed more fitting than that he should -be there. To the mind all things are possible and -simple, and there is no time or space in thought -which annihilates them.</p> - -<p>I arose to greet my guest with the reverence due -to such a presence.</p> - -<p>“Do not disturb yourself,” he said, smiling; -“I will sit here, if you please;” and so speaking, -he took the seat opposite me at the fire. “Sit -you,” he continued, “and I will endeavor to answer -some of the questions you were asking of -yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Had I known your presence I should hardly, -perhaps, have dared to ask such questions, or at -least in such a form,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Why not ask them of me if you ask them of -yourself?” he responded. “They were just and -natural in themselves, and the forms of things are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195">195</a></span> -of little use to one who cares for the essence—just -as the forms of the divinities I believed in -are of no consequence compared to their essences. -What we call thoughts are but too often mere -formulas, which by dint of repetition we finally -get to believe are in themselves truths, while they -are in fact mere dead husks, having no life in -them, and which by their very rigidity prevent -life. No single statement, however plausible, can -contain truth, which is infinite in form and in -spirit. If we are to talk together, let us free ourselves, -if we can, from formulas, since they only -check growth in the spirit, and, so to speak, are -mere inns at which we rest for a moment on account -of our weariness and weakness. If we stay -permanently in them we narrow our minds, dwarf -our experience, and make no more progress. For -what is truth but a continual progression towards -the divine?”</p> - -<p>“Yet would you say that formulas are of no -use? that we should not sum up in them the best -of our thought?”</p> - -<p>“Undoubtedly they are useful. They are trunks -in which we pack our goods; but as we acquire -more goods, we must have larger and ever larger -trunks. It is only dead formulas which kill, and -the tendency of formulas is to die and thus to repress -thought. Look at the nutshell that holds -the precious germ of the future tree. It is a necessary -prison of a moment; but as that germ -quickens and spreads, the shell must give way, or<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196">196</a></span> -death is the consequence. The infinite truth can -be comprehended in no formula and no system. -All attempts to do this have resulted in the same -end—death. Every religious creed should be -living, but every Church formalizes it into barren -words and shapes, and erelong, Faith—that is, -the living, aspiring principle—dies, wrapped up -in its formal observances or rigid statements, and -becomes like the dead mummies of the Egyptians—the -form of life, not the reality.”</p> - -<p>“Too true,” I answered, “all history proves it. -Every real and thinking man feels it. As habits -get the better of our bodies, so conventions and -formulas get the better of our minds. But pray -continue; I only listen; and pardon me for interrupting -you.”</p> - -<p>“What I say has direct relation to the questions -you were asking when I entered. There is a grain, -often many grains, of truth in every system of -religion, but complete Truth in none. If we wait -until we attain the perfect before adhering to one, -we shall never arrive at any. Each age has its -religious ideas, which are the aggregate of its -moral perceptions influenced by its imaginative -bias, and these are shapen into formulas or systems, -which serve as inns, or churches, or temples -of worship. These begin by representing the -highest reach of the best thought of the age, but -they soon degenerate into commonplaces, thought -moving on beyond them, and of its very vitality of -nature seeking beyond them. At these inns the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197">197</a></span> -common mass put up, and the host or priest controls -them while they are there, and society organizes -them, and so a certain good is attained. In -what you call the ancient days, when I lived on -the earth, I found a system already built and surrounded -by strong bulwarks of power. To strike -at that was to strike at the existence of society. -A religious revolution is a social revolution; one -cannot alter a faith without altering everything -out of which it is moulded. To do that, more evil -might result than good. Man’s nature is such that -if you throw down the temple of his worship at -once, assaulting its very foundations, you do not -improve his faith; you but too often annihilate it, -so implanted is it in old prejudices, in the forms -stamped on the heart in youth, and in the habits -of thought. It is only by gradual changes that -any real good can be done—by enlarging and developing -the principles of truth which already -exist, and not by overthrowing the whole system -at once.”</p> - -<p>“But in the religious system to which you gave -your adherence,” I exclaimed, “what was there -grand and inspiring? What truth was there out -of which you could hope to develop a true system? -for certainly you could not believe in the divinities -of your day.”</p> - -<p>“Reverence to the gods that were,” he answered, -“to a power above and beyond us; recognition -of divine powers and attributes. This lay as the -corner-stone of our worship, as it does of yours.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198">198</a></span> -“Almost,” I cried, “it seems to me worse to worship -such gods as yours than to worship none at all. -Their attributes were at best only human, their -conduct was low and unworthy, their passions were -sensual and debased. Any good man would be -ashamed to do the acts calmly attributed to the divinities -you worshiped. This, in itself, must have -had a degrading influence on the nation. How -could man be ashamed of any act allowed and attributed -to the gods?”</p> - -<p>“Your notions on this point are natural,” he -calmly answered, “but they are completely mistaken. -There is no doubt that in every system of -religion the tendency is to humanize and, to a certain -extent, degrade God. To attribute to Him -our own passions is universal, with the mass. To -deify man or to humanize God is the rule. You deify -that beautiful character named Christ, and you -humanize God by representing Him as inspired -with anger and cruelty beyond anything in our -system. You attribute to Him a scheme of the -universe which is to me abhorrent. Will you excuse -me if I state thus plainly how it strikes one -who belonged to a different age and creed, and -who therefore cannot enter into the deep-grained -prejudices and ideas of your century and faith?”</p> - -<p>“Speak boldly,” I said. “Do not fear to shock -me. I am so deeply planted that I do not fear to -be uprooted in my faith. And, besides, that is -not truth which does not court assault, sure to be -strengthened by it. If you can overthrow my -faith, overthrow it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199">199</a></span> -“<em>That</em> I should be most unwilling to do,” he -answered. “No word would I say to produce -such a result. In your faith there is a noble and -beautiful truth, which sheds a soft lustre over life; -and in my own day the pure and philosophic -spirit of Jesus of Nazareth was recognized by me -and reverenced. ’T is not of Him I would speak, -but rather of the general scheme of the regulation -of this world by God that I alluded to; and I yet -pause, fearing to shock you by a simple statement -of this creed.”</p> - -<p>“I pray you do not hesitate; speak! I am -ready and anxious to hear you.”</p> - -<p>“It is only in answer to what you say of the -acts and passions attributed by us to our divinities, -as constituting a clear reason why we should not -reverence them, that I speak. You attribute to -your God omnipotence, omniscience, and infinite -love. Yet in his omnipotence He made first a -world, and then placed in it man and woman, whom -He also made and pronounced good. In this, -according to your belief, He was mistaken. The -man and woman proved immediately not to be -good; and He, omnipotent as He was, was foiled -by another power named Satan, who upset at once -his whole scheme. After infinite consideration -and in pity for man, He could or did invent no better -scheme of redeeming him than for Himself, or -an emanation from Himself, to take the form of -man, and to suffer death through his wickedness -and at his hands. Thus man, by adding to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200">200</a></span> -previous fault the crime of killing God on the -earth, acquired a claim to be saved from the consequences -of his first fault. A new crime affords -a cause of pardon for a previous fault of disobedience. -What was this first fault, which induced -God to drive the first man and woman out of the -Paradise He had made for them? Simply that -they ate an apple when they were prohibited. Is -any pagan legend more absurd than this? Then -for the justice of God, on what principle of right -can the subsequent crime and horror—without example—of -killing God, or a person, as you say, of -the Trinity, afford a reason for removing from man -a penalty previously incurred? When one remembers -that you assume God to be omniscient as well -as omnipotent, and that He might have made any -other scheme, by simply forgiving man, or obliging -him to redeem himself by doing good and acting -virtuously, instead of committing a crime and a -horror, this belief becomes still more strange. Nor -can you explain it yourself; you only say it is a -mystery which is beyond your reason, but none the -less true. Yet though it offends all sense of justice -and right in my mind, you believe it and adhere -to it as a corner-stone of your faith. Are you sure -I do not offend you?”</p> - -<p>“Pray go on,” I said. “When you have said -it is a mystery, you have said all. Shall man, -with his deficient reason, pretend to understand -God? This is a truth revealed to us by his only -begotten Son, Jesus Christ, who was himself in a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201">201</a></span> -human form; and when God reveals to us a mystery, -shall we not believe it? Shall we measure -Him by our feeble wits?”</p> - -<p>“I do not mean to argue with you. This is -furthest from my intention; though I might -say this holds good of us in the ancient days, as -well as with you now. I only wish, however, to -show you that you believe what you acknowledge -to be beyond reason—a mystery, as you call it. -You believe this, and yet you despise the pagan -for believing what his gods told him, simply because -it was unreasonable or ridiculous.”</p> - -<p>“The question,” I said, “is very different; but -let it pass. Pray go on.”</p> - -<p>“Your God is a God of infinite love, you say. -Yet in the opinion of many of you, at least, this -infinitely loving God, omnipotent, and having the -power to make man as He chose,—omniscient, and -knowing how to make him good and happy if He -wished to,—has chosen in his love to make him -weak and impotent, to endow him with passions -which are temptations to evil, to afflict him with -disease and pain, to render him susceptible to torments -of every kind and sufferings beyond his -power to avoid, however he strive to be good -and virtuous and obedient; and then at the last, -after a life of suffering and struggle here, either to -save him and make him eternally happy, or, if He -so elect, without any reason intelligible to you or -any one, to plunge him into everlasting torment, -from which he can never free himself. Now, I ask<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202">202</a></span> -you in what respect is such a God better than -Jupiter, who, even according to the lowest popular -notions, whatever were his passions, was at least -placable; who, whatever were his follies, was not -a demon like this? And when one takes into consideration -the fact that there is not a humane man -living who would not be ashamed to do to his own -child, however vicious, what he calmly attributes -to this all-loving God, the belief in such a God -seems all the more extraordinary.”</p> - -<p>“It is a mystery,” I said, “that one like you, -born in another age and tinctured with another -creed, could not be expected to understand. It -would be useless for me to attempt it, and certainly -not now, when I so greatly prefer hearing -you to speaking myself. My purpose is not now -to defend my religion, but to listen to your defense -of yours.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, allow us to have our mystery too. -If you cannot explain all, neither could we; but -neither with us nor with you was that a reason for -not believing at all. It was the mystery itself, perhaps, -that attracted us and attracts you. The love -of the unintelligible is at the root of all systems -of religion. If man is unintelligible to us, shall -not God be? Man has always invested his gods -with his own passions, and his gods are for the -most part his own shadows cast out into infinite -space, enlarged, gigantic, and mysterious. Man -cannot, with the utmost exercise of his faculties, -get out of himself any more than he can leap over<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203">203</a></span> -his own shadow. He cannot comprehend (or inclose -within himself) God, who comprehends and -incloses him; and therefore he vaguely magnifies -his own powers, and calls the result God. God -the infinite Spirit made man; but man in every -system of religion makes God. In our own reason -He is the best that we can imagine—that is, our -own selves purged of evil and extended. We cannot -stretch beyond ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, but your gods were not the best you could -conceive. They were lower of nature than man -himself in some particulars, and were guilty of acts -that you yourself would reprove.”</p> - -<p>“This is because you consider them purely in -their mythical history, according to the notions of -the common ignorant mass; not looking behind -those acts which were purely typical, often simply -allegorical, to the ideas which they represented -and of which they were incarnations. You cannot -believe that so low a system as this satisfied the -spiritual needs of those august and refined souls -who still shine like planets in the sky of thought. -Do you suppose that Plato and Epictetus, that -Zeno and Socrates, that Seneca and Cicero, with -their expanded minds, accepted these low formulas -of Divinity? As well might I suppose that the -low superstitions of the Christian Church, in -which the vulgar believe, represent the highest -philosophy of the best thinkers. Yet for long -centuries of superstition the Church has been accepted -by you just as it stands, with its saints and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204">204</a></span> -their miracles, and its singular rites and ceremonies. -Nor has any effort been made to cleanse the -bark of St. Peter of the barnacles and rubbish -which encumber and defile it. Religious faith -easily degenerates into superstition in the common -mind. And why has the superstition been accepted? -Simply because it is so deeply ingrained -into the belief of the unthinking mass, that there -might be danger of destroying all faith by destroying -the follies and accidents which had become -imbedded in it. Not only for this; by means of -these very superstitions men may be led and -governed, and leaders will not surrender or overthrow -means of power. Yet the best minds,” he -continued, “did what they could in ancient days -to purify and refine the popular faith, and sought -even to elevate men’s notions of the gods by educating -their sense of the beautiful, and by presenting -to them images of the gods unstained by low -passions and glorious in their forms.”</p> - -<p>“But surely your idea of Jupiter or Zeus,” I -answered, “was most unworthy when compared -with that which we entertain of the infinite God, -the source of all created things, the sole and supreme -Creator. The Hebrews certainly attained -a far loftier conception in their Jehovah than you -in your Jupiter.”</p> - -<p>“What matter names?” he replied; “Zeus, -Jehovah, God, are all mere names, and the ideas -they represented were only differenced by the temperaments -and character of the various peoples -who worshiped them.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205">205</a></span> -“But the Jehovah of the Jews was not merely -the head ruler of many gods, but a single universal -God, one and infinite!”</p> - -<p>“No! I think not. The Jehovah of the Jews -underwent many changes and developments with -the growth of the Hebrew people; and in many -of their writings He is represented as a passionate, -vindictive, and even unreasonable and unjust God, -whose passions were modified by human arguments. -And, so far from being a universal God -of all, He was specially the God of the Hebrews, -and is so constantly represented in their Scriptures. -He comes down upon earth and interferes -personally in the doings of men, and talks with -them, and discusses questions with them, and -sometimes even takes their advice. In process of -time this notion is modified, and assumes a nobler -type; but He is never the Universal Father, -nor the God whose essence is Love,—never, that -is, until the coming of Christ, who first enunciated -the idea that God is love,—rejoicing over the -saving of man, far and above all human passions. -‘Vengeance is mine’ was the original idea of -Jehovah; and He was feared and worshiped by -the Jews as their peculiar God, whose chosen people -they were. As for his unity, whatever may -have been the popular superstitions of the Greeks -and Romans, God is recognized by the greatest and -purest minds as one and indivisible, the Father -of all, who commands all, who creates all, who is -invisible and omnipotent. Do you not remember<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206">206</a></span> -the fragment of the Sibylline verses preserved by -Lactantius,<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">25</a> S. Theophilus Antiochenus, and S. -Justinus, where it is said that Zeus was one being -alone, self-creating, from whom all things are -made, who beholds all mortals, but whom no mortal -can behold?—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="grc" lang="grc"> -<span class="i0">Εἷς δ’ ἔστ’ αὐτογενής· ἑνὸς ἔκγονα πάντα τέτυκται,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ἐν δ’ αὐτοῖς αὐτὸς περιγίγνεται· οὐδέ τις αὐτὸν<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Εἰσοράᾳ θνητῶν, αὐτὸς δέ γε πάντας ὁρᾶται.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">So, also, Pindar cries <span class="locked">out:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="grc" lang="grc"> -<span class="i0">‘Τί Θεός;’ τί τὸ πᾶν.</span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">So again, in the same spirit, the Appian hymn -says of <span class="locked">Zeus:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="grc" lang="grc"> -<span class="i0">Ἓν κράτος, εἷς δαίμων γένετο μέγας οὐρανὸν αἴθων<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ἓν δὲ τὰ πάντα τέτυκται· ἐν ᾧ τάδε πάντα κυκλεῖται.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">And Euripides exclaims, ‘Where is the house, -the fabric reared by man, that could contain the -immensity of God?’</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="grc" lang="grc"> -<span class="i0">Ποῖος δ’ ἂν οἶκος, τεκτόνων πλασθεὶς ὑπὸ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Δέμας, τὸ Θεῖον περιβάλλοι τοίχων πτυχαῖς,<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">and adds that the true God needs no sacrifices -on his altar. And Æschylus, in like manner, -<span class="locked">says:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="grc" lang="grc"> -<span class="i0">Ζεύς ἐστιν αἰθὴρ, Ζεὺς δὲ γῆ, Ζεὺς δ’ οὐρανὸς,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ζεύς τοι τὰ πάντα, χὥτι τῶν δ’ ὑπέρτερον.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">And Sophocles, also in similar lines, proclaims the -unity and universality of God. And Theocritus, -in his ‘Idylls,’ echoes the same sentiment. The -same cast of thought, the same lofty idea of God,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207">207</a></span> -is found among the ancient Romans. Lucan exclaims -in his ‘Pharsalia:’—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="la" lang="la"> -<span class="i0">‘Jupiter est quod cumque vides, quo cumque moveris.’</span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Valerius Soranus makes him the one universal, -omnipotent God, the Father and Mother of us -<span class="locked">all:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="la" lang="la"> -<span class="iqq">‘Jupiter omnipotens, regum rerumque deumque<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Progenitor genetrix</i>que deum deus unus et omnes.’<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">26</a><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Can any statement be larger and more inclusive -than this?<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">27</a> Such indeed was the true philosophic -idea of Jupiter, as entertained by the best and -most exalted in ancient days. You must go to -the highest sources to learn what the highest notions -of Deity are among any people, and not -grope among the popular superstitions and myths. -Then, again, what nobler expressions of our relation -to an infinite and universal spirit of God are -to be found than in Epictetus and Seneca? ‘God -is near you, is with you, is within you,’ Seneca -writes. ‘A sacred spirit dwells within us, the observer -and guardian of all our evil and all our -good. There is no good man without God.’ And -again: ‘Even from a corner it is possible to -spring up into heaven. Rise, therefore, and form<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208">208</a></span> -thyself into a fashion worthy of God.’ And -again: ‘It is no advantage that conscience is -shut up within us. We lie open to God.’ And -still again: ‘Do you wish to render the gods -propitious? Be virtuous.’ One might cite such -passages for hours from the writings of these -men. Can you, then, think that our notions of -God and duty were so low and so debased?</p> - -<p>“Look, too, at our arts. Art and religion with -us and the Greeks went hand in hand. If you -seek the true spirit of religion among any people, -you will always find it in the productions of their -art. In sculpture, the most ideal of the plastic -arts, you will see the real features of the gods. -They are grand, calm, serene, dignified, and above -the taint of human passion; claiming reverence -and love in their beauty and perfection beyond -the human. Here there is nothing mean or low. -So godlike are they even in the poorer specimens -of their noble figures that have come down to -you, that you yourselves recognize in them ideal -grace and power. Read the reflection of our faith -in their forms and features, and you will find in -it nothing vulgar, nothing degrading. The best -personifications of your own divinities in art look -poor beside them. God himself in your pictures -is feeble compared with the divine Jupiter of -Phidias; the Madonna weak and tame beside the -august grandeur of his Athene. Christ in your -art is pitiable beside the splendor of Apollo; so -far from being the highest type of even man, he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209">209</a></span> -is almost the weakest, composed of pale negatives, -and with nothing very positive and grand; while -your saints are affected, cowardly, and cringing, -compared with the heroic demigods of Greece. -In art, at least, the ancient deities still live and -command reverence from a serene world beyond -change. Would you know what our faith was, -look at the great works of art and at the best -thoughts of the greatest minds we owned, and not -at the corrupted text of popular superstition. -These, indeed, were worthy of reverence. They -lifted the thoughts and cleared the spirit, and -filled it with a sense of beauty and of power. -Who could look at that magnificent impersonation -of Zeus at Olympia, by Phidias, so grand, so -simple, so serene, with its golden robes and hair, -its divine expression of power and sweetness, its -immense proportions, its perfection of workmanship, -and not feel that they were in the presence -of an august, tremendous, and impassionate -power?”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” I exclaimed, “that truly I wish I could -have seen—what majesty, what beauty, it must -have had!”</p> - -<p>“Ay!” he answered. “No one could see it and -not be enlarged in spirit by it.”</p> - -<p>“Was, then, the Athena of the Parthenon,” I -asked, “equal in merit?”</p> - -<p>“It was very different. It wanted the power -and massive grandeur of the Zeus; but in its -dignity and serenity it had a wondrous charm. It<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210">210</a></span> -was the true type of wisdom, calm above doubt, -and with a gentle severity of aspect, as if, undisturbed -by the tormenting questions that vex humanity, -it saw the eternal truth of things. When -I compare with these wondrous statues your best -representations of your divinities, I cannot but feel -how vast a difference there is; and when in your -temples one sees the prostrate figures of men and -women clinging to vulgar and degraded images of -saints, imploring aid and protection from them, -and soliciting their interposition against the avenging -hand of Deity, I cannot see that you are better -than we.”</p> - -<p>“But, after all, through this there is a belief -in a pure and infinite Being beyond—a Being -beyond all human passion; not imperfect and -subject to wild caprices, and capable of abominable -acts.”</p> - -<p>“You see, we go back to the same question,” -he replied. “You profess to worship a God above -nature, and yet your prayers are to Christ, the -man; to the saints, who were lower men and -women; and you cling to these as mediators. -Well; and we also believed in a spirit and power -undefined and above all, whose nature we could -not grasp, and who expressed himself in every -living thing. Our gods were but anthropomorphic -symbols of special powers and developments of an -infinite and overruling power. They partly represent, -in outward shape and form, philosophic -ideas and human notions about the infinite God,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211">211</a></span> -and partly body forth the phenomena of nature, -that hint at the great ultimate cause behind them, -of which they are, so to speak, the outward garment, -by which the Universal Deity is made visible -to man. In our religion nature was but the -veil which half hid the divine powers. Everywhere -they peered out upon us, from grove and -river, from night and morning, from lightning -and storm, from all the elements and all the -changes and mysteries of the living universe. It -delighted us to feel their absolute, active presence -among us—not far away from us, involved in -utter obscurity, and beyond our comprehension. -We saw the Great Cause in its second plane, close -to us, in the growing of the flower, in the flowing -of the stream, in the drifting of the cloud, in the -rising and setting of the sun. Our gods (representing -the great idea beyond, and doing its work) -were anthropomorphic by necessity, just as yours -are in art. The popular fables are but the mythical -garb behind which lie great facts and truths. -They are symbolical representations of the great -processes of nature, of the laws of life and growth, -of the changes of the seasons, of the strife of the -elements. Apollo was the life-giving sun; Artemis, -the mysterious moon; Ceres and Proserpine, -the burial of the grain in the earth, and its -reappearance and fructification. So, on another -plane, Minerva was the philosophic mind of man; -Venus, the impassioned embodiment of human -love, as Eros was of spiritual affections; Bacchus,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212">212</a></span> -the serene and full enjoyment of nature. We but -divided philosophically what you sum up in one -final cause; but all our divisions looked back to -that cause. In an imaginative people like the -Greeks, there is also a natural tendency to mythical -embodiment of facts in history as well as in -nature; and in the early periods, when little was -written down, traditions easily assumed the myth -form. Ideas were reduced to visible shapes, and -facts were etherealized into ideas and imaginatively -transformed. The story of Diana and Endymion, -of Cupid and Psyche, will always be true—not -to the reason, but to the imagination. It -expresses poetically a sentiment which cannot die. -So, also, what matters it if Dædalus built a ship -for Icarus, and Icarus was simply drowned? Sublimed -into poetry, it became a myth, and Icarus -flew on waxen wings across the sea. All poetry -is thus allegorical. The wind will always have -wings until it ceases to blow. These myths are -simply poetic moulds of thought, in which vague -sentiments, ideas, and facts are wrought together -into an express shape. Think what your own -literature or thought would be without the old -Grecian poems. Let the reason reject them as it -will, and drive them out into the cold, the imagination -will run forth and bring them back again to -warm and cherish them on its breast. Facts, as -facts, are but dead husks. The spirit cannot live -upon them. Besides, are not our myths enchanting? -Could anything take their place? Can science,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213">213</a></span> -peering into all things, ever find the secrets of -nature? After all its explorations, the final element -of life, the motive and inspiring element -that is the essence of all the organism it uses and -without which all is mere material, mere machinery, -flees utterly beyond its reach, and leaves -it at last with only dust in its hands. Does not -the little child that makes playmates of the flowers, -and the brooks, and the sands, find God there better -than any of us? The subtle divinity hides -anywhere, entices everywhere, is just out of -reach everywhere. We catch glimpses of it, -breathe its odor, hear its dim voice, see the last -flutter of its robe, pursue it endlessly, and never -can seize it. The poet is poet because he loves -this spirit in nature, and comes nearer it; but he -cannot grasp it; and for all his pursuit he comes -back laden at last with a secret he cannot quite -tell, and shapes us a myth to express it as well as -he may.”</p> - -<p>“But surely,” I answered, “we should distinguish -between mere poetry and fact—between -science and fancy. So long as we admit the unreality -of merely fanciful creations and explanations -of facts, we may be pleased with them; but -let us not be misled by them into a belief of their -scientific truth.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, ’tis the old story! The little child has a -bit of wood, which to her, in the free play of her -imagination, is a person with good and bad qualities, -who acts well or ill, whom she loves or<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214">214</a></span> -despises. She whips it; she caresses it; she scolds -it; she sends it to school or to bed; she forgives -it and fondles it. All is real to the child; more -real, perhaps, than to the nurse who stands beside -her and laughs at her, and says, ‘How silly! come -away! it is only a stick!’ Which is right? The -Greeks were the child, and you are the nurse. -What is truth, which is always on our lips—truth -of history, truth of science, truth of any -kind? Who knows—history? Two persons standing -together see the same occurrence; is it the -same to both? Far from it. The literal friend is -amazed to hear what the imaginative friend saw. -Yet both may be right in their report, only one -saw what the other had no senses to perceive. We -only see and feel according to our natures. What -we are modifies what we see. Out of the camomile -flower the physician makes a decoction, and -the poet a song. History is but a dried herbarium -of withered facts, unless the imagination interpret -them. I cannot but smile at what is called history; -and of all history, that of our own Roman -world seems the strangest, because, perhaps, I -know it best.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” I broke in, “how one wishes you had -written us familiar memoirs of your time, and -given us some intimate insight into your life, your -thoughts, your daily doings. We have so to grope -about in the dark for any knowledge of you. And -then, in the history of art, what dreadful blanks! -I do not feel assured, except from your ‘Meditations,’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215">215</a></span> -as we call them, and your letters, that we -really know anything accurately about you. About -the Thundering Legion, for instance,—what is the -truth?”</p> - -<p>“There,” he answered, “is an instance of the -ease with which a fable is made, and how a simple -fact may be tortured into an untruth merely to -suit a purpose. When I was on my campaign -against the Quadi, in the year 174, the incident -to which you refer happened. The spring had -been cold and late, and suddenly the heats of summer -overtook us in the enemy’s country. After a -long and difficult march on a very hot day, we suddenly -came upon the enemy, who, descending from -the mountains, attacked us, overcome with fatigue, -in the plains. The battle went against us for some -time, for my army suffered so from thirst and heat -and exhaustion that they were unable to repel the -attack, and were forced back. While they were -in full retreat and confusion, suddenly the sky became -clouded over, and a drenching shower poured -upon us. My men, who were dying of thirst, -stopped fighting, took off their helmets and reversed -their shields to catch the rain, and while -they were thus engaged the enemy renewed their -assault with double fury. All seemed lost, when -suddenly, as sometimes occurs among the mountains, -a fierce wind swept down with terrible peals -of thunder and vivid flashes of lightning; the -rain changed into hail, which was blown and driven -with such a fury into the faces of the enemy that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216">216</a></span> -they were confounded and confused, and began in -their turn to fall back. My own men, having the -storm only on their backs, refreshed by the rain -they had drunken from their shields and helmets, -and cooled by their bath, now anew attacked, and, -pouring upon their foe with fury, cut them to -pieces. Among my soldiers at this time there was -an old legion, organized in the time of Augustus, -named the Fulminata, from the fact that they bore -on their shields a thunderbolt; upon this simple -fact was founded the story, repeated by many early -writers in the Christian Church, that this legion -was composed of Christians only, that the storm -was a miraculous interposition of their God in -answer to their prayer, and that they then received -the name of Fulminata, in commemoration of this -miracle. This is the simple truth of the case. -My men said that Jupiter Pluvius came to their -aid, and they sacrificed to him in gratitude; and -on the column afterwards dedicated to me by -the Senate in commemoration of my services, you -will see the sculptured figure of Jupiter Pluvius, -from whose beard, arms, and head the water is -streaming to refresh my soldiers, while his thunderbolts -are flashing against the barbarians.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke these words, a flash of lightning, -so intense as to blind the lamps, gleamed through -the room, followed by a startling peal of thunder, -which seemed to shake not only the house but the -sky above us.</p> - -<p>He smiled and said, “We should have said in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217">217</a></span> -older time that Jupiter affirmed the truth of my -statement; but you are above such puerilities, I -suppose.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly I should not say it was a sign from -Jupiter. The thunder was on the left, and that -was considered by you a good omen, was it not?</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" xml:lang="la" lang="la"> -<span class="i6">‘Et cœli genitor de parte serena<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Intonuit lævum.’”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“This thunder on the left was considered a good -omen. But what was it you said after you asked -the question? You seemed to be making a quotation -in a strange tongue—at least a tongue I -never heard.”</p> - -<p>“That was Latin,” I answered, blushing a little, -“and from Virgil—Virgilius, perhaps I ought -to say, or perhaps Maro.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Latin, was it?” he said. “I beg your -pardon; I thought it might have been a charm to -avert the Evil Eye that you were uttering.”</p> - -<p>“As difficult to understand as the Eleusinian -mysteries,” I said. “And, by the way, what were -the Eleusinian mysteries?”</p> - -<p>“They were mysteries! I can merely say to -you that they concealed under formal rites the -worship of the spirit of nature, as symbolized in -Demeter and Persephone and Dionysos. In their -purest and hidden meaning, they represented the -transformation, purification, and resurrection of -humanity in a new form and in another existence. -But I am not at liberty to say more than this. -The outward rites were for the multitude, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218">218</a></span> -inner meaning for the highest and most developed -minds. Were it permitted to me to explain them -to you, I think you would not take so low a view -of our religious philosophy as you now seem to -have. What you hear and read of was merely -the outward and mystical drama, with its lustrations -and fasting, and cakes of sesame and honey, -and processions—as symbolical in its way as your -mass and baptism, and having as pure a significance.</p> - -<p>“But,” he continued, “to revert to the questions -which we were previously discussing. It seems to -me that in certain respects your faith is not even -so satisfactory as ours; for its tendency is to degrade -the present in view of the future, and to -debase humanity in its own view. With us life -was not considered disgraceful, nor man a mean -and contemptible creature. We did not systematically -humiliate ourselves and cringe before the -divine powers, but strove to stand erect, and not -to forget that we were made by God after his own -image. We did not affect that false humility -which in the view of the ancient philosophers was -contemptible—nay, even we thought that the -pride of humility was of all the most despicable. -We sought to keep ourselves just, obedient to our -best instincts, temperate and simple, looking upon -life as a noble gift of the gods, to be used for -noble purposes. We believed, beside this, that -virtue should be practiced for itself, and not -through any hope of reward or any fear of punishment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219">219</a></span> -here or hereafter. To act up to our -highest idea of what was right was our principle, -not out of terror or in the hope of conciliating -God, but because it was right; and to look calmly -on death, not as an evil, but as a step onward to -another existence. To desire nothing too much; -to hold one’s self equal to any fate; to keep one’s -self in harmony with nature and with one’s own -nature; calmly to endure what is inevitable, steadily -to abstain from all that is wrong; to remember -that there is no such thing as misfortune to the -brave and wise, but only phantasms that falsely -assume these shapes to shake the mind; that -when what we wish does not happen, we should -wish what does happen; that God hath given us -courage, magnanimity, and fortitude, so that we -may stand up against invasions of evil and bear -misfortune,—such were our principles, and they -enabled us to live heroic lives, vindicating the nobility -of human nature, and not despising it as base -and lost; believing in the justice of God and not -in his caprice and enmity to any of us, and having -no ignoble fear of the future.”</p> - -<p>“But are not these principles for the most part -ours?” I answered. “Do we not believe that -virtue is the grand duty of man? Do none of us -seek to live heroic lives, and sacrifice ourselves to -do good to the world and to our brothers?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, you lead heroic lives; but your -great principle is humility—your great motive, -reward or fear. You profess to look on this life<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220">220</a></span> -as mean and miserable, and on yourselves as creatures -of the dust; and you declare that you have -no claim to be saved from eternal damnation by -leading a just life, but only by a capricious election -hereafter. You profess that your God is a -God of love, and you attribute to Him enmity and -injustice of which you yourself would be ashamed. -You think you are to be saved because Christ died -on the cross for you, and you are not sure of it -even then. But with us every one deserved to be -tried on his own merits, and to expiate his own -errors and crimes.”</p> - -<p>“It is supposed by some that you were half a -Christian yourself. Is this so?”</p> - -<p>“If you mean that I reverenced the life and -doctrines of Christ, and saw in Him a pure man, -I certainly did. But in my principles I was a -Stoic purely, and it is only as a philosopher that I -admired the character of Christ. You think the -principles He preached were new; they were really -as old as the world, almost. His life was blameless, -and He sacrificed his life for his principles; and -for this I reverence Him, but no further. His followers, -however, were far less pure and self-denying, -and they sought power and endeavored to -overthrow the state.”</p> - -<p>“Was it for this you persecuted them?” I -said.</p> - -<p>“I did not persecute them,” he answered. “As -Christians they were perfectly free in Rome. All -religions were free, and all admitted. No one was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221">221</a></span> -interfered with merely for his religious belief and -worship, whether it were that of Isis, of Mithras, -of Jehovah, or of any other deity. It was only -when the Christians endeavored to attain to power -and provoke disturbance in the state, to abuse -authority and set at defiance the laws, that it became -necessary—or at all events was considered -necessary—to stop them. When they were not -content with worshiping according to their own -creed, but aggressively denounced the popular -worship as damnable, and sought to cast public -contempt on all gods but their own, they outraged -the public sense as much as if any one now should -denounce Christ as a vagabond, and seek by abuse -to overthrow your church by all sorts of blasphemous -language. Nor would it matter in the -least in your own time that any person so outraging -decency should be absolutely honest in his intentions, -and assured in his own mind of the truth -of his own doctrines. Suppose one step further,—that -any set of men should not only undertake to -turn Christ into ridicule publicly, but should also -abuse the government and conspire to overthrow -the monarchy. You would then have a case similar -to that of the Christians in my day. At all -events, it was believed that it was a settled plan -with them to overthrow the empire, and it was for -this that they were, as you call it, persecuted. -For my own part, I was sorry for it, deeming in -such matters it was better to take no measures so -severe; but I personally had nothing to do with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222">222</a></span> -it. It was the fanatical zeal of the government, -who, acting without my commands, took advantage -of ancient laws to punish the Christians; and this -your own Tertullian will prove to you. They undoubtedly -supposed that the Christians were endeavoring -to create a political and social revolution,—that -they were in fact Communists, as you -would now call them, intent upon overthrowing -the state. I confess that there was a good deal of -color given to such a judgment by the conduct of -the Christians. But as for myself, as I said, I -was opposed to any movement against them, believing -them all to be honest of purpose, though -perhaps somewhat excited and fanatical.”</p> - -<p>“Why did you think that they were Communists?” -I asked. “Had you any sufficient grounds -for such a belief?”</p> - -<p>“Surely; the most ample grounds in the very -teachings of Christ himself. His system was essentially -communistic, and nothing else. His followers -and disciples were all Communists; they -all lived in common, had a common purse, and no -one was allowed to own anything. They were -ordered by Christ not to labor, but to live from -day to day, and take no heed of the future, and -lay up nothing, but to sell all they had, and live -like the ravens. Christ himself denounced riches -constantly—not the wrong use of riches, but the -mere possession of them; and said it was easier -for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, -than for a rich man to inherit the kingdom of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223">223</a></span> -heaven,—not a bad rich man, observe, but any -rich man. So, too, his story of Lazarus and Dives -turns on the same point. It does not appear that -Lazarus was good, but only that he was poor; -nor does it appear that Dives was bad, but only -that he was rich; and when Dives in Hades prays -for a drop of water, he is told that he had the -good things in his lifetime, and Lazarus the evil -things, and that <em>therefore</em> he is now tormented, -and Lazarus is comforted.”</p> - -<p>“But, surely,” I answered, “it was intended to -mean that Dives had not used his riches properly?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing is said of the kind, or even intimated; -for all that appears, Dives may have been a good -man, and Lazarus not. The only apparent virtue -of Lazarus is, that he was a beggar; the only -fault of Dives, that he was rich. Do you not remember, -also, the rich young man who desired to -become one of Christ’s followers, and asked what -he should do to be saved? Christ told him that -doing the commandments, and being virtuous and -honest, was not enough; but that he must sell all -that he had, and give it to the poor, and then he -could follow Him, and not otherwise; and the -rich good man was very sorrowful, and went away. -What does all this mean but Communism? Yes; -the system He would carry out was community of -goods, and He would permit no one to have possessions -of his own. This struck at the roots of -all established law and rights of property, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224">224</a></span> -naturally made his sect feared and hated among -certain classes in Rome.”</p> - -<p>“I am astonished,” I said, “to find that you -have so carefully studied the records of the teachings -and doctrines of Christ.”</p> - -<p>“Is it not the duty of any man,” he answered, -“especially of one in a responsible position, carefully -to consider the arguments and doctrines of -all who are sincere and earnest in their convictions, -and, however averse they may be from our -preconceived opinions, to weigh them, as far as possible, -calmly, and without prejudice, and see what -they really are and what truth there may be in -them? and was not this peculiarly incumbent on -me in the case of so noble and spiritual a teacher -as Christ? Was it not my duty to endeavor, as far -as in me lay, first to recognize the great principles -of his teaching, and then in their light to examine -and weigh his very words as far as they are authentically -reported to us by his followers? It is -this fixed notion, from which we cannot easily -free ourselves, that we in our own views alone can -be right, that shuts up the mind and encrusts our -faith with superstitions. We at our best are -merely men, subject to errors, short-sighted, fixed -in prejudices, and seeing but a part of anything. -No system of religion ever embraced all truth; -no system is without gleams of it; all recognize -a higher power above us and beyond our comprehension; -and nothing is more unbecoming than -to scorn what we have not even striven to understand,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225">225</a></span> -or to shut our ears and our minds to any -doctrine or faith which is earnestly, seriously propounded -and accepted by others. Unfortunately, -it is this narrow-mindedness and arrogance of -opinion which has always impeded the growth -and development of truth. There is nothing so -bitter as religious controversy,—nothing which -has so petrified our intelligence or has begotten -such crimes and such persecutions. Therefore -it was that I deemed it my duty to study and -endeavor to understand the doctrine and belief -of all sincere minds, whether of those who worshiped -Jehovah or Zeus, Mithras or Christ, and -not to reject them as wicked or erroneous simply -because they were averse from the faith in which -I had been educated. Will you excuse me if I -say that what amazes me in regard to the Christian -faith is, that while it is claimed that Christ -is God, and therefore to be implicitly obeyed in -all his commands, so little intelligence is shown -in studying those commands, and such willful perversion -in avoiding them even when they are -plainly enunciated; and again, that while claiming -that love and forgiveness are the very corner-stone -of your faith, you Christians none the less -not only accept war and battle as arbitraments -of right, but in the name of your great founder,—nay, -of your very God,—have endeavored at -times to enforce those doctrines by the most hideous -of crimes, and by wholesale slaughter of -those who differed from you in minor particulars<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226">226</a></span> -of faith; and still more, do constantly even now -exhibit such narrow-minded adherence to mere -words and texts, without consideration of the great -principles which underlie them and in the light -of which surely they are to be interpreted. You -are all Christians now, in Rome. You profess absolute -faith in the teaching of Christ. You profess -to consider his life as the great exemplar -for all men. Do you follow it? Do you, for instance, -think it in accordance with his teaching or -his example to devote your lives selfishly to the -laying up of riches for your own individual luxuries, -to clothe yourselves in purple and fine linen, -to make broad your phylacteries, or to use vain repetitions -in your prayers as the heathen do, standing -in the synagogues and at the corners of the -streets, and to play the part of Dives while Lazarus -is starving at your gates? Are you any better -than we heathens, as you call us, in all this? -Do you think Christ would have done thus, or -smiled approval on all you do in his name? Ah! -you say, it would be impossible for us strictly to -carry out this system of Christ. It is beautiful, -but ideal, and for us, in the present state of the -world, absolutely impracticable. But have you -ever tried it? Have you ever even sought to try -it, and to hold a common purse for the interest -of all?”</p> - -<p>I had to bow my head, and admit that in that -high sense we are not Christians. “But,” I said, -“to follow exactly all these commands, to carry<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227">227</a></span> -out all these doctrines, even to imitate his example -as set before us in his life, would be to revolutionize -the world.”</p> - -<p>“But does not the world need revolutionizing,” -he said, “according to your own principles?”</p> - -<p>“We do what we can, at least we endeavor to -do so, as far as we are able.”</p> - -<p>“Are you sure even of that?” he replied. “Are -you sure it is not mammon that you really worship, -and not Christ? But I will say no more. -You are but mortal men as we were; and man is -fallible and weak, and our knowledge is but half-knowledge -at best, and our love and faith have -but feeble wings to lift us above the earth on -which we dwell. Look upon us, therefore, as you -would be looked upon yourselves, and be not too -stern on our shortcomings. We had our vices -and faults and deficiencies as you have yours, -but we had also our virtues, and were on the -whole as high of purpose, as self-sacrificing, as -pure even as you; but man neither then nor now -has led an ideal life.</p> - -<p>“But to return to what we were saying about -our treatment of Christians. Let me add in my -own justification that I for myself never had any -hand in persecutions, either of Christians or of -others, nor was I ever aware that they were persecuted. -I knew that persons who happened to -be Christians were punished for political offenses; -and that was all, I think, that happened. Believe -me, my soul was averse from all such things, nor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228">228</a></span> -would I ever allow even my enemies to be persecuted, -much less those who merely differed from -me on moral and philosophical theses. Nay, I -may say they differed little from me even on these -points, as you may well see if you read my letters -on the subject of the proper treatment of one’s -enemies, written to Lucius Verus, or if you will -refer to that little diary of mine in Pannonia, -wherein I was not so base as to lie to myself.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” I cried; “that book is a precious -record of the purest and highest morality.”</p> - -<p>“’Tis a poor thing,” he answered, “but sincere. -I strove to act up to my best principles; but life is -difficult, and man is not wise, and our opinions are -often incorrect. Still, I strove to act according to -my nature; to do the things which were fit for -me, and not to be diverted from them by fear of -any blame; to keep the divine part in me tranquil -and content; and to look upon death and life, -honor and dishonor, pain and pleasure, as neither -good nor evil in themselves, but only in the way in -which we receive them. For fame I sought not; -for what is fame but a smoke that vanishes, a river -that runs dry, a lamp that soon is extinguished—a -tale of a day, and scarcely even so much? Therefore, -it benefits us not deeply to consider it, but to -pass on through the little space assigned to us -conformably to nature, and in content, and to leave -it at last grateful for what we have received, just -as an olive falls off when it is ripe, blessing nature -which produced it, and thanking the tree on which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229">229</a></span> -it grew. So, also, it is our duty not to defile the -divinity in our breast, but to follow it tranquilly -and obediently as a god, saying nothing contrary -to truth, and doing nothing contrary to justice. -For our opinions are but running streams, flowing -in various ways; but truth and justice are ever the -same, and permanent, and our opinions break -about them as the waves round a rock, while they -stand firm forever. For every accident of life -there is a corresponding virtue to exercise; and if -we consult the divine within us, we know what it -is. As we cannot avoid the inevitable, we should -accept it without murmuring; for we cannot -struggle against the gods without injuring ourselves. -For the good we do to others, we have our -immediate reward; for the evil that others do to -us, if we cease to think of it, there is no evil to us. -It is by accepting an offense, and entertaining it in -our thoughts, that we increase it, and render ourselves -unhappy, and veil our reason, and disturb -our senses. As for our life, it should be given to -proper objects, or it will not be decent in itself; -for a man is the same in quality as the object that -engages his thoughts. Our whole nature takes the -color of our thoughts and actions. We should -also be careful to keep ourselves from rash and -premature judgments about men and things; for -often a seeming wrong done to us is a wrong only -through our misapprehension, and arising from our -fault. And so, making life as honest as possible -and calmly doing our duty in the present, as the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230">230</a></span> -hour and the act require, and not too curiously -considering the future beyond us, standing ever -erect, and believing that the gods are just, we may -make our passage through this life no dishonor to -the Power that placed us here. Throughout the -early portion of my life, my father, Antoninus -Pius,—I call him my father, for he was ever dear -to me, and was like a father,—taught me to be -laborious and assiduous, to be serene and just, to -be sober and kind, to be brave and without envy -or vanity; and on his death-bed, when he felt the -shadow coming over him, he ordered the captain of -the guard to transfer to me the golden statuette -of Fortune, and gave him his last watchword of -‘Equanimity.’ From that day to the day when, in -my turn, I left the cares of empire and of life, I -ever kept that watchword in my heart—equanimity; -nor do I know a better one for any man.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, tell me, for you know,” I cried, “what is -there behind this dark veil which we call death? -You have told me of your opinions and thoughts -and principles of life, here; but of that life hereafter -you have not said a word. What is it?”</p> - -<p>There was a blank silence. I looked up—the -chair was empty! That noble figure was no longer -there.</p> - -<p>“Fool that I was!” I cried; “why did I discuss -with him these narrow questions belonging to life -and history, and leave that stupendous question -unasked which torments us all, and of which he -could have given the solution?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231">231</a></span> -I rose from my chair, and after walking up and -down the room several minutes, with the influence -of him who had left me still filling my being -as a refined and delicate odor, I went to the window, -pushed wide the curtains, and looked out -upon the night. The clouds were broken, and -through a rift of deep, intense blue, the moon was -looking out on the earth. Far away, the heavy -and ragged storm was hovering over the mountains, -sullen and black, and I recalled the words -of St. Paul to the <span class="locked">Romans:—</span></p> - -<p>“When the Gentiles, which have not the law, -do by nature the things contained in the law, -these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves;” -and “the doers of the law shall be justified.”</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232">232</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="ch5"></a>DISTORTIONS OF THE ENGLISH STAGE AS INSTANCED IN “MACBETH.”</h2> - -<p>Art is art because it is not nature, is the motto -of the Idealisti; Art is but the imitation of nature, -say the Naturalisti. The truth lies between -the two. Art is neither nature alone, nor can it -do without nature. No imitation, however accurate, -for imitation’s sake makes a good work of -art in any other than a mechanical sense. And -every work of art in which the objects represented -are inaccurately or imperfectly imitated is in so -far deficient. But art works by suggestion as -well as by imitation. Whatever is untrue to the -imagination fails to produce its proper effect, however -true it be to the fact. The most absolute -realism will not answer the higher demand of the -imagination for ideal truth. Art is not simply -the reproduction of nature, but nature as modified -and colored by the spirit of the artist. It is a -crystallization out of nature of all elements and -facts related by affinity to the idea intended to be -embodied. These solely it should eliminate and -draw to itself, leaving the rest as unessential. A -literal adherence to all the accidents of nature is -not only not necessary in art, but may even be fatal. -The enumeration of all the leaves in a tree does<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233">233</a></span> -not reproduce a tree to the imagination, while a -whole landscape may be compressed into a single -verse.</p> - -<p>Between the ideal and the natural school there -is a perpetual struggle. Under the purely ideal -treatment art becomes vague and insipid; under -the purely natural treatment it becomes literal and -prosaic. The Pre-Raphaelites, in protesting against -weak sentimentalism and vague generalization, and -demanding an honest study of nature, have fallen -into the error of exaggerating the importance of -minute detail, and, by insisting too strongly on -literal truth, have sometimes lost sight of that ideal -truth which is of higher worth. But their work -was needed, and it has been bravely done. They -have roused the age out of that dull conventionalism -in which it had fallen asleep. They have -stimulated thought, revivified sentiment, and reasserted -with word and deed the necessity of nature -as a true basis of art.</p> - -<p>As in the arts of painting and sculpture, so in -the drama and on the stage a strong reaction is -taking place against the stilted conventionalism -and elaborate artifice of the last generation. Such -plays as the “<cite>Nina Sforza</cite>” of Mr. Troughton, the -“Legend of Florence” of Mr. Leigh Hunt, and the -“Blot in the ‘Scutcheon” and “Colombe’s Birthday” -of Mr. Browning, are vigorous protests -against the feeble pretensions and artificial tragedies -of the previous century. The poems and plays -of Mr. Browning breathe a new life; and if as yet<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234">234</a></span> -they have only found “fit audience though few,” -they are stimulating the best thought of this age, -and slowly infusing a new life and spirit into it.</p> - -<p>But the traditions of the stage are very strong -in England, and are not easily to be rooted out. -The English public has become accustomed to -certain traditional and conventional modes of -acting, which interfere with the freedom of the -actor, and cramp his genius within artificial forms. -There is almost no attempt on the English stage -to represent life as it really is. Tradition and convention -stand in the stead of nature. From the -moment an actor puts his foot on the stage he is -taught to mouth and declaim. He studies rather -to make telling points than to give a consistent -whole to the character he represents. His utterance -and action are false and “stagey.” In quiet -scenes he is pompous and stilted; in tragic scenes, -ranting and violent. He never forgets his audience, -but, standing before the footlights, constantly -addresses himself to them as if they were personages -in the play. Habit at last becomes a second -nature; his taste becomes corrupted, and he ceases -to strive to be simple and natural. There is, in -a word, no defect against which Hamlet warns -the actor which is not a characteristic feature of -English acting. It never “holds the mirror up to -nature,” but is always “overdone,” without “temperance,” -full of mouthing, strutting, bellowing, -and noise. It “tears a passion to tatters, to very -rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.” And<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235">235</a></span> -“there be players that I have seen play, and heard -others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, -that, having neither the accent of Christians -nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor Turk, -have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought -some of Nature’s journeymen had made men, and -not made them well, they imitated humanity so -abominably;” and this needs to be reformed altogether.</p> - -<p>These words of Shakespeare show that even in -his time the inflated, pompous, and artificial style -still in vogue on the English stage was a national -characteristic. We have scarcely improved, since -old traditions cling and hold the stage in mortmain. -Reform moves slowly everywhere in England; -but the two institutions which oppose to it -the most obstinate resistance are the church and -the theatre. In both of these tradition stands for -nearly as much as revelation. Each adheres to its -old forms, as if they contained its true essence; -each believes that those forms once broken, the -whole spirit would be lost; just as if they were -phials which contained a precious liquid, and must -be therefore preserved at all costs. The idea that -the liquid can be quite as well, and perhaps better, -kept in different phials has never occurred to them. -They will die for the phial.</p> - -<p>Still it is plain that a strong reaction against -this bigoted admiration of traditional and conventional -forms is now perceptible. The facilities -of travel and intercourse with other nations have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236">236</a></span> -engendered new notions and modified old ones. It -is impossible to compare the French and Italian -stage with the English, and not perceive the vast -inferiority of the latter. In the one we see nature, -simplicity, and life; in the other, the galvanism -of artificial convention. It cannot be denied that -the recent acting of Hamlet by Fechter was to the -English mind a daring and doubtful innovation. -It was something so utterly different in spirit and -style from that to which we have been accustomed -that it created a sensation; and while it found -many ardent admirers, it found quite as many -vehement opposers. The public ranged themselves -in two parties; the one insisting that the traditional -and artificial school, as represented by -Garrick, the elder Kean, and Cooke, was the only -safe guide for the tragic actor; and the other -arguing that as the true function of the stage was -to hold up the mirror to nature, acting should be -as much like life and as little like acting as possible. -The former, at the head of which were the -friends of Mr. Charles Kean, made a public demonstration -in his behalf, and scouted these newfangled -French notions of acting. Was it to be -supposed that any school of acting could be superior -to that created and established in England by -the genius of such actors as Garrick, the elder -Kean, and Cooke? Should foreigners presume to -teach us how to interpret and represent plays -which had been the study of the English people -for centuries? To this it was opposed that, however<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237">237</a></span> -mortifying to us, it was a fact that the Germans -had led the way to a profounder and more -metaphysical study of Shakespeare, and had taught -us in many ways how to understand his plays, and -that therefore there was no reason why foreigners -might not teach us how to act them. The very -fact that their eyes were not blinded, nor their -tongues tied by traditional conventions, enabled -them to study Shakespeare with more freedom and -directness. There was no deep rut of ancient -usage out of which they were forced to wrench -themselves. And, besides, it was affirmed, and -with truth, that the English stage is the jeer of -the world, and needs thorough reform.</p> - -<p>We have indeed made little progress in reforming -the stage. Mr. Charles Kean has devoted his -talents to improving the wardrobe and scenery, -and has so far done good service; but in the essential -matter of acting we are nearly where we -were in the past century. While the background -and dresses are reformed, and the bag-wig in -which Garrick played Hamlet is thrown aside, we -have carefully preserved all the old points, all the -stage-tricks, and all the stilted intonations of the -artificial school; and the consequence is, that the -sole reality is in that which is the least essential. -The attention is thus withdrawn from the actor to -the scenery, and we have a spectacle instead of a -tragedy. The background is real, but the actor is -conventional; the blanket has usurped the prominent -place, and Shakespeare has retired behind it.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238">238</a></span> -The bursts of genius with which Garrick startled -the house, and made the audience forget his bag-wig, -are wanting, but all his tricks are preserved; -the corpse is still there, but the spirit he put into -it is gone.</p> - -<p>In comedy there is as little resemblance to real -life as in tragedy; humor and wit are travestied -by buffoonery and grimace. Instead of pictures of -life as it is, we have grotesque daubs and caricatures, -so exaggerated and farcical in their character -as to “make the judicious grieve.” The actor -and the audience react upon each other. The -audience are generally uneducated, and for the -most part agree with Partridge in his comment on -“Hamlet:” “Give me the king for my money,” -says he. The actors must bow to this low <span class="locked">taste,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“For they who live to please must please to live.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>But tradition has worse sins to answer for. It -has not only ruined our national acting, but in -some cases has overshadowed the drama itself, and -perverted the meaning of some of the greatest -plays of Shakespeare. Hamlet is not Hamlet on -the English stage; he is the tall, imposing figure -of John Kemble; dark, melodramatic, and dressed -in black velvet. Strive as we will, we cannot imagine -him as the light-haired Dane, easy and -dreamy of temperament, “fat and scant of breath,” -essentially metaphysical, hating physical action, -and wanting energy to put his thoughts into deeds. -The whole spirit of the acted Hamlet is southern;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239">239</a></span> -that of the real Hamlet is purely northern. We -have indeed broken through an old tradition, according -to which, incredible as it may seem, Shylock -used to be acted as a comic character, though -we are still far from a real understanding of his -character. But of all the plays of Shakespeare -none is so grossly misunderstood as “Macbeth.” -Nor is this misapprehension confined to the stage; -it prevails even among those who have zealously -studied and admired Shakespeare. As John Kemble -stands for Hamlet in our imaginations, so does -Mrs. Siddons for Lady Macbeth. She has completely -transformed this wonderful creation of -Shakespeare’s, distorted its true features, and so -stamped upon it her own individuality, that when -we think of one we have the figure of the other -in our minds. The Lady Macbeth of Mrs. Siddons -is the only Lady Macbeth we know and -believe in. She is the imperious, wicked, cruel -wife of Macbeth, urging on her weak and kindhearted -husband to abominable crimes solely to -gratify her own ambitious and evil nature. She is -without heart, tenderness, or remorse. Devilish -in character, violent in purpose, she is the soul of -the whole play; the plotter and instigator of all -its horrors; a fiend-like creature, who, having a -complete mastery over Macbeth, works him to -madness by her taunts, and relentlessly drives him -on against his will to the commission of his terrible -crimes. We hate her, as we pity Macbeth. He -is weak of purpose, amiable of disposition, “full<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240">240</a></span> -of the milk of human kindness,” an unwilling -instrument of all her evil designs, who, wanting -force of will and strength of character, yields -reluctantly to her infernal temptations.</p> - -<p>Nothing could more clearly prove the great -genius of Mrs. Siddons, than that she has been -able so to stamp upon the public mind this amazing -misconception, that, despite all the careful -study which of late years has been given to Shakespeare, -this notion of the character of Lady Macbeth -and Macbeth should still prevail. Yet so -deeply is it rooted, and so universal, that whoever -attempts to eradicate it will find his task most -difficult. But, believing it to be an utter distortion -of the characters as Shakespeare drew them, and -so at variance with the interior thought, conduct, -and development of the play as not only entirely -to obscure its real meaning, but to obliterate all -its finest and most delicate features, we venture to -enter upon this difficult task.</p> - -<p>Macbeth and his wife, so far from being the -characters above described, are their direct opposites. -He is the villain, who can never satiate -himself with crimes. She, having committed one -crime, dies of remorse. She is essentially a woman—acts -suddenly and violently, and then breaks -down, and wastes her life and thoughts in bitter -repentance. He is, on the contrary, essentially a -man—who resolves slowly and with calculation, -but once determined and entered upon a course of -action, obstinately pursues it to the end, haunted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241">241</a></span> -by no remorse for his crimes, and agitated by no -regrets and doubts, so long as his wicked plans do -not miscarry. The spring of his nature is ambition;<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">28</a> -and in working out his ends he is cruel, -pitiless, and bloody. He is without a single good -trait of character; and from the beginning to the -end of the play, at every step, he develops deeper -abysses of cruelty and inhumanity in his nature. -When he is first presented to us, we, in common -with Lady Macbeth, are completely unaware of his -baseness. He is a thorough hypocrite, and deceives -us, as he deceived her. We see that he has a grasping -ambition, but we believe that he is amiable -and weak of purpose, for so Lady Macbeth tells -us; but as the play goes on, his character develops -itself, and at last we find that he has neither heart -nor tenderness for anybody or anything; that his -will is unconquerable; that he is utterly without -moral sense, is hopelessly selfish, and wickedly -cruel. All he loves is power. His ambition is -insatiable. It grows by what it feeds on. The -more he has, the more he desires, and he is ready -to commit every kind of horror for the sake of -attaining his object. He is restrained by no scruples -of honor, by no claims of friendship, by no -sensitiveness of conscience. He murders his sovereign, -from whom he has just received large gifts -and honors in his own house; and then instantly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242">242</a></span> -compasses the death of his nearest friend and -guest, Banquo. Not content with this, he then -seeks the life of Macduff; and, enraged because -he has fled, savagely and in cold blood puts the -whole of his family to the sword. There is a -steady growth of evil in his character from the -beginning to the end, or rather a steady development -of his evil nature.</p> - -<p>Malcolm and Macduff, who at first were his -friends and companions, afterwards, when they had -learned to “know” him, call him “treacherous” -and “devilish.” So far from agreeing in the -character given of him by Lady Macbeth, they -<span class="locked">say,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">“<i>Macduff.</i> <span class="in5">Not in the legions</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of horrid hell can come a devil more damned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In evil to top Macbeth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2"><i>Malcolm.</i> <span class="in5">I grant him bloody,</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That has a name.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Yet even they admit that</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was once thought honest.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">As he had deceived the world, so he deceived his -wife. His bloody and treacherous nature was at -first as unknown to her as to his friends. As they -thought him “honest,” she thought him amiable -and infirm of purpose, greatly ambitious, and one -who would “wrongly win,” but yet kindly of nature. -Fiery temptations had not as yet brought -out the secret writing of his character. It was with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243">243</a></span> -Macbeth as it was with Nero: their real natures -did not exhibit themselves at first; but when once -they began to develop, their growth was rapid and -terrible. And in each of them there was a vein of -madness. Essentially a hypocrite, and secretive -by nature, Macbeth had passed for only a brave -and stern soldier when he first makes his appearance. -Yet even in his fierce Norwegian fight we -see a violent and bloody spirit. In the very beginning -of the play, one of his soldiers describes him, -in his encounter with Macdonald, as one <span class="locked">who,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which smoked with bloody execution,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like Valour’s minion,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Carved out his passage till he faced the slave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ne’er shook hands nor bade farewell to him<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till he unseamed him from the nape to the chaps,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fixed his head upon our battlements.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">This is rather a grim picture, and scarcely corresponds -to the character usually assigned to Macbeth. -Here is not only no infirmity of purpose, -but a stern, unwavering resolution, carving its way -through all difficulties and against all opposition. -Thus far, however, all his deeds had been loyal and -for a lawful purpose. Still within his heart burnt, -as he himself says, “black and deep desires,” and -only circumstances and opportunities were needed -to show that he could be as fierce and bloody in -crime as he had shown himself in doing a soldier’s -duty. They were already urging him in the very -first scene; but, secretive of nature, he kept them -out of sight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244">244</a></span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i16">“Stars, hide your fires;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let not light see my black and deep desires;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Thus he cries to himself as he speeds to his wife. -The “murder,” which was but an hour before -“fantastical,” has now become a fixed resolve.</p> - -<p>A nature like this, secretive, false, deceitful, and -wicked, which had thus far satisfied itself in a -legitimate way, and, having no temptation in his -own house, had never shown its real shape there, -would naturally not have been understood by his -wife. Glimpses she might have of what he was, -but not a thorough understanding of him. Blinded -by her personal attachment to him, and herself -essentially his opposite in character, as we shall -see, she would naturally have misinterpreted him. -The secretive nature is always a puzzle to the -frank nature. Accustomed to go straight to her -object, whether good or bad, she was completely -deceived by his hypocritical and sentimental pretenses, -and supposed his nature to be “full of the -milk of human kindness.” But time also opened -her eyes, though, perhaps, never, even to the last, -did she fully comprehend him. “What thou -wouldst highly, that wouldst thou holily,” she -would never have said after the murder of the -king. But however this may be, that her view of -his character is false is proved by the whole play. -When did he ever show an iota of kindness? -What crime did his conscience or the desire to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245">245</a></span> -act “holily” ever prevent his committing? -When did he ever exhibit any want of bloody -determination? Infirm of purpose? He was like -a tiger in his purposes and in his deeds. The -murder of Duncan did not satisfy him. The next -morning, he kills the two chamberlains, in cold -blood, to gratify his wanton cruelty. It was impossible -that they should testify against him—they -had been drugged, and he could have had no -fear of them. Then immediately he plots the -murder of Banquo and Fleance, and all the while -hypocritically conceals his foul purposes even from -his wife; and because Macduff “failed his presence -at the tyrant’s feast,” he determines also to -murder him. Foiled of this, he then cruelly and -hideously puts to the sword his wife and little -children. In all these murders, after the king’s, -Lady Macbeth not only takes no part, but she -is even kept in ignorance of them. She drive -him to the commission of his crimes? She does -not know of them till they are done. They are -plotted and determined upon in secret by Macbeth -alone, and carried into execution with a bloody -directness and suddenness. He is “bloody, false, -deceitful, sudden,”—essentially a hypocrite, false -in his pretenses, secret in his plotting, loud in -his showy talk, but sudden and bloody in his -crimes and in his malice.</p> - -<p>Thus far, however, we have seen but one side -of Macbeth. The other side was its opposite. -Bold, ambitious, and treacherous, he was also<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246">246</a></span> -equally imaginative and superstitious. In action -he feared no man. Brave as he was cruel, and -ready to meet anything in the flesh, he was -equally visionary of head, a victim of superstitious -fears, and a mere coward before the unreal -fancies evoked by his imagination. He has the -Scottish second-sight, and visions and phantoms -shake his soul. Show him twenty armed men who -seek his life, he encounters them with a fierce joy. -Show him a white sheet on a pole, and tell him -it is a ghost, and he trembles abjectly. He conjures -up for himself phantoms that “unfix his -hair and make his seated heart knock at his -ribs;” he is distracted with “horrible imaginings.” -His excited imagination always plays him -false and fills him with momentary and superstitious -fears; but these fears never ultimately control -his action. They are fumes of the head, and -being purely visionary, they are also temporary. -They come in moments of excitement, obscure for -a time his judgment, and influence his ideas; but -having regard solely to things unreal, they vanish -with the necessity of action.</p> - -<p>These superstitious fears have nothing to do -with conscience or morals. He has no morals; -there is no indication of a moral sense in any -single word of the whole play. The only passage -which faintly indicates a sense of right and wrong -is when he urges to himself, as reasons why he -should not kill Duncan, not only that the king is -his kinsman, his king, and his guest, but that he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247">247</a></span> -has borne his faculties so meekly, that his virtues -would plead like angels trumpet-tongued against -the deep damnation of his taking-off. This, however, -is mere talk, and has reference only to the -indignation which his murder will excite, not -to any sorrow Macbeth has for the crime. His -sole doubt is lest he may not succeed; for, as he -<span class="locked">says,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i16">“If the assassination<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With his surcease, success; that but this blow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Might be the be-all and the end-all here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’d jump the life to come.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">The idea of being restrained from committing this -murder by any religious or moral scruples is very -far from his thought. Right or wrong, good or -bad, have nothing to do with the question; and -as for the “life to come,” that is mere folly.</p> - -<p>But while his moral sense is dead, his imagination -is nervously alive. It engenders visions that -terrify him: after the murder is done, he thinks -he hears phantom-voices crying, “Sleep no more! -Glamis hath murdered sleep; and therefore Cawdor -shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no -more;” and these voices so work upon his superstitious -fears, that he is afraid for the moment to -return to the chamber, and carry the daggers back -and smear the grooms with blood. He is, as Lady -Macbeth says, “brainsickly,” and “fears a painted -devil.” This is superstition, not remorse—a -momentary imaginative fear, not a permanent feeling.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248">248</a></span> -In a few minutes he has changed his dress, -and calmly makes speeches as if nothing had occurred,—nay, -this cold-blooded hypocrite is ready -within the hour to commit two new and wanton -murders on the chamberlains, and boastfully to -refer them to his loyal spirit and loving heart, inflamed -by horror at the hideous murder of the -king, which he has himself committed.</p> - -<p>The same superstitious fear attacks him when -he hears that Birnam Wood is moving to Dunsinane -Hill; but it does not prevent this creature, -so “full of the milk of human kindness,” from -striking the messenger, calling him “liar and -slave,” and <span class="locked">threatening,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i15">“If thou speak’st false,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till famine cling thee.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">So, too, when Macduff tells him that he was “not -of woman born,” awed for a moment by his superstitious -fears, he <span class="locked">cries,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For it hath cow’d my better part of man!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">... I’ll not fight with thee.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>At times, under the influence of an over-excitable -imagination acting upon a nature thoroughly -superstitious, his intellect wavers, and he is subject -to sudden aberrations of mind resembling insanity. -They are, however, evanescent, and in a -moment he recovers his poise, descending through -a poetical phase into his real and settled character<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249">249</a></span> -of cruelty and wickedness. In the dagger-scene, -where he is alone, these three phases are perfectly -marked. The visionary dagger “proceeding from -the heat-oppressed brain” soon vanishes, then follows -the poetic mania, and then the stern resolution -of murder. In the banquet-scene, when the -ghost of Banquo rises, the poetic interval is less -marked, for Macbeth is under the restraint of the -company and under the influence of his wife; but -scarce has the company gone when his real character -returns. He is again forming new resolutions -of blood. His mind reverts to Macduff, -whose life he threatens. He is bent “to know, by -the worst means, the worst;” “strange things I -have in head, that will to hand.”</p> - -<p>This aberration of mind Macbeth has in common -with Lear, Hamlet, and Othello. But in -Macbeth alone does it take a superstitious shape. -The trance of Othello is but a momentary condition, -in which his goaded imagination, acting upon -an irritated sense of honor, love, and jealousy, -obliterates for an instant the real world. Hamlet’s -aberration, when it is not feigned, as for the -most part it is, is but the “sore distraction” of -a mind upon which the burden of a great action -is fixed, which he is bound either to accept or to -reject, but in regard to which he hesitates, not -because he lacks decision of character, but solely -because he cannot satisfy himself that he has sure -grounds for action, and that he is not deceived -as to the facts which are the motive of his action;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250">250</a></span> -once satisfied as to the grounds for action, he is -decisive and prompt, as is clearly shown in the -manner in which he disposes of Guildenstern and -Rosencrantz on board the vessel, and in the instant -slaying of the king himself, when the evidence of -his infamy is clear. But while he is yet undecided -and struggling with himself to solve this sad problem -of the king’s guilt, he rejects all ideas of love -as futile and impertinent, and, more than that, -doubts whether Ophelia herself is not, unconsciously -to herself, made a tool of by the king and -queen. Lear, again, is “heart-struck.” His madness -comes from wounded pride and affection. -The ingratitude and cruelty of his daughters shake -his mind, and to his excited spirit the very elements -become his “pernicious daughters:” “I -never gave you kingdoms, called you children.” -In all except Macbeth, the nature thus driven to -madness is noble in itself, moral in its character, -and warm in its affections. The aberrations of -Macbeth are superstitious, and have nothing to do -with the morals or the affections.</p> - -<p>Macbeth’s imagination is, however, a ruling -characteristic of his nature. His brain is always -active; and when it does not evoke phantoms, it -indulges in fanciful and poetic images. He is a -poet, and turns everything into poetry. His utterance -is generally excited and high-flown, rarely -simple and real, and almost never expresses his -true feelings and thoughts. His heart remains -cold while his head is on fire. On all occasions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251">251</a></span> -his first impulse is to poetize a little; and having -done this, he goes about his work without regard -to what he has said. His sayings are one thing; -his doings are quite another. Shakespeare makes -him rant intentionally, as if to show that in such -a character the imagination can and does work -entirely independently of real feelings and passions. -There is no serious character in all Shakespeare’s -plays who constantly rants and swells in -his speech like Macbeth; and this is plainly to -show the complete unreality of all his imaginative -bursts. In this he differs from every other person -in this play. Yet when he is really in earnest, -and has some plain business in hand, he can be -direct enough in his speech, as throughout the -second interview with the weird sisters, and in -the scene with the two murderers whom he sends -to kill Banquo and Fleance; or when, enraged at -the escape of Fleance, he forgets to be a hypocrite, -and his real nature clearly expresses itself in direct -words, full of savage resolve. But on all other -occasions, when he is not in earnest and intends -to deceive, or when his brain is excited, he indulges -in sentimental speeches, violent figures of -speech, extravagant personifications, and artificial -tropes and conceits. Even in the phantom-voices -he imagines crying to him over Duncan’s body, -he cannot help this peculiarity. He curiously -hunts out conceits to express sleep. He “murders -sleep, the innocent sleep; sleep, that knits up the -ravell’d sleeve of care, the death of each day’s life,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252">252</a></span> -sore labor’s bath, balm of hurt minds, great nature’s -second course, chief nourisher in life’s feast.” -No wonder that Lady Macbeth, amazed, cries out, -“What do you mean?” But he cannot help -going on like a mad poet. His language is full of -alliteration, fanciful juxtaposition of words, assonance, -and jingle. At times, so strong is this -habit, he makes poems to himself, and for the -moment half believes in them. Only compare, in -this connection, the natural, simple pathos of the -scene where Macduff hears of the barbarous murder -of his wife and children, with the language of -Macbeth, when the death of Lady Macbeth is announced -to him. Macduff “pulls his hat upon -his brows,” and gives vent to his agony in the -simplest and most direct words. Here the feeling -is deep and <span class="locked">sincere:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i12">“All my pretty ones?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Did you say, all?—O hell-kite!—All?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At one fell swoop?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2"><i>Mal.</i> <span class="in5">Dispute it like a man.</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2"><i>Macd.</i> <span class="in13">I shall do so;</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I must also feel it like a man:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I cannot but remember such things were,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And were most precious to me.—Did heaven look on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not for their own demerits, but for mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, I could play the woman with my eyes.”</span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">But when Macbeth is told of the death of his -wife, he makes a little poem, full of alliterations<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253">253</a></span> -and conceits. It is an answer to the question, -What is life like? What can we say about it now?</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the last syllable of recorded time;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all our yesterdays have lighted fools<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then is heard no more: it is a tale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Signifying nothing.<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="center"><i>Enter a Messenger.</i></p> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou com’st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.”</span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Has this any relation to true feeling? Do men -of any feeling, whose hearts are touched, fall to -improvising poems like this, filled with fanciful -images, when great sorrows come upon them? -This speech is full of “sound and fury, signifying -nothing.” There is no accent from the heart in it. -It is elaborate, poetic, cold-blooded. “Life is a -candle,” “a poor player,” “a walking shadow,” -“a tale told by an idiot.” We have his customary -alliterations: “petty pace,” “dusty death,” “day -to day;” his love of repeating the same word, -“to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,” just -as we have “If it were done when ’tis done, then -’twere well it were done quickly;” and his “Sleep -no more, Macbeth does murder sleep,—sleep, that -knits up,” etc.; “Sleep no more! Glamis hath murdered -sleep; and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no -more, Macbeth shall sleep no more.” He cannot<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254">254</a></span> -forget himself enough to cease to be ingenious in -his phrases. As a poem this speech is striking; -as an expression of feeling it is perfectly empty. -At the end of it he has quite forgotten the death -of his wife; he is only employed in piling up figure -after figure to personify life. What renders the -unreality of this still more striking is the sudden -change which comes over him upon the entrance -of the messenger. In an instant he stops short in -his poem, and his tone becomes at once decided -and harsh; his wife’s death has passed utterly out -of his mind. When the messenger tells him that -Birnam Wood is beginning to move, with a sudden -burst of rage he turns upon him, calls him -liar and slave, and threatens to hang him alive -till famine cling him, if his report prove to be -incorrect. This is the real Macbeth. From this -time forward he never alludes to Lady Macbeth; -but, in a strange condition of superstitious fear -and soldierly courage, he calls his men to arms, -and goes out <span class="locked">crying,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i14">“Blow, wind! come, wrack!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At least we’ll die with harness on our back.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">And this throughout is the character of Macbeth’s -utterances. He is not like Tartuffe, a religious hypocrite; -he is a poetical and sentimental hypocrite. -His phrases and figures of speech have no root in -his real life; they are only veneered upon them. -“His words fly up, his thoughts remain below.” -When he is poetical he is never in earnest. Sometimes -his speeches are merely oratorical, and made<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255">255</a></span> -from habit and for effect; sometimes they are -hypocritical, and used to conceal his real intentions; -and sometimes they are the expression of -an inflamed and diseased imagination stimulated -by superstition. But they are generally bombastic -and swelling in tone, and are so intended to be. -His habit of making speeches and inventing curious -conceits is so strong, that he even “unpacks -his heart with words” when alone, so as to leave -himself free and direct to act. Thus, in one of his -famous soliloquies, mark the unreal quality of all -the pretended feeling, the mixture of immorality, -bombast, and hypocrisy, the assonances and alliterations, -the plays upon words, the extravagant -figures, all showing the excitability of the brain -and not of the <span class="locked">heart:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“If <em>it were done</em> when ’tis <em>done</em>, then <em>’twere</em> well<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>It were done</em> quickly. If th’ assassination<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>C</i>ould trammel up the <i>c</i>onsequence, and <i>c</i>atch,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With his <em>surcease</em>, <em>success</em>; that but this blow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Might <em>be</em> the <em>be-all</em> and the <em>end-all here</em>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But <em>here</em>, upon this bank and shoal of time,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’d jump the life to come.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Then, after some questions about killing his guest, -his kinsman, his king, which would seem honest, -but for what comes after and for the utter reckless -immorality which has gone before these words, -his imagination excites itself, and runs into a wild -and extravagant figure which means nothing. -Duncan’s virtues, he <span class="locked">says,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Will plead like angels <i>t</i>rumpet-<i>t</i>ongued against<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The <i>d</i>eep <i>d</i>amnation of his <i>t</i>aking-off.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -<p class="in0"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256">256</a></span> -No sooner does he begin to swell and alliterate -again than he goes <span class="locked">wild:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“And pity, like a <i>n</i>aked <i>n</i>ew-<i>b</i>orn <i>b</i>abe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubin, hors’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the sightless couriers of the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>That tears shall drown the wind</em>.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">This is pure rant, and intended to be so. It is -the product of an unrestrained imagination which -exhausts itself in the utterance. But it neither -comes from the heart nor acts upon the heart.</p> - -<p>Again, in the soliloquy of the air-drawn dagger, -the superstitious, visionary Macbeth, who always -projects his fancies into figures and phantoms, -after addressing this</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i23">“false creation<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain,”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">falls at once into poetic declamation about the -night, and indulges himself in strange images and -personifications. A man about to commit a murder -who invents these conceits must be a poetical -<span class="locked">villain:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i15">“Now witchcraft celebrates<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale Hecate’s offerings; and wither’d murder,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moves like a ghost.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Can anything be more extraordinary and elaborate -than this pressing of one conceit upon -another? Wither’d murder has a sentinel, the -wolf, who howls his watch, and who with stealthy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257">257</a></span> -pace strides with Tarquin’s ravishing strides like -a ghost! Shakespeare makes no other character -systematically talk like this.</p> - -<p>But the fumes of the brain pass, and leave the -stern, determined man of <span class="locked">action:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i15">“Whiles I threat, he lives;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>We have no such rant as this in Lady Macbeth. -In the scenes of the murder, she does not befool -herself with visions and poetry. She is practical, -and her attention is given solely to the real facts -about her. Contrast the simple language in which -she speaks, while waiting for Macbeth, with his -previous rhodomontade. Agitated, in great emotion, -listening for sounds, doubting whether some -mischance may not have befallen to prevent the -murder, she speaks in short, broken sentences; -but she does not liken her husband to Tarquin, and -say now is the time when “witchcraft celebrates -pale Hecate’s offerings,” nor employ this interval -in making a poem full of conceits.</p> - -<p>Macbeth goes in to the king, and commits the -murder; no scruples of any kind prevent him. -But when that is secure, he has a superstitious fit, -and imagines phantom-voices, that talk as no phantoms -ever did before. Still he is a coward in the -presence of phantoms, and will not go back. The -deed has been done, and ghosts alarm him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258">258</a></span> -But, as has been before observed, all this raving -as usual passes by at once. In a half-hour he -is as cold and calm as ever. The phantom-voices -did not reach his conscience, and awakened no -remorse. They were the children of superstition -and imagination, and they vanished with cockcrow -and daylight, leaving no trace behind in his memory. -They have not altered his mood nor his -plans.</p> - -<p>We now come to consider Lady Macbeth’s character. -At all points she was her husband’s opposite, -or rather his complement. Where he was -strong, she was weak; where he was weak, she was -strong. He was poetical and visionary of nature; -she was plain and practical. He was indirect, -false, secretive; she, on the contrary, was vehement -and impulsive. Between what she willed -and what she did was a straight line. She was -troubled by none of his superstitious fears or -visions. Her imagination was feeble and inactive, -her character was energetic; she saw only the -object immediately before her, and she went to it -with rapidity and directness of purpose. She was -skillful in management and ready in contrivance, -as women are apt to be; while Macbeth was wanting -in both these qualities, as men generally are. -For herself she seems to have had no ambition, -and not personally to have coveted the position -of queen. Her ambition is but the reflection of -Macbeth’s, and her great crime was wrought in -furtherance of his suggestions and promptings.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259">259</a></span> -Mistaking entirely his character at first, proud of -his success for his sake, and rightly reading him so -far as to see that his ambition, which was insatiable, -grasped at the throne, she lent herself to the -murder of Duncan, in the belief that a throne -once obtained, Macbeth’s ambition would be satisfied. -Her moral sense was inactive, and not sufficient -to lead her to oppose his project. It was -not, as we shall see, utterly wanting in her, as -in Macbeth. She seems to have been warmly -attached to Macbeth, and always, after the murder -is committed, she endeavors to soothe and tranquillize -him with gentle and affectionate words. -But she could not understand his superstitious -hesitations when once resolved on action. His -poetry and his imaginative flights, as well as his -visions, were to her incomprehensible, and she -made the natural mistake of supposing him to be -infirm of purpose. Her mind was one of management -and detail. The determination and suggestion -of the murder are his; the management and -detail of it are hers. This is a master-stroke of -Shakespeare’s, by which he at once distinguishes -the masculine from the feminine nature. Man is -quick to propose and suggest a plan in its general -scope; woman is always superior in adjusting the -details by which it may be carried into execution. -Lady Macbeth’s nature was not wicked in itself; -it was susceptible of deep feeling and remorse. But -her moral sense was sluggish, while her impulses -were sudden and vehement; and as such women<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260">260</a></span> -generally are, she was irritably impatient of the -postponement of any project already decided upon. -She had a strong will, and gave expression to it in -an exaggerated <span class="locked">way:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i11">“I have given suck, and know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I would, while it was smiling in my face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have done to this.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">This is but a vehement, passionate, and exaggerated -way of saying that if she had sworn to -herself to do <em>anything</em>, however shocking, as deliberately -and determinedly as Macbeth had to -commit this murder, she would do it in spite of -consequences, and not like him be “afeard to be -the same in thine own act and valor as thou art in -desire.” She does not mean, nor did Shakespeare -mean, that so hideous an act would be possible -for her either to plan or to commit; but to prove -her contempt of that condition of mind when -“I dare not” waits upon “I would,” she seizes on -the most horrible and repulsive act that she can -imagine, and declares energetically that, shocking -as that is, she would not hesitate to do even that, -had she so sworn to do it as Macbeth had. Yet -this wild and violent figure of speech is generally -taken as the key of her whole character. It is -nothing of the sort; for the very line preceding -it proves that she had a tenderness of nature -under all her energy, and a power of love as well -as of <span class="locked">will:—</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261">261</a></span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i14">“I have given suck, and know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Well, despite that tenderness and love, which you, -Macbeth, know I have, I would have done what is -so contrary to all my nature, had I so sworn as -you. Throughout this scene her sole object is to -urge upon Macbeth, as vehemently as she can, the -folly of dallying and hesitating to carry out a project -which he alone had conceived, suggested, and -determined, merely for fear of consequences and -lest it should do him injury in the eyes of the -world. He never feels nor suggests any moral -objection; he does not pretend to feel it. His -sole fear is lest he may not succeed; he only -doubts whether it would not be better to postpone -the execution of his project until a more fitting -time. His decisions are less rapid than hers. -She must at once act on the first strength of her -resolve. She is impetuous, and would spring upon -her prey at once. He, knowing that his fell purpose -will only strengthen with meditation, and -doubting whether the time has come to secure his -object, proposes to postpone its execution. But -there is no time for this. There are but a few -hours in which all must be accomplished, and he -is not ready with the detail. But to this proposal -of postponement she says “No.” She knows that -he never will rest till it is accomplished. Neither -time nor place adhered when you “broke this -enterprise to me,” she says; and now, when both -“have made themselves,” execute your design,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262">262</a></span> -and no longer let “I dare not wait upon I would.” -To this he feebly opposes, “If we should fail,” -failure being the only thing that troubles him. -She then suggests the plan in detail by which the -murder can be effected; and he cries out, in a -burst of admiration and <span class="locked">delight,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">“Bring forth men-children only,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For thy undaunted mettle should compose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nothing but males.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Still, when the time approaches, Lady Macbeth -needs all her courage, and she stimulates it with -wine, lest it should break <span class="locked">down:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">She preserves her courage, however, to the end, -never loses her self-possession, and takes care that -the plan is carried out fully in all its details. But -that accomplished, she utterly breaks down. She -has over-calculated her strength; she was not -utterly wicked, and her remorses are terrible. -From this time forward we have no such scenes -between her and her husband; he performs all his -other murders alone, without her connivance or -knowledge.</p> - -<p>And here the main feature of this play must be -kept in mind. Lady Macbeth dies of remorse for -this her crime; she cannot forget it; it haunts her -in her sleep; the damned spot cannot be washed -from her conscience or her hand. What a fearful -cry of remorse and agony is that of hers in her -dream!—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of -Arabia will not sweeten this <em>little</em> hand! Oh! oh! oh!”</p></blockquote> - -<p class="in0"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263">263</a></span> -There is no poetizing here, no sentimental and figurative -personifications; it is the cry of a wounded -heart and conscience. It is written too in prose, -not in verse. It is real, and not fantastic like -the rant and poetry of Macbeth. That terrible -night remains with her, and haunts her and tears -her like a demon, and at last she dies of it.</p> - -<p>How is it with Macbeth? Does the memory of -that night torture him? Never for a moment. -He plots new murders. He has tasted blood, and -cannot live without it. On, on he goes, deeper -and deeper into blood, till he is slain; and never, -to the last, one cry of conscience.</p> - -<p>Yet it is thought that Lady Macbeth urged on -this amiable man, so infirm of purpose, so filled -with the milk of human kindness, and was the -mainspring of his crimes. Suffice it to say, in -answer to this view, that after Duncan is killed -he keeps her in complete ignorance of all he does, -and his murders are thenceforward more terrible -and pitiless, and with no faint shadow of excuse -or apology. This cold-hearted villain stops at -nothing; even her death does not awaken a throb -in his heart. Is it not preposterous to suppose -that the so-called fiend of the play, she who instigates -and drives an unwilling victim to crime, -should die of remorse for that crime; while the -amiable accomplice, far from sharing any such -feeling, only plunges deeper into crime when she -does not instigate him, and develops at every step -an increasing brutality and savageness of nature?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264">264</a></span> -No; it is not the tall, dark, commanding, and -imperious figure of Mrs. Siddons, with threatening -brow and inflated nostrils, that represents Lady -Macbeth; she is not at all of such character or -features. She is of rather a delicate organization, -of medium height, her hair inclining to red, her -temperament nervous and sanguine, with a florid -complexion and little hands. So was Lucrezia -Borgia; and so was Lady Macbeth. She was -personally fair and attractive. Can any one imagine -Macbeth calling a dark, towering, imperious -woman like Mrs. Siddons his “dearest love,” -“dear wife,” or his “dearest chuck”?</p> - -<p>But it is commonly thought that the murder of -Duncan was suggested by Lady Macbeth, and that -her husband was urged into it against his will and -contrary to his nature. Such a view is utterly -in contradiction of the play itself. The suggestion -is entirely Macbeth’s, and he has resolved upon it -before he sees her. The witches are a projection -of his own desires and superstitions. They meet -him at the commencement of the play, prophesying, -in response to his own desires, that he is -thane of Cawdor, and shall be king hereafter; -but they respond also to his fears, by adding that -Banquo’s children shall be kings. Those are the -very points upon which all his thoughts hinge—his -ambition to be king, his fears lest the throne -shall pass from his family. Hence his hate of Banquo -and Fleance. From this time forward he thinks -of nothing else. As he rides across the heath, he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265">265</a></span> -is self-involved, abstracted, silent, sullen, revolving -in his mind how to compass his designs, which are -nothing less than the murder of the king. He -does not dream that the prophecies of the weird -women will accomplish themselves without his -assistance, for they are projections of his own -thoughts. He instantly receives news that he is -made thane of Cawdor, and scarcely gives a -thought to this honor, scarcely expresses his satisfaction; -when the news is announced he <span class="locked">says,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Glamis, and thane of Cawdor:<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>The greatest is behind.</em>—Thanks for your pains.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">And then immediately his mind reverts to the -promise that Banquo’s children shall be <span class="locked">kings:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Do you not hope your children shall be kings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Promis’d no less to them?”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Then he falls again into gloomy silence, and talks -to himself inwardly. What does he say and think? -He resolves to murder the <span class="locked">king:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“This supernatural soliciting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why hath it given me earnest of success,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Commencing in a truth? I’m thane of Cawdor.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If good, why do I yield to that suggestion<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the use of nature? Present fears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are less than horrible imaginings;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My thought, whose <em>murder</em> yet is but fantastical,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shakes so my single state of man, that function<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is smother’d in surmise; and nothing is<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But what is not.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -<p class="in0"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266">266</a></span> -Yes, already he dreams of murder. He sees not -his way clear; he will trust to chance; but he -dreams of murder. And full of these thoughts, -he rushes to his wife to fill her mind with his -project, to consult her as to how it can be carried -into execution; for he cannot plan in detail; and -though the thought crosses him, that</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without my stir,”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">yet this is but a hope; for in the next scene he has -determined to take the matter into his own hands -and trust nothing to chance. As soon as he hears -that Malcolm is made Prince of Cumberland and -heir to the throne, he determines absolutely to kill -the <span class="locked">king:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“The Prince of Cumberland!—That is a step<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let not light see my black and deep desires;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">He has already written to Lady Macbeth; and his -letter has but one thought and one theme,—the -promise that he shall be king. Much as she fears -his nature, she knows thoroughly his desires, and -has faint glimpses of his real character; she knows -that he <em>means</em> to be king, and sees that he would -“wrongly win;” that his ambition is great, and -that his mind is filled solely with one idea. But -she fears that he is “too full of the milk of human -kindness to catch the nearest way;” and when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267">267</a></span> -she hears that Duncan is coming to the castle, and -that Macbeth is hurrying to see her before the -king’s arrival, she doubts his plan no longer. For -a moment she is aghast. “Thou’rt mad to say -it,” she says to the messenger who announces the -king’s approach; for she sees that he comes to his -<span class="locked">death:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i9">“The raven himself is hoarse<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under my battlements.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">He has been lured here by Macbeth to compass -his destruction; and in a moment Macbeth will -be with her. Then, summoning up all her courage -at once, she resolves to aid him in his ambitious -and murderous design. She calls upon the “spirits -that tend on mortal thoughts” to unsex her, -to alter her nature, to make her cruel and remorseless, -to let nothing intervene to shake her purpose; -for she is not quite sure of herself. She -knows what “compunctious visitings of nature” -are, and she strengthens herself against them. -She is not naturally cruel; and she cries out to -the spirits to “stop up the access and passage to -remorse” now open in her nature, to change her -“milk for gall,” and to cover her with “the dunnest -smoke of hell,” so that her</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">“keen knife <em>see</em> not the wound it makes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cry, Hold, hold.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">In this tremendous apostrophe, in which she goads -herself on to crime, the woman’s nature is plainly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268">268</a></span> -seen. Macbeth never prays to have his nature -altered, to have any passages to remorse closed -up; never fears “compunctious visitings of nature,” -nor desires darkness to hide his knife, so -that he may not <em>see</em> the wound he makes. But she -knows she is a woman, and that she needs to be -unsexed, and feels that she is doing violence to -her own nature; still her will is strong, and she -cries down her misgivings, and resolves to aid Macbeth -in his design.</p> - -<p>Macbeth meets her in this mood. There is no -salutation or greeting on his part; he has but one -idea,—Duncan is coming, and is to be murdered. -His first words <span class="locked">are,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i14">“My dearest love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Duncan comes here to-night.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Whereupon she asks, “And when goes hence?” -“To-morrow,” he answers, and pauses; and adds, -“as he purposes.” But in the look and in the -pause Lady Macbeth has read his whole sold and -intent. There is murder in that look; and she -<span class="locked">cries:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i15">“O, never<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall sun that morrow see!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May read strange matters.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">There is no explanation between them. He has -conveyed all his intention by a look and a gesture, -as she herself distinctly says. He has ridden -headlong, as fast as horse could carry him, away -from the king, full of this one idea; and the king<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269">269</a></span> -has vainly “coursed him at the heels,” having -the purpose, as he himself says, “to be his purveyor.” -And his thoughts have spoken in his -looks so unmistakably, that they are perfectly understood. -If there be any doubt by whom the -murder was suggested, it is made perfectly clear -by what Lady Macbeth subsequently says to him -in the next scene in which they are presented. -When he begins to doubt whether the murder had -not better be postponed, she <span class="locked">says:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">“What beast was’t, then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That made you break this enterprise to me?”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">It was not of my plotting, but of your own; -“Nor time, nor place, did then adhere, and yet you -would make both;” you desired it and still desire -it, but are afraid of consequences. These words -of hers would indeed seem to indicate that he had -urged the crime upon her against her will at a -previous interview not reported in the play, or -perhaps by a letter; for she says distinctly, that -when he broke the enterprise to <span class="locked">her,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">“Nor <em>time</em>, nor <em>place</em>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Did then adhere, and yet <em>you would make both</em>:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They have made themselves.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">It would plainly seem, therefore, that Macbeth -had broken this enterprise to her, and urged it on -her, even before the king had determined to come -to his castle, and that he intended to make time -and place. This would account completely for -her opening speech, and for the fact that he does<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270">270</a></span> -not make any explanation to her of his intentions -other than by his look and intonation when they -first meet; for certainly there is nothing in the play -about the time and place of the murder except -as herein indicated. It would also explain the -surprise of Lady Macbeth when she hears that -her husband is coming, and the king after him: -“Thou’rt mad to say it,” she says; and “the -raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance -of Duncan under my battlements.” The -time and place had made themselves, then; and -it is on hearing this that she suddenly changes -from calm to vehement emotion, and makes that -wonderful apostrophe to the spirits to unsex her. -She sees that all has been resolved, and that she -has need of her utmost resolution.</p> - -<p>There is no warrant of any kind that, in the -simple words, “And when goes hence,” she meant -more than she said. It was the most natural -question that she could possibly ask. Granting -that she intended equally with him to commit the -murder, what is more natural than that she should -wish to know how long the king was to stay, so as -to know how soon it was necessary to carry out -the plan of murder, and what time there was in -which to make all the arrangements? Not only -Macbeth pauses after saying “To-morrow” (so, -at least, is the punctuation in all editions), before -adding “as he purposes,” but Lady Macbeth, in -her answer, says that she sees in his face that he -intends that “never shall sun that morrow see.”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271">271</a></span> -Yet, in the recitation of these parts on the stage, -and as generally read, the meaning is given to -Lady Macbeth’s simple words; and Macbeth is -made perfectly innocently to answer without showing -in his look any “strange matter.” But the -king is coming close on his heels; there is no time -to arrange details; and Macbeth goes away to -receive him, saying, “We will speak further.”</p> - -<p>The characters, as exhibited in the next scenes, -have been already sufficiently discussed. He shows -his superstitions, his visions, his poetry, and his -hesitations; she, with the stern determination of -a woman who has screwed her courage to the -sticking-place, is agitated by no visions, but, feeling -the necessity of immediate action, she occupies -herself in the arrangements of details, and thus -dulls her conscience.</p> - -<p>After all the excitements which have agitated -Macbeth—after his soliloquy, in which he says -there is no spur to prick the sides of his intent, -but only vaulting ambition; but if he were sure -of success, he would jump the life to come—there -comes a moment when he either has or pretends -to have a hesitation about proceeding further -in “this business.” He does not hesitate for -conscience’ sake, but because, being ambitious, he -now would like to wear the golden opinions he has -won, “in their newest gloss,” and not cast them -aside so soon, before he has had the satisfaction -of being wondered at and admired a little longer. -He had gained praise and high position, and his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272">272</a></span> -vanity was gratified. He naturally would pause before -committing a hideous murder. But he never -pretends that this feeling comes from any moral -sense. His mind has been too long strained with -one thought; and, as in all men of excitable brain, -there comes a moment of reaction. He cannot see -his way clear. He fears the effect of his crime. -He does not see how it can be done so that he may -avoid suspicion, and attain the object beyond the -murder and for which he commits it, without running -too great risks, and thus exposing himself to -the vengeance of the king’s friends. He fears that -his “bloody instructions” may “return to plague -the inventor”—not hereafter, but “<em>here</em>.” But -what most troubles him is, that he cannot see the -practical way, cannot arrange the details so as to -secure a chance of avoiding suspicion. Here his -wife comes to his aid. She has thought out a plan -and arranged the details. She sternly opposes his -proposal to abandon his design, for she knows -that his hesitation is only for a moment, and that -nothing less than to be king can ever satisfy him. -Better, then, do the deed at once. His only opposition -after this is, “If we should fail?” But -as soon as he sees the feasibility of her plan, all -his scruples are gone; he is more than convinced, -he is delighted, and enters upon it with a joy -which he does not pretend to conceal.</p> - -<p>During all these scenes, up to the murder of -Duncan, Lady Macbeth is laboring under an excitement -of mind which sustains her in carrying<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273">273</a></span> -out the design of her husband. The time is purposely -made very short—only a few hours between -the arrival of Duncan and his death—so -that she may not break down. All is hurry and -movement, and arrangement of detail. There is -no time for reaction. The very necessity for immediate -action serves as an irritant to the nerves, -and strains all her thoughts and feelings to an unnatural -pitch. Still, when the murder is on the -point of being done, she keeps up her courage by -drink; for the strain is almost too great. In this -excited state her inflamed will has got completely -the command of her; and to have it all over, and -not caring about the dreadful design longer, she -says that had Duncan “not resembled my father -as he slept, I had done it.” But though she can -talk of dashing out the brains of her babe while -it was smiling in her face, she was not, even in -this excitement, able to strike Duncan, because she -thought he looked like her father. Her woman’s -hand would have failed her had she attempted it. -But all her powers are bound up in this one design. -She has come to a violent determination, -and this she will carry out, come what may. She -thrusts aside all compunction of conscience, and -makes such a noise by action in her brain, that its -still small voice cannot be heard.</p> - -<p>Macbeth, on the contrary, is of a colder and -more brutal nature. His determination is sullen, -and it lies like an immovable rock on which the -flames of his imagination burn like momentary<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274">274</a></span> -fires of straw, and over which his superstitious -visions pass like clouds or fogs, and then clear -away, leaving the rock unchanged. Just before -he commits the murder, Banquo comes in and tells -him that the king</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">“hath been in unusual pleasure, and<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sent forth great largess to your offices.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This diamond he greets your wife withal,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In measureless content.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">But this does not touch Macbeth, nor induce a -moment’s hesitation. Banquo then speaks of the -three weird sisters, and says, “To you they -have show’d some truth;” and Macbeth answers -<span class="locked">falsely:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i13">“I think not of them;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’d spend it in some words upon that business,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If you would grant the time.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Thus, cold and collected, he bids him “Good repose,” -sends off the servant, and waits for the bell -to ring, which is the sign that all is ready for him -to murder Duncan. In this interval we have his -three characteristic features brought out one after -the other: the cloudy vision of the air-drawn dagger; -then the straw-fire of his poetry about Hecate -and withered murder’s sentinel, the wolf, and Tarquin’s -ravishing strides; and, as these clear off, -the stern, sullen resolution underneath—“Whiles -I threat he lives;” “I go, and it is done.”</p> - -<p>When the murder is done, the two are equally<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275">275</a></span> -distinct in character,—she energetic and practical, -he visionary and superstitious; and so they part.</p> - -<p>Thus far, be it observed, Lady Macbeth has -supposed her husband to be merely “infirm of -purpose;” but the next scene is to open her eyes -to a glimpse of his real character.</p> - -<p>Macbeth has become perfectly calm and cold -again in a few minutes, and makes his appearance -immediately after the knocking. He is completely -master of himself, offers to conduct Macduff -to the king, and when Macduff says he knows -it will be a “joyful trouble” to him, answers like -a proverb, calmly, “The labor we delight in physics -pain.” The king is then found dead, and the -noise brings Lady Macbeth from her room. What -a difference is now visible in the way in which she -and he speak and act! When Macduff says, “Our -royal master’s murdered!” she cries out, “Woe! -alas! what, in our house?” and says not a word -more. Macbeth, however, who is only afraid of -shadows, but who, with the daylight, has no fear -of looking at dead bodies, or adding one or two -more with his sword, goes to the room of Duncan, -and then reappears, without the faintest shadow of -feeling, and makes a little hypocritical poem on -the <span class="locked">event:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Had I but died an hour before this chance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I had liv’d a blessed time; for, from this instant,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s nothing serious in mortality:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All is but toys: renown and grace is dead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is left this vault to brag of.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -<p class="in0"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276">276</a></span> -“What is amiss?” says Donalbain. And Macbeth -cries, “You are, and do not know’t. The -spring, the head, the fountain of your blood is -stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.”</p> - -<p>This is Macbeth’s rant and fustian. He has no -feeling, and, as usual, he makes the pretense of -poetry serve him. The head, the spring, the fountain, -the source is stopped, is stopped.</p> - -<p>And this stuff he recites coolly, although he has -but a moment before wantonly killed the two -grooms; nay, he does not mention it until afterwards, -on their being spoken of by Lenox, when -this hypocritical villain <span class="locked">cries:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“O, yet I do repent me of my fury,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That I did kill them.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2"><i>Macd.</i> <span class="in5">Wherefore did you so?</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2"><i>Macb.</i> Who can be wise, amaz’d, temperate and furious,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The expedition of my violent love<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Outrun the pauser, reason.—Here lay Duncan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His <em>silver</em> skin lac’d with his <em>golden</em> blood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And his gash’d stabs look’d like a breach in nature,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ruin’s wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steep’d in the colors of their trade, their daggers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unmannerly breech’d with gore: who could refrain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That had a heart to love, and in that heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Courage to make’s love known?”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">During this amazing speech, in which he poetizes -so elaborately, and with such curious artifice -coldly paints the picture of the man and friend he -had just murdered, Lady Macbeth has been looking -and listening in silence. Suddenly, for the -first time, she sees what her husband really is; she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277">277</a></span> -sees that he has neither heart nor conscience; for -no man possessing either could have acted or -talked as he has since the murder of Duncan. So -far from having any feeling of shame or remorse, -he, without provocation, wantonly, and with no -sufficient object, has added two other murders to -it; and, with a cold-blooded artificial hypocrisy, -he paints in his stilted way the scene of Duncan’s -death, and has command enough of himself to seek -out elaborate and high-flown phrases. But Lady -Macbeth, whose courage, stimulated by excitement, -has carried her through the murder, now -suddenly breaks down. This new revelation of -her husband’s character, and the ghastly picture -which he summons up before her of the scene of -the murder, are too much for her. She swoons, -loses all consciousness, and is carried out. In her -violent excitement, while there was something practical -to busy her mind and her body with, she -could carry back the daggers and smear the grooms -with blood; but she could not bear the vivid remembrance -of it when there was nothing to do, -and when the excitement was over: as women will -go through extreme dangers, stand at the surgeon’s -table during terrible operations, be great and -strong in a great crisis, and then suddenly faint -and fall when the work is over, unable to bear the -remembrance of what they have gone through.</p> - -<p>This swooning of Lady Macbeth is the crisis of -her nature. From this time forward she is no -more what she has appeared; we hear no more<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278">278</a></span> -urging of Macbeth to strengthen his throne by -other crimes; no more taunts by her that he is -infirm of purpose; no more allusions to his amiable -weaknesses of character. She has begun to -know him and to fear him. She only endeavors -to tranquilize him and content him with what he -has got. But still she does not know him; for his -nature, before hidden, like secret writing, comes -out little by little before the fire of his heated -ambition and superstitious fears.</p> - -<p>At this swooning-point the two characters of -Lady Macbeth and her husband cross each other. -She has thus far only made the running for Macbeth, -and he now takes up the race and passes her; -she not only does not follow, but withdraws. -Henceforth he rushes to his goal alone; alone he -arranges the death of Banquo and Fleance.</p> - -<p>When next they meet she is no longer the same -person we have known; she feels the gnawing -tooth of remorse; she is calmed and cowed by -what she has <span class="locked">done:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">“Nought’s had, all’s spent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where our desire is got without content:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis safer to be that which we destroy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">And as Macbeth enters she endeavors to tranquilize -his mind. She has his confidence no longer; he -avoids her, and keeps alone after the murder of -the king. She, not yet aware of the abysses of -his nature, and little imagining that he has been -plotting the murder of Banquo, supposes that the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279">279</a></span> -secret of his perturbations, of the solitude he now -seeks, and of his avoidance of her, is the remorse -that he begins to feel, and says as he <span class="locked">enters:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“How now, my lord! why do you keep alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of sorriest fancies your companions making,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Using those thoughts which should indeed have died<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With them they think on? Things without all remedy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should be without regard: what’s done is done.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">His answer shows it is no remorse which is haunting -him; his sorry fancies are new plots of murder:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“We have scotch’d the snake, not kill’d it;”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">and we are still “in danger of her former tooth.”</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i25">“But let<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere we will eat our meal in <em>fear</em>, and sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the affliction of these terrible dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than on the torture of the mind to lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can touch him further!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Here is one of those cases where he uses his poetry -as a cloak to his real thoughts. Yet despite his -hypocrisy, which takes in his wife, his real meaning -is clear. He would rather die than to go on in -this fear: rather be like Duncan, whom they have -at all events “sent to peace,” and whom nothing -can “touch further,” than on “the torture of the -mind to lie in restless ecstasy.” What is this -“fear”? what is this “torture of the mind”?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280">280</a></span> -Is it, as Lady Macbeth supposes, from remorse? -Oh, no! he tells us himself what it is; it is solely -because Banquo and Fleance are <span class="locked">alive:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou know’st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">This it is that tortures him, and this only.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“But in them nature’s copy’s not eterne,”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">says she; meaning, as she has throughout this -scene, solely to console him and draw his thoughts -away. They may die; a thousand accidents may -happen to them; you may outlive them; don’t -torture yourself with vain fears. “<em>There’s</em> comfort -yet,” he cries, “they are assailable;” and -now, after his old fashion, he breaks into poetry:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Then be thou <em>jocund</em>: ere the bat hath flown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His cloister’d flight; ere, to black Hecate’s summons,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath rung night’s yawning peal, there shall be done<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A deed of dreadful note.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">“What’s to be done?” she cries; for having completely -misunderstood him through all the previous -part of this interview, she completely fails to see -what he now means. But he has no longer confidence -in her; and so, with caressing words, and -probably with some caressing act, he answers her:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till thou applaud the deed.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">How could she suspect his real meaning? This -murdering hypocrite had just told her that Banquo -was coming to the feast that night, and bade her -be jovial, and said to <span class="locked">her,—</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281">281</a></span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Let your remembrance apply to Banquo;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">And this he proposes to her after having just left -the murderers whom he has hired to waylay and -kill Banquo, and entertaining no real doubt in his -mind that Banquo will never reach the supper—certainly -never reach it unless his plot miscarries. -Well might she “marvel at his words.” What -follows is full of poetry and wickedness; but it is -plain that he was a mystery to her now, a riddle -which she could not read.</p> - -<p>The banquet-scene now comes, and Macbeth, -believing that he has secured the death of Banquo -and Fleance, is happy, until the murderers come -in and tell him that Fleance has escaped. This -upsets <span class="locked">him:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Then comes <em>my fit</em> again: I had else been perfect,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As broad and general as the casing air:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d, bound in<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To saucy doubts and fears.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">So he poetizes his condition, for superstitious fears -always inflame his imagination; but he cannot -regain his composure; his “fit” is on him, as it -“hath been from his youth.” He conjures up the -phantom of Banquo to threaten him and his throne, -and this ghost shakes him with superstitious terror. -Lady Macbeth, to whom it is invisible, rouses herself -at this; and not only not comprehending these -starts and flaws of fear, but having a contempt for -him, endeavors to recall him to himself by sharp<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282">282</a></span> -words; but it is useless, his fit will not leave him, -and the company is dismissed in confusion. When -the guests have gone, Lady Macbeth’s spirit and -courage, which were momentary, have fled. She -does not taunt him, but soothes him. He, as soon -as he recovers himself, begins with Macduff, whom -he also means to <span class="locked">murder:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Strange things I have in head, that will to hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which must be acted, ere they may be scann’d.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">To this she only says, not imagining his meaning,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“You lack the season of all natures, sleep.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Henceforward Lady Macbeth disappears; we -hear nothing of her save in the terrible sleep-walking -scene; she is dying of remorse. But Macbeth -goes to the weird sisters, to learn whether -“Banquo’s issue shall ever reign in this kingdom.” -They answer, “Seek to know no more:” and he -cries out, “I <em>will</em> be satisfied; deny me this, and -an eternal curse fall on you.” And when they -show him the issue of Banquo, kings, he is enraged -beyond control, and curses them. Henceforth for -him no hesitations, no delays. He speaks directly -enough now.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i17">“From this moment<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The firstlings of my heart shall be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The firstlings of my hand. And even now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The castle of Macduff I will surprise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o’ th’ sword<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This deed I’ll do before this purpose cool:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But no more <em>sights</em>!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -<p class="in0"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283">283</a></span> -And no more <em>sights</em> he has; but he is still haunted -by fears. And when “the English power is near, -led on by Malcolm, his uncle Siward, and the good -Macduff,” burning for revenge, Macbeth’s spirit -falters. He rushes into violent rages and then -subsides into vague fears, and then endeavors to -strengthen his heart by recalling the mysterious -promises of the weird sisters that he shall not fall -by the hand of any man of woman born, or before -Birnam wood come to Dunsinane; but, do all he -can, “he cannot buckle his distempered cause -within the belt of rule,” though he <span class="locked">declares,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“The mind I sway by and the heart I bear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall never sag with doubt, nor shake with fear.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Still he does fear; and in one of his dispirited -moods, after blazing out at the messenger who -tells him of the approach of Birnam <span class="locked">wood,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac’d loon!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where got’st thou that goose look?”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">he says, finding that there are ten thousand men -coming to attack him, and his followers are not -<span class="locked">stanch,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i24">“This push<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will chair me ever, or disseat me now.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have liv’d long enough: my way of life<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that which should accompany old age,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I must not look to have; but, in their stead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which the poor heart would fain deny.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">But in a moment he is himself again, and <span class="locked">cries:—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“I’ll fight till from my bones the flesh be hack’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give me my armor.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -<p class="in0"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284">284</a></span> -In this mood the illness and death of the queen is -nothing to him; he fights bravely to the end; -though, superstitious to the last, his “better part -of man” is cowed by the knowledge that Macduff -“was from his mother’s womb untimely -ripped,” and so not of woman born.</p> - -<p>And so, by the sword of Macduff, perishes the -worst villain, save Iago, that Shakespeare ever -drew.</p> - -<p>We have called the witches the projections of -Macbeth’s evil thoughts, and suggested that they -were only objective representations of his inward -being. To this it may be objected that they were -seen also by Banquo. But this may well be; for -Banquo also seems to have had evil intentions, -which are vaguely hinted at in the play. He constantly -harps on the idea that his children are to -be kings. Approaching the castle of Inverness at -night, before the murder of the king, he <span class="locked">says,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Hold, take my sword....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gives way to in repose!—Give me my sword.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Meeting then Macbeth, he gives him the diamond -sent by the king to Lady Macbeth; and after -speaking of Duncan’s “measureless content,” he -<span class="locked">says,—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To you they have show’d some truth.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">At which Macbeth proposes an interview, to</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285">285</a></span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Spend it in some words upon <em>that</em> business.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">To which he readily consents.</p> - -<p>The “cursed thoughts,” then, are connected -with his dreams about the weird sisters.</p> - -<p>At his next appearance the same thoughts -agitate him in Macbeth’s palace at Fores. His -first words are—in <span class="locked">soliloquy—</span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Thou hast it now, king, Cawdor, Glamis, all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the weird women promis’d; and, I fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou play’dst most foully for’t: yet it was said<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It should not stand in thy posterity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But that myself should be the root and father<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of many kings. If there come truth from them<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why, by the verities on thee made good,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May they not be my oracles as well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And set me up in hope? But, hush! no more.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">When it is recollected that, after the scene on -the heath with the soldiers, these are nearly all the -words we have from Banquo, it seems to be pretty -clearly indicated that his thoughts at least were -not perfectly honest and what they should have -been.</p> - -<p>The weird sisters are but outward personifications -of the evil thoughts conceived and fermenting -in the brains of Banquo and Macbeth; both -high in station, both generals in the king’s army, -both friends, and both nourishing evil wishes. -They are visible only to these two friends; and -though they are represented as having an outer -existence independent of them, they are, metaphysically -speaking, but embodiments of the hidden<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286">286</a></span> -thoughts and desires of Banquo and Macbeth; as -such they are a new and terrible creation, differing -from the vulgar flesh-and-blood witches of Middleton. -They look not like the inhabitants of the -earth; they vanish into thin air; wild, vague, mysterious, -they come and go, like devilish thoughts -that tempt us, and take shape before us, as if -they had come from the other world. The devils -that haunt us and tempt us come out of ourselves, -like the weird sisters of Macbeth.</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287">287</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"><div class="index"> -<h2><a id="INDEX"></a>INDEX.</h2> - -<ul class="index"> - -<li class="ifrst">Actors, in England, <a href="#Page_234">234–239</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Adam, figure of, by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Adriani, Giovanni Battista, letter of, to Vasari, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Æschines, statement by, regarding Miltiades, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <em>note</em>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Æschylus and Euripides, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">quotation from, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Agasias the Ephesian, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Agathenor, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ageledas, teacher of Polyclitus, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Agoracrites, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and Alcamenes, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and Phidias, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">statue of Nemesis, at Rhamnus, by, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ajax, the antique, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Alberti, Leon Battista, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Alcamenes, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the Venus of the Gardens, by, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and Agoracritos, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and Phidias, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">high distinction of, as an artist, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">works in the Temple of Zeus, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Alcimus Avitus, quotation from his <cite>De Origine Mundi</cite>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Alexander, taming Bucephalus, statue of, at Rome, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">praises Apelles and Lysippus, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Alfieri, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ammonius, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Anacreon, quotations from, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“<cite xml:lang="it" lang="it">Ancora imparo</cite>,” a motto used by Michel Angelo in old age, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Androsthenes, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Angelo, Michel, <a href="#Page_4">4–7</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">everything in Florence recalls, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his house, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">birth, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">death, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">early studies, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">early efforts as a sculptor, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his Cupid and Bacchus, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his Pietà, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">colossal figure of David, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Sistine Chapel, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the Moses, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Medici Chapel, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Pauline Chapel, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the Last Judgment, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">sculptor, painter, architect, engineer, and poet, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">erection of St. Peter’s, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his circumstances and characteristics, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">always learning, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his later poetry, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his power as a sculptor, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his great works in the Medicean Chapel, <a href="#Page_13">13–21</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">meaning of his statues of Day, Night, Aurora, and Crepuscule, <a href="#Page_16">16–18</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">quatrain by, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">influence of Savonarola and Dante on, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his works bad models for imitation <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">figure of Christ by, in the Church of the Minerva, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his struggles against ill-health and overwork, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, <a href="#Page_21">21–29</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Bramante’s jealousy of, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Pope Julius II. strikes him with a cane, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his extraordinary rapidity in working, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">greater as a painter than as a sculptor, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">of heroic spirit, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">fragments of letters by, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Rafaelle and, <a href="#Page_30">30–33</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">anecdote of, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">personal characteristics of, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and Vittoria Colonna, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">extract from a sonnet by, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Dante the favorite poet of, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Savonarola the friend of, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">originality of, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">devotion to his family, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">generosity of, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">violent temper of, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">patience of, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">difficulties under which he labored, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">described by Vigenero, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the impatience of his genius, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">appointed architect of St. Peter’s when sixty years old, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Palazzo Farnese, the Church of Sta. Maria degli Angeli, and the Laurentian Library, designed by, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">not responsible for St. Peter’s as it now stands, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">poetry of, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">trained in all the arts, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the greatest monuments of his artistic power, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">enduring kingdom of, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">popular errors about, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">compared with Phidias, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Antenor, the first maker of iconic statues, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Antoninus Pius, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Apelles, and Alexander, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">praised by Nicephorus Chumnus, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">price paid for one of his portraits of Alexander, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">portraits of Campaspe and Phryne by, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288">288</a></span></li> -<li class="isub1">story about, by Pliny, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Aphrodite Urania, chryselephantine statue of, by Phidias, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Apollo, the Temple of, at Phigaleia, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Apollodorus, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Apollonius, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Appian hymn, the, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Arcesilaus, sketches by, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">price received by, for a drinking-cup, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">for a statue of Fabatus, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Aretino, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Arezzo, discoveries at, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Arezzo, Guido di, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Argos, the Temple of Juno at, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ariosto, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Dante and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">lively spirit of, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Aristotle, distinction drawn by, between Phidias and Polyclitus, <a href="#Page_99">99–102</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Arrian, cited, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Art, deathblow of pagan, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Christianity and, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and religion, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the golden age of Italian, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">spirit of Greek and Roman, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">ancient works of, difficulty of determining authorship of, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the toreutic, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the productions of, always show the true spirit of religion among any people, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and nature, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Artemisia and Mausolus, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Arts, all, aid each other, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Athena Areia, statue of, by Phidias, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">its height, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">described, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Athena Lemnia, statue of, by Phidias, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">beauty of, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Athena of the Parthenon, chryselephantine statue, by Phidias, <a href="#Page_50">50–68</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Athena Promachos, the, cast from spoils taken at Marathon, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">its height, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Athenagoras, cited, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Aulus Gellius, definition of “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">facies</span>” by, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Aurelius, Marcus, the Meditations of, <a href="#Page_190">190–193</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">how the Meditations were written, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">no book of ancient literature higher and purer, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his dust, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">a conversation with, <a href="#Page_193">193–230</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Jesus of Nazareth reverenced by, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">supposed ideas of God held by, <a href="#Page_199">199–202</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">cannot understand modern pronunciation of Latin, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">purely a Stoic, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">did not persecute Christians, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">letters of, on the proper treatment of one’s enemies, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Aurora, figure of, by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_14">14–21</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ausonius, cited, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Baldi Chapel, the, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bargello, the, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bartolommeo, Fra, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Baruch, cited, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Batrachus, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Beethoven and Mozart, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bembo, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Berlinghi, family of the, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bibbiena, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Biblical history, in Michel Angelo’s frescoes, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Boccaccio, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Boiardo, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Borgia, Lucrezia, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bostick and Riley, translation of Pliny by, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bramante, instigates Pope Julius II. to summon Michel Angelo to Rome, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">jealous of Michel Angelo’s fame, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">tries to induce the Pope to discharge Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Brass-casting, decline of the art of, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Brick, printed on by the ancient Romans, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">British Museum, so-called plaster casts in, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bronze statues, the method of the ancients in casting, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Browning, Robert, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Browning and Tennyson, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Brunelleschi, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">designs Church of San Lorenzo, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Brunn, Dr., cited, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">on Pliny’s Natural History, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137–139</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bryaxis, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Buggiardini, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Buonomini, Michel Angelo’s father one of the twelve, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Byzantine tradition, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Callicrates, and the Parthenon, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Callimachus, nicknamed, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">drill supposed to have been invented by, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cambronne, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Campaspe, portrait of, by Apelles, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Canossa, the Counts of, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Canova, opinion of, as to the use of proportional compasses by ancient sculptors, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Caprese, birthplace of Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Carmine, Church of the, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Carpion and the Parthenon, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Carrara, Michel Angelo at, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Casting, from life or from the round, difficulties of, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">distinction between, and modeling, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289">289</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Casting in plaster, alleged practice of, among the Greeks and Romans, <a href="#Page_115">115–189</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">introduced by Verrocchio, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Casts, plaster, not found in ancient houses or tombs, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cato, book published by, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Catulus, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cellini, the Renaissance Perseus of, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">accomplished in many arts, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ceres, the Temple of, at Eleusis, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Chalcosthenes, executed works in baked earth, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Changes, only gradual, do real good, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Christ, and Communism, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">example of, not always followed by Christians, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Christianity and Art, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Christians, not persecuted by Marcus Aurelius, but punished as Communists, <a href="#Page_220">220–222</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">attitude of, toward the government, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">theory and practice of, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cicero, Demosthenes and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">on the meaning of <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">vultus</i>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">quoted, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cimabue, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Clay, not a material for casting, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">why used by the ancients instead of gypsum, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Clemens Alexandrinus, cited, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Colonna, Vittoria, and Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Columbus, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Communists, the early followers of Christ were, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Compasses, proportional, used by ancient sculptors, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Condivi, doubtful assertion of, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cooke, a safe guide for the tragic actor, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Copies, exact, not made by ancient sculptors, <a href="#Page_174">174–176</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Corœbus, begins the Temple of Initiation at Eleusis, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Creed, every religious, should be living, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Crepuscule, figure of, by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_14">14–21</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ctesilaus, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">compared with Phidias, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cydon, competition of, with Phidias, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cymon, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cyrenaicn, the, fragments of figures from, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Dædalus, statue to Hercules by, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dallaway, cited, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Damophilus, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Daniel, Michel Angelo’s figure of, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dante, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his influence on Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and Ariosto, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the favorite poet of Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">David, Michel Angelo’s statue of, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Day, Michel Angelo’s colossal figure of, <a href="#Page_14">14–21</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Deity, figure of the, by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Delacroix and Ary Scheffer, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Delphi, group of statues at, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Demetrius, on the work of Phidias, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">introduces the realistic school of portraiture, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Demosthenes and Cicero, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Devils, the, that haunt and tempt us, come out of ourselves, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">D’Hancarville, cited, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dibutades of Sicyon, <a href="#Page_137">137–139</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Diocletian, ruins of the Baths of, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Diodotos, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dion Chrysostomos, on the style of Phidias, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dionysius of Colophon, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dionysius of Halicarnassus, on the art of Phidias, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">on the works of Polyclitus, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dives and Lazarus, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dolls, ancient, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Drama, reaction in the, against conventionalism, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Drill, the, supposed to have been invented by Callimachus, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dryads, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dust of the dead, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Duty, the, of considering adverse doctrines, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Ectypa of baked clay, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Eleusinian mysteries, meaning of the, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Eleusis, the Temple of Initiation at, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the Temple of Ceres at, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Elgin marbles, the, <a href="#Page_49">49–114</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Elis, work of Phidias at, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Elpinice, portrait of, by Polygnotua, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Epicurus, the face of, carried about by the Romans, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Equanimity, the last watchword given by Antoninus Pius, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Erechtheum, the, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Esaias, Michel Angelo’s figure of, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Euphranor, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Euripides, Æschylus and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">on the immensity of God, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ezekiel, Michel Angelo’s figure of, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Fables of the ancients, the mythical garb of great truths, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290">290</a></span></li> -<li class="isub1">true to the imagination, not to the reason, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Facts, but dead husks, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Faith, death of, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">easily degenerates into superstition, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">of the ancients compared with ours, <a href="#Page_218">218–220</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Fame, what is, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Fechter, as Hamlet, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Fedi, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ficino, Marsilio, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Firmicus, story by, about Zagreus, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Florence, the city of the Renaissance, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">ungrateful, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Dante and, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Fol, Mr., the collection of, in Rome, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Forcellinus, cited, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Forms, of little consequence, compared to essences, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Formulas check growth in the spirit, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">but are useful, as trunks in which we pack our goods, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Fornarina, the, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Francis I. and Leonardo da Vinci, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Fresco-painting, source of the term, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Fronto, <cite>De differentiis Vocabulorum</cite> of, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <i>note</i>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Galatea, the, of Raffaelle, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Galileo, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Garrick, <a href="#Page_236">236–238</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Germans, as students of Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ghiberti, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ghirlandajo, Michel Angelo’s early master, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Giorgione, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Giotto, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the campanile of, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">frescoes of, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">accomplished in many arts, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Glycon, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">God, tendency to humanize and degrade, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the justice of, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">supposed ideas of, held by Marcus Aurelius, <a href="#Page_199">199–202</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">man cannot comprehend, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">yet man makes, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Christian and pagan conceptions of, compared, <a href="#Page_199">199–208</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">representations of, in art, inferior to pagan works, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Gods, images of, in early Greece, with clothes and false hair, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the ancient, but anthropomorphic symbols, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Gonsalvi, Cardinal, and Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Good, real, done only by gradual changes, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Gorgasus, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Gorgias, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Greek and Roman art, the spirit of, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Greek sculptors not accustomed to put their names on statues, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Guarini, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Guelphs end Ghibellines, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Guicciardini, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Gypsum, not used by the ancients in casting, <a href="#Page_157">157–159</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Pliny on, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Hamlet, the warnings of, needed by English actors, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">not Hamlet on the English stage, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">mental aberration of, compared with that of Macbeth, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Hegias, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Hermitage, Museum of the, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Hercules, statue of, by Dædalus, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Hesychius, cited, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">History, who knows, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">must be interpreted by imagination, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Homer, and Virgil, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">relief in the British Museum, representing the deification of, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Honesty of intention, not enough, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Horace, quotation from, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Horse-Tamer, the, statue of, ascribed to Phidias, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70–79</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Hugo, Victor, and Lamartine, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Hunt, Leigh, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Iasos, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Iconic statues, first made by Antenor, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ictinus, works of, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Idealisti, motto of the, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Images, draped with real stuffs by the Greeks and Romans, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">false hair on, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Imagination in art, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">may work independently of real feelings, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Inevitable, the, should be accepted without murmuring, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Isis, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Isocrates, quoted, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Italy, the land of the Renaissance, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Jehovah, the, of the Jews, development of, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Jeremiah, figure of, by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Jesus, reverenced by Marcus Aurelius, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">John of Bologna, the Rape of the Sabines by, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Julian, statement by, about Phidias, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Julius II., Pope, and Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_21">21–25</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">strikes Michel Angelo with a cane, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Juno, the Temple of, at Argos, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Jupiter, the true philosophic idea of, <a href="#Page_204">204–207</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291">291</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Jupiter Pluvius, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Kalamis, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">works of, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">compared with Phidias, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Kallimachus, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Kallon, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Kean, Charles, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Kean, the elder, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Kemble, John, as Hamlet, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Kertch, excavations at, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">so-called casts from, in the British Museum, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Kleoitas, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Knight, Richard Payne, opinion of, on the Elgin marbles, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Kolotes, an assistant of Phidias, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">statue of Athena attributed to, by Pliny, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Lacon, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lactantius, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lamartine, Victor Hugo and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lanzi, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Laocoön, the, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Latin, modern pronunciation of, unintelligible to Marcus Aurelius, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Laurentian Library, the, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lazarus, and Dives, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lear, the aberration of mind of, different from that of Macbeth, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Leo X., Pope, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Leochares, statues by, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Leonardo, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">competition of, with Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">story about his death, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Libeccio, the howling, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Libon, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lippi, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Loclos, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lomazzo, statement by, about Leonardo’s death, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lorenzo the Magnificent, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">favors Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lucan, lofty idea of God expressed by, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lucian, cited, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his ideal image of the most beautiful woman, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">comment by, on Demetrius, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the “Tragic Jupiter” of, citations from, <a href="#Page_181">181–185</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Somnium, seu Gallus</span>,” of, quoted, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lysias, cited, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <i>note</i>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lysippus, statue of Opportunity by, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">varies the canon of proportion, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">gives a new impulse to the school of portraiture, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">praised by Nicephorus Chumnus, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lysistratus, and the art of casting in plaster, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and the practice of portraiture, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">probable use of color by, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Macbeth, the true character of, <a href="#Page_239">239–285</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">not understood by Lady Macbeth till after the murder of Duncan, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Shakespeare’s worst villain, save Iago, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Macbeth, Lady, the real, <a href="#Page_230">230–241</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251–282</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Macchiavelli, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Maderno, Carlo, St. Peter’s injured by, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Madonna di San Sisto, the, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mai, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <i>note</i>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mammon, worshiped, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Man, inferior to woman in adjusting details, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Marathon, the use made of spoils taken from the Medes at, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Marbles, the Elgin and Phigaleian, work on, in the Library of Entertaining Knowledge, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Masaccio, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mausolus, statue of, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Medicean Chapel, the, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">great works of Michel Angelo in, <a href="#Page_13">13–21</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Medici, real mausoleum of the, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">burial chapel of the, <a href="#Page_44">44–48</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">coffins of the, neglected and robbed, <a href="#Page_45">45–47</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">sad lesson of their fate, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Medici, Giuliano dei, mausoleum to, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Melzi, cited, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Metagenes, and the Temple of Initiation at Eleusis, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Metoscopi, a story about, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Middle Ages, the, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Middleton, the witches of, different from Shakespeare’s weird sisters, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Miltiades, portrait statue of, at Delphi, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Minerva, Church of the, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mini, Antonio, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mini, Giovanni Battista, letter by, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mirandola, Pico della, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mithras, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mnesicles, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Molière and Racine, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Moses, statue of, by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mount Mithridates, excavations at, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mozart, Beethoven and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Müller, cited, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <i>note</i>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Music, development of, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Myron, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">great skill of, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">inscription on his Discobolos, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mys, carving by, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Myths, enchanting, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Naiads, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Narrow-mindedness, development of truth impeded by, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292">292</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Naturalisti, motto of the, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Nature and art, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Nemesis, statue of, at Rhamnus, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">inscription on, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Nero, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">like Macbeth, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Nestocles, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Nicephorus Chumnus, Apelles and Lysippus praised by, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Nicias, statues colored by, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Night, Michel Angelo’s colossal figure of, <a href="#Page_14">14–21</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Odeum, the, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Olympia, the Temple of Zeus at, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Opinion, arrogance of, development of truth impeded by, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Opinions but running streams, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Orcagna, the Loggia of, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Oreads, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Orpheus, as the Good Shepherd, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Othello, the trance of, unlike Macbeth’s aberration of mind, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ovid, quoted, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Pæonios, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">works of, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pagan religion and pagan art, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Painting, and sculpture, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">substances used by the ancients in, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Palazzo Farnese, the, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pan, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pantarces, a victor in the Olympian games, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Parrhasius, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">paints portrait of himself, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Parthenon, the, sculptures in, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52–55</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">builders of, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">built between 444 and 438 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the extant fragments of, not in the style of Phidias, <a href="#Page_84">84–86</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">probably executed by various hands, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pasiteles, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pauline Chapel, the, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pausanias, statements by, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64–71</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the marble statues ascribed to Phidias by, <a href="#Page_105">105–107</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">on the invention of casting in bronze, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pelichus, statue of, by Demetrius, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pensiero, Il, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pericles, appoints Phidias director of public works in Athens, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">directs the building of the Odeum, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">said by Strabo to have been director of public works, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">sole administrator of public affairs, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">likeness of, by Phidias, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Perkins, Charles C., his “<cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Du Moulage en Plâtre chez les Anciens</cite>,” <a href="#Page_115">115</a> ff.;</li> -<li class="isub1">confounds modeling and casting, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Perugino, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Peruzzi Chapel, the, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Petrarca, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">admired by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Petronius, cited, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Phædrus, quoted, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Phidias, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">painter and architect, as well as sculptor, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and the Elgin marbles, <a href="#Page_49">49–114</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">appointed director of public works by Pericles, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his chryselephantine statue of Athena, <a href="#Page_50">50–68</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">doubtful if he ever made statues in marble, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98–113</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">testimony of Plutarch, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">of Strabo, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">impossible for him to have done all the work that is attributed to him, <a href="#Page_53">53–58</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">a slow and elaborate worker, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">disadvantages of, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">date of his birth, <a href="#Page_58">58–62</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">likeness of, by himself, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">works ascribed to, <a href="#Page_62">62–68</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">incredible stories about, <a href="#Page_71">71–73</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">peculiarly celebrated for his statues of Athena, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the Horse-Tamer, not the work of, <a href="#Page_76">76–79</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">compared with Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his style, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">elaboration of his great works, <a href="#Page_81">81–84</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the Cellini of Athens, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">introduces the art of making statues in ivory and gold, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">estimation of, among his contemporaries, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Propertius and Quinctilian on, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">appellation applied to, by Aristotle, <a href="#Page_99">99–102</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">skill of, in the toreutic art, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">marble statues ascribed to, by Pausanias, <a href="#Page_105">105–107</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">prosecuted for impiety, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Phigaleia, the Temple of Apollo at, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Photias, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Phradmon, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">competes with Phidias, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Phryne, portrait of, by Apelles, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Phyromachos, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Piece-moulds apparently not used by the ancient Greeks and Romans, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pindar, quotation from, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pius VIII., monument of, by Tenerani, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Plaster, the art of casting in, among the Greeks and Romans, <a href="#Page_115">115–189</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Platæa, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Plautus, quoted, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pliny, cited, <a href="#Page_65">65–68</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">story by, about Phidias, Polyclitus, Ctesilaus, Cydon, and Phradmon, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">statements by, about Phidias, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">quotation from his Natural History, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">meaning of the quotation considered, <a href="#Page_117">117</a> ff.;</li> -<li class="isub1">the Natural History characterized, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">stories by, about Apelles and Parrhasius, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Bostick and Riley’s translation of, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his use of the term “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>,” <a href="#Page_144">144</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">chapter on “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Plastices</span>,” in the Natural History, <a href="#Page_146">146–150</a>;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293">293</a></span></li> -<li class="isub1">chapter on the honor attached to portraits, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Plutarch, statements by, about Pericles and Phidias, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">quoted, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Plyntheria, the colossal Athena’s gold drapery washed at, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Poliziano, Angelo, teacher of Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Polybius, referred to, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <i>note</i>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Polyclitus, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his canon of proportion, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his works, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">compared with Phidias, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">price received by, for his Doryphoros, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Polygnotus, the “Rape of Cassandra” by, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Polyxines, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pompeii, works of art found in, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pomponius Mela, cited, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Popes, the, and Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Portrait statues, erection of, in public, seldom allowed by the Greeks, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Portraiture, in its true sense, the beginning of, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">development of, by Lysippus and Lysistratus, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">earliest specimen of, by a great painter, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">use of, by the Romans, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Possis, excellent work of, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Praxias, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Praxiteles, statue of Alexander taming Bucephalus, ascribed to, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">praised by Lucian, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and Nicias, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">price offered by Athens for the Venus of, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pre-Raphaelites, error of the, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Printing, among the ancient Romans, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Propertius, quoted, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Propylæa, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pulci, the three, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Pythagoras, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Quinctilian, quoted, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">criticises Demetrius, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Quincy, M. Quatremere de, on chryselephantine statues, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Quirinal Hill, statue of the Horse-Tamer on the, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Racine, Molière and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Raffaelle, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and the Sistine Chapel, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_30">30–33</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">character and style of, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his finest work, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his early death, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">characterized by contemporaries, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">and the Fornarina, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">accomplished in many arts, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ravenna, Dante’s grave at, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Reform, slow movement of, in England, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Rehoboam, group by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Religion, and art, hand in hand, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">no system of, ever embraced all truth, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Religious controversy, nothing so bitter as, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Religious ideas, each age has its, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Renaissance, the, <a href="#Page_3">3–5</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Revolutionizing the world, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Rhamnus, statue of Nemesis at, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Rhœcus, cast in bronze, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Riches, denounced by Christ, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Riley and Bostick, translation of Pliny by, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Roman and Greek art, the spirit of, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Rousseau and Voltaire, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">S. Justinus, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">S. Theophilus Antiochenus, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sallust, quoted, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">San Gallo, Antonio, architect of St. Peter’s, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">San Lorenzo, Church of, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Santa Croce, Church of, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Saurus, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Savonarola, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his influence on Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Scheffer, Ary, Delacroix and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Scopas, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">celebrated for heroic figures and demigods, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">a worker in marble, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sculpture, and idolatry, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">considered more dignified than painting, by the Athenians, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Second-sight, Macbeth’s, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Secretive nature, the, always a puzzle to the frank nature, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Semele and Zagreus, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Seneca, quoted, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">sentiments of, regarding God, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Shakespeare, and Sir Philip Sidney, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">testimony of, as to English actors, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">interpreted by the Germans, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his meaning perverted on the English stage, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">no serious character of, rants like Macbeth, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">a master-stroke of, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Iago and Macbeth his worst villains, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his weird sisters a new creation, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sibylline verses, fragment of the, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sibyls, representations of, by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Siddons, Mrs., as Lady Macbeth, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sidney, Sir Philip, Shakespeare and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sistine Chapel, the, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Michel Angelo’s frescoes in, <a href="#Page_21">21–29</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">opened to exhibit the frescoes in 1508 on All-Saints’ Day, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sixtus V., <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294">294</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Smith, Philip, cited, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Socrates, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Solon, cited, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sophocles, unity and universality of God proclaimed by, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Spartianus, statues modeled in plaster spoken of by, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">St. Paul, quoted, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">St. Peter’s, the Dome of, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Michel Angelo’s work upon, <a href="#Page_39">39–42</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the type of the universal church, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Michel Angelo not responsible for it as it now stands, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">changes made in, by Carlo Maderno, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sta. Maria degli Angeli, Church of, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Stage, tradition and convention on the English, <a href="#Page_234">234–240</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Statius, quoted, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Statues, ancient, singular defects in, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Strabo, statements by, about Pericles and Phidias, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">opinion of, on the statue of Nemesis, at Rhamnus, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">on the work of Polyclitus, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Strozzi, Giovan’ Battista, quatrain by, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Suidas, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sunium, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Tartuffe, Macbeth not like, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tasso, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tenerani, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tennyson, Browning and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Terra cotta, an ancient manufactory of, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tertullian, on the persecution of the Christians, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Themistius, a saying of, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">cited, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Theocosmos, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">said to have been assisted by Phidias, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Theocritus, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Theodorus of Samos, cast in bronze, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Theophrastus, treatise on mineralogy by, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Thiersch, cited, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Thoughts, our whole nature colored by our, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Thrasymedes of Paros, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Thundering Legion, the, true story of, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tintoretto, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tiridates, King of Armenia, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Titian, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Toreutic art, the, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tradition, in English church and theatre, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Shakespeare’s meaning perverted by, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Traditions about artists, unreliable, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Troughton, Mr., <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Truth, infinite in form and spirit, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">a continual progression towards the divine, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">not all embraced in one system of religion, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">the growth of, impeded by narrow-mindedness, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tussaud, Madame, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tzetzes the Grammarian, story told by, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">an untrustworthy gossip, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">on Phidias, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Urban VIII., <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Urbino, Michel Angelo’s servant, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Valerius Maximus, quoted, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Valerius Soranus, God represented by, as the Father and Mother of us all, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Valori, Bartolommeo, letter to, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Varro, quoted, as to the meaning of “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">cera</span>,” <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Vasari, Giorgio, doubtful assertion of, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">on Raffaelle, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">account by, of Verrocchio’s making casts, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Veronese, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Verrocchio, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">casting in plaster introduced by, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Via Latina, tombs in the, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Vigenero, description of Michel Angelo by, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Villari, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Virgil, Homer and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">quoted, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Visconti, quoted, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his views examined, <a href="#Page_100">100–104</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Vitruvius, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">description of process used in finishing walls by, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Voltaire, Rousseau and, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Walls, ancient process used in finishing, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Wardour Street, the portraits of, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Wax, the common vehicle of ancient painters, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Weird Sisters,” the, but outward personifications of evil thoughts, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Welcker and Preller, cited, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Wilkins, William, opinion of, on the Elgin marbles, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Wilson, Mr. Charles Heath, close examination of Michel Angelo’s frescoes by, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Wisdom of Solomon,” the, cited, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Woman, superior to man in adjusting details, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">unable to bear the remembrance of what she has gone through, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">World, the, needs revolutionizing, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Xenocles of Cholargos, finishes the Temple of Initiation at Eleusis, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Xenophon, classes Polyclitus with Homer, Sophocles, and Zeuxis, as an artist, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295">295</a></span></li> - -<li class="ifrst">Zacharias, figure of, by Michel Angelo, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Zagreus and Semele, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Zenobius, cited, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Zeus, chryselephantine statue of, by Phidias, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59–63</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">inscription on, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Zeus, the Temple of, at Olympia, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> - -</ul> -</div></div> - -<div class="chapter"><div class="footnotes"> -<h2 class="nobreak p1"><a id="FOOTNOTES"></a>FOOTNOTES</h2> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn1"><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> Whether this inscription was placed there during the life of -Phidias does not appear; but it is highly improbable, and not in -harmony with the practice of the Greeks.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn1"><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="fnanchor">2</a> Themistius, <span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Orat. adeum qui postulaverat ut ex tempore sermonem -haberet</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn1"><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="fnanchor">3</a> <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">τέκτονες, πλάσται, χαλκοτύποι, λιθουργοί, βαφεῖς, χρυσοῦ -μαλακτῆρες καὶ ἐλέφαντος ζωγράφοι, ποικιλταῖ, τορευταῖ.</span> This -passage is generally cited as a statement by Plutarch that Phidias -employed all these men; but in fact he is only urging, in justification -of Pericles, and in answer to attacks made against him for -expending such large sums of money in the public works, that -these works gave employment to the enumerated classes of artists -and mechanics.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn1"><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="fnanchor">4</a> The date of the birth of Pericles is unknown, but he began -to take part in public affairs in <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span> 469, when he could not probably -have been less than twenty-one years of age. This would -place his birth at 490. He died in 429; and this reckoning -would make him only sixty-one at his death.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn1"><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="fnanchor">5</a> A full transcript of these inscriptions will be found in Dr. -Brunn’s <cite>Geschichte der griechischen Künstler</cite>, i. 249.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn1"><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="fnanchor">6</a> See Lysias’s Frag., <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Περὶ τοῦ τύπου</span>; also, Müller’s <cite>Ancient Art</cite>, -360, and King’s <cite>Antique Gems</cite>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn1"><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="fnanchor">7</a> “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Non ex ebore tantum sciebat Phidias facere simulacrum, faciebat -et ex ære. Si marmor illi, si adhuc viliorem materiam -obtulisses, fecisset quale ex illa fieri optimum potuisset.</span>”—Seneca, -<cite>Epist.</cite> 86.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn1"><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="fnanchor">8</a> <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Du Moulage en Plâtre chez les Anciens</cite>, par M. Charles -C. Perkins, correspondant de l’Académie des Beaux Arts, etc. -Paris, 1869.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn1"><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="fnanchor">9</a> Pliny, <cite>Nat. Hist.</cite>, lib. xxxv. ch. xii.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="fnanchor">10</a> So also Fronto in his <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">De differentiis Vocabulorum</cite>, published by -Cardinal Mai from palimpsests, says: “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Vultus proprie hominis—os -omnium—facies plurium</span>.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="fnanchor">11</a> According to Æschines, in his oration against Ctesiphon, Miltiades -desired that his name should be inscribed on this portrait -statue, which was placed in the Pœcile; but the Athenians refused -their permission.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="fnanchor">12</a> See <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Cicero ad Atticum</cite>, xii. 41.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="fnanchor">13</a> iii. 12, § 13; viii. 14, § 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="fnanchor">14</a> <cite xml:lang="de" lang="de">Geschichte der griechischen Künstler</cite>, vol. i. p. 403.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="fnanchor">15</a> vii. 3, ii 8. See, also, Pliny, xxv. 49.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="fnanchor">16</a> See, also, an account of these “<span xml:lang="la" lang="la">imagines</span>” in Polybius, vi. 53.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="fnanchor">17</a> <span xml:lang="la" lang="la">Et quoniam animorum imagines non sunt, negliguntur etiam -corporum. Aliter apud majores, in atriis hæc erant quæ spectarentur, -non signa externorum artificum, nec æra aut marmora. -Expressi cera vultus singulis disponebantur armariis ut essent -imagines quæ comitarentur gentilicia funera.</span>—Book 35, ch. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="fnanchor">18</a> <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Διαφέρην δὲ δοκεῖ καὶ πρὸς τὰ ἀπομάγματα πολὺ τῶν ἀλλῶν</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="fnanchor">19</a> Lib. ix. ch. 23; Lib. i. ch. 40; Lib. viii. ch. 22.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="fnanchor">20</a> Spartian., <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Sev. Hadrian</cite>, 22.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="fnanchor">21</a> <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">De Errore Profanarum Religionum.</cite> Vid. <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Lobeck aglaopham</cite>, -p. 571.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="fnanchor">22</a> As Lysistratus and his brother lived about the 114th Olympiad -(324 <span class="smcap smaller">B. C.</span>), if these works found at Kertch were plaster -<em>casts</em>, it is plain that Lysistratus did not invent casting, since -these were before his time; and if Pliny means to say that he -did, he is evidently quite wrong.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="fnanchor">23</a> Pliny says “exemplar.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="fnanchor">24</a> <span xml:lang="grc" lang="grc">Ἐτύγχανον μὲν ἄρτι χαλκουργῶν ὕπο -Πιττούμενος στέρνον τε καὶ μετάφρενον· -Θώραξ δέ μοι γελοῖος ἀμφὶ σώματι -Πλασθεῖς παρῃώρητο μιμήλῃ τέχνῃ -Σφραγῖδα χαλκοῦ πᾶσαν ἐκτυπούμενος.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="fnanchor">25</a> See <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Divin. Inst.</cite>, lib. i. c. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="fnanchor">26</a> Val. Soranus, cited by St. Augustine, <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">De Civit. Dei</cite>, lib. -vii. c. 9.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="fnanchor">27</a> See these passages and others cited in S. Justinus, <cite xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cohortat. -ad Græc. et de Monarchia</cite>; Clement of Alexandria, <cite>Stromat.</cite>, lib. -v., <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">et Admonitio ad Gentes</i>; S. Cyrillus Alexandrinus, <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Contra -Julianum</cite>, lib. i.; Athenagoras, <cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Legat. pro Christian.</cite>; Theodoretus, -<cite xml:lang="la" lang="la">Graec. Affectionum: Curat</cite>, lib. 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p class="fn2"><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="fnanchor">28</a></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i16">“I have no spur<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To prick the sides of my intent, but only<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vaulting ambition.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div></div> -</div></div> - -<div class="chapter"><div class="transnote"> -<h2 class="nobreak p1"><a id="Transcribers_Notes"></a>Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant -preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.</p> - -<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced -quotation marks retained.</p> - -<p>Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.</p> - -<p>Index not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references.</p> -</div></div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Excursions in Art and Letters, by -William Wetmore Story - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS *** - -***** This file should be named 54773-h.htm or 54773-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/7/7/54773/ - -Produced by Chris Curnow, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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