This statue of Augustus was found in 1863 in a villa built by his wife, Livia, about nine miles from Rome, at Porta Prima. It is a noble work, and every minute detail of the ornamentation has a force and meaning that can be explained. At the same time the whole work is full of strength and dignity, which comes from the character of the man himself, and is in no sense dependent on all the emblems of his rank and power, with which the dress is loaded (Fig. 69). This statue is in the Vatican, and there one can compare it with the exquisite bust known as the "Young Augustus" and with the statue of the emperor when aged, in which he is veiled as a priest. The study of these three sculptures, thus fortunately near each other, is most interesting.
Fig. 70.—Agrippina the Elder.
The Roman women who held important positions were frequently honored with statues. Among those that remain none is more interesting than this of the elder Agrippina. She was a woman of great strength and equally great purity of character, and as we study this statue we can easily understand that she could perform the duties of a general when occasion demanded this service, and when that necessity was past could nurse the sick and wounded with all the tenderness of a true womanly nature. It is in every way a noble work of art, combining grace, dignity, and the aristocratic refinement of a high-born lady. The drapery of this and other similar statues is very beautiful, and fully satisfies all artistic demands. We have full proof that such garments were in actual use by the women of Greece and Rome (Fig. 70).
It was not unusual for the great men and women of Rome to be represented in portrait statues with the attributes of gods and goddesses. Livia appears as Ceres, Julia as Flora, and so on; and during the best days of Roman art these statues were very beautiful. But at last they, like all other sculptures, grew less and less worthy, until they became positively absurd, and lacked any power to command our admiration.
What is thus true of portrait sculpture is true of all Roman art. Its decline kept step with the decline of the nation, and both fell at length into a pitiable state of feebleness and corruption. From this we are glad to turn to the study of Christian art, which, even in its primary struggles, when groping its way through ignorance and helplessness, was still a living thing, and held the promise of a new life—a renaissance of that which had gradually died in Greece and Rome.
