Lastly, we have one example of a personal advertisement in rather an aggressive form, coming from Euthymides, a contemporary and rival of Euphronios. Upon an amphora in the Museum at Munich, the boastful craftsman has written this defiant apostrophe: “Euphronios has never done so well!”
These minute details enable us to penetrate into the material life of the workshop. We catch a glimpse of the greedy struggles for gain, the ambitions and rivalries involved in all commercial enterprise. It is the seamy side of this beautiful art, which to-day appears to us so pure and free from all material considerations. As in all human efforts, there were undoubtedly in reality many competing interests, many cruel cares, much deceit and hatred. But time has done its work; has thrown a veil over the mean and petty things in life, and only allowed those to survive which are truly sane and useful. Let us rejoice in not knowing whether Douris was a successful business man, whether he honestly made a fortune, or whether he died miserably in debt. That which remains of his work is the spiritual, the true and fruitful part of his life. His drawings teach us what he was, not as an individual, but as an artist, as a member of the great Athenian family, and this it is which interests us above all.
CHAPTER V
THE WORK OF DOURIS
We will only consider here the works signed by Douris, and leave aside a considerable number of anonymous vases attributed to him. We only wish to argue from indisputable records. The number consists of twenty-six drinking cups, one kantharos, and one vase for cooling wine, forming in all about eighty paintings, which can be divided into three distinct groups:
1. Mythical and heroic subjects, adventures of gods and heroes.
2. Martial subjects, scenes of arming and battle.
3. Subjects of everyday life, banquets, conversations and exercises in the palæstra.
It would, no doubt, be interesting to study these subjects chronologically, and to follow step by step the career of the artist; but we could not place much confidence in a detailed enumeration of dates. We will select the first group as most clear and precise. This will not prevent our examining the numerous and diverse styles through which the talent of Douris passed. On the whole, we may say there were two chief periods in his style: the one, while he adhered to ancient traditions, and his drawings remained stiff and archaic; the other, when his brush became flexible to a remarkable degree, and when he began to create. It is the story of many artists, both ancient and modern.
1. Mythical and Heroic Subjects.
The kylix of Eos and Memnon (Figs. [8], [9], [10]), well known to visitors of the Louvre, is not only the oldest but the one which best illustrates the first period of Douris, and deserves the closest attention from lovers of art. It is a masterpiece of Greek ceramic art, at a time when the painting of red figures, while still retaining the stiff, archaic forms, finds means to move the feelings by purity of line and a deep sense of life. The vase, by the potter Kalliades, in itself reveals an old shape ([Fig. 1] right) with the foot short and squat, the sides heavy, a deep bowl and short handles, following the models of Nikosthenes and Pamphaios of the sixth century. Later Douris made a kylix of far more graceful outline, with a shallower bowl, a higher stem made slender in the middle, and lighter handles, such as one sees in the workshops of Euphronios, Hieron and Brygos ([Fig. 1] left). On this kylix there are a great number of inscriptions: nearly every person is designated by name. Besides the signatures of the potter and painter we can read the name of the handsome Hermogenes ([Fig. 8]), and with it a fragment of a phrase, the meaning of which remains doubtful. Seventeen or eighteen words in all are scattered in fine red letters over the inner surface and the reverse of the cup. This profusion of writing is in itself archaic; men were communicative in early times, and delighted in labelling their figures like our old illuminators of the Middle Ages. More recent works of Douris have lost this useless mode of expression. Painting is its own interpreter, and has no further need of this awkward assistance.
