Douris and the Painters of Greek Vases

by Edmond Pottier

In considering the painting of the interior ([Fig. 8]), we move upwards another step. In its small compass, we consider it one of the finest paintings handed down to us from ancient times. It consoles us somewhat for the loss of so many masterpieces, and we cannot suppose that a potter, working alone in his workshop, invented this first Mater dolorosa, which is as touching as a Mantegna or a Roger Van der Weyden. Nowhere is a copy from a great painting more forcibly evident. Every one must be impressed by the striking resemblance of this Pagan and Greek creation to the emblem that has moved Christian souls for so many centuries. Eos, standing with outstretched and beating wings, bends toward the dead face of her son Memnon, her strained arms supporting his rigid body. The goddess, who represents the radiant morning and the promises of Nature awakening with the dawn, is here simply a despairing mother imprinting on her mind with one long look the beloved features she will see no more; the contrast is profoundly sad, and a creation worthy of a great poet. The body of the powerful prince of the Ethiopians, the ally of Priam, is entirely nude as it was taken up on the battlefield where his adversary Achilles had robbed him of his armour. The stiff legs are stretched out, the left foot still contracted with pain, the arms swing limply, the head drops, while the dishevelled hair, the delicate beard, and the closed eyes arouse an irresistible memory of the dead Christ. We have a true Pietà before our eyes.

What miracle in art, what unexpected chance unites Pagan and Christian art to express the same thought, in the same form? Is it not a proof that across the centuries great artists share the same thoughts, and to express the emotions of life create a universal language? Is it not this again which attracts us in Homer, in those never to be forgotten scenes, expressing so well the deep feelings of all men at all times; the farewell of Hector and Andromache, the return of Ulysses to Ithaca? Art soars above time and space, more than all else it embodies the solidarity of succeeding generations without any knowledge of one another.

A kylix in the British Museum, with The Adventures of Theseus ([Fig. 11]), of more recent form and style, teaches us still better that behind the vase painter may be concealed other and greater personalities, who are the true creators of the work of art. A famous kylix from the workshop of Euphronios shows us similar scenes glorifying the Athenian hero, forming with the Eos and Memnon, by Douris, and The Taking of Troy, by Brygos, a glorious trio of ceramic masterpieces, of which the Louvre is justly proud. In comparing the works of Douris with those coming from the workshops of Euphronios, the idea suggests itself that they either copied one another or borrowed from one common original. Both suppositions are possible. As already mentioned, no law or custom prohibited artistic plagiarism. If Douris knew of the beautiful work executed by his colleague, nothing prevented him from adopting it for his own use. But, on the other hand, the broad style of Euphronios’ production and the peculiar character of the adventure of Theseus recovering the ring of Minos from the bottom of the sea, a subject treated by Mikon, one of the great painters of the fifth century, finally the great number of works of art which at this period celebrated the national hero’s glory, lead us to believe that a potter had no need to look over his neighbour’s shoulder to gain suggestions for a theme of Theseus. He was surrounded by models in painting, sculpture, painted bas-reliefs, models, carved and engraved. The supposition of a common model or several models, from which a craftsman, in a way, chose the desired subject, seems most probable.

Fig. 14. SILENI PLAYING AND DANCING.

Vase by Douris. British Museum.

It is only in this sense and with such reservation that these two cups can be compared. In looking at the superb vase in the Louvre, no one will hesitate to give the preference to the workshop of Euphronios. In the interior is The Visit of Amphitrite; in this painting the author has retained all the seriousness of great religious art with a touch of archaism in the drawing and position of the characters, showing thereby that he has copied an ancient fresco; while, on the contrary, on the reverses, the combats of Theseus with the robbers Skiron, Prokrustes and Kerkyon, and the struggle with the Marathonian bull, are treated as in metopes, with bold, vigorous lines, giving rather a feeling of the influence of sculpture ([Fig. 12]).

The composition of Douris ([Fig. 11]) is more firmly knit, because it concentrates all the attention on the adventures of the hero against monsters and robbers. In the interior is the fight with the Minotaur, an ancient and classic theme from the sixth century; on the reverses, the defeat of Kerkyon, of Skiron and Sinis, and the hunt of the boar of Krommyon; two women give some variety and animation to the whole, the nymph Phaia who lived at Krommyon, and the goddess Athene who protects her favourite hero at his labours. Here again is a closely-knit trilogy; but, we must confess, the execution is far inferior to that of the cup of Euphronios. It is accurate and a little commonplace. There is, however, noticeable a desire to express landscape, a care for external ornament, visible in the palm tree and the small trees placed about, and by a cloak thrown upon a tree trunk. It is a rare mark among Greek painters, and worthy of note.

We will look more rapidly at the paintings of the kantharos at Brussels, the importance of which, as being a vase moulded by Douris himself, we have already mentioned ([Fig. 1]). The figures represent “Herakles’ contest with the Amazons,” an old type, nearly a century old, but with the added beauty of a clear and accurate style, and an admirably certain execution. Nor are the subjects new which are treated upon another kylix in the Louvre, The Rape of Thetis by Peleus. But Douris deserves the credit of having skilfully revived an old subject known on Corinthian and Attic vases of the sixth century. It is possible to follow in the Louvre the same painting done in turn by a Corinthian, then by an Attic painter of black figures, and lastly by Douris. It is of great interest to follow the development of the composition and of the grouping of the figures, of their attitudes, and of the drawing itself. We perceive here the same differences as in comparing a Madonna of Cimabue with one of Lippi. Symmetry of figures, stiff and angular outlines and severe features have given place to life and tender touches of the brush. At the same time, the close connection of these successive works appears most striking—the link with the past has never been severed; the fundamental conception has always remained the same; improvement has come from within, and extends to every little detail.