Westward empire

by Elias Lyman Magoon

Of the three orders perfected by the Greeks, the Corinthian would appear to be the most entirely original, and, at the time of its invention, the exactest symbol of their mind. The flower had fully bloomed, and decrepitude was already begun. They could no longer adequately execute the Doric order, with its integral sculpture and painting, and had ceased to be satisfied with the chaste gracefulness of Asiatic volutes. They began by raising the honeysuckle from around the necking of the Ionic capital, and extended it over a vase-form under a light abacus, intermingled with a few rosettes, but omitting altogether the volutes. To this was after ward added the Persepolitan water-leaf, and finally the crisp acanthus of Attica gave a rich variety to the order, which constitutes its crowning charm. The choragic monument of Lysicrates is the only pure type of this style; and if sculpture and painting must be banished from architecture, this is, doubtless, the most beautiful order extant.

Architecture expresses the difference among races, as language does the variety of dialects. The Dorians built in the same style that was employed by Pindar, Æschylus, and Thucydides in speech. The simplicity and elegance of the Ionians are exemplified in their temple graces, not less than in Homer's matchless verse, and the smooth rhythm of Herodotus. The Corinthians, refined to effeminacy, were the last architectural inventors in the old world, and they stamped upon their production the delicate luxuriance which characterizes the language of Isocrates. The opposing principles of Dorism and Ionism which prevailed in all the institutions of Greece, politics, literature, customs, and art, were boldly embodied in sculpture and architecture. The former came from Egypt, and the latter from Asia; but both were alike indebted to western genius for the refined symmetry which their respective orders finally assumed. The zenith of perfection was not reached until the Doric influence was impregnated by the Ionic, the material by the spiritual, and Corinthian delicacy was born to perish in the grave of its exhausted parents.

Egyptian sculpture was the archaic state of Greek sculpture, as is clearly indicated by specimens yet extant. The types of the Nile, which remained unchanged through many centuries, were no sooner transferred to the Ilissus than a wonderful improvement succeeded. The remains of the temple of Jupiter in Ægina show the metamorphosis of the uncouth East into the refinement of the West in the very act of taking place. The heads of the figures are Egyptian, according to the prescriptive sanctity of priestly rule, heavy and immobile; but the limbs are detached, and move with the natural freedom of Greek taste. The conservative East regarded innovation as destructive of the divine, while the progressive West sought for near approach to divinity in increased perfection. Hence the figure of Minerva on this edifice, the central one of the pediment, is more oriental than the rest, as if less liberty should be taken with the personal image of a being fully divine; but this hereditary scruple was soon overcome, and, in direct contrast with Egypt, Grecian deities became most celestial in form.

The progress of perfected sculpture was striking and continuous. The Herma was the first step in true statuesque art, when the Greek placed a human head on a pillar by the wayside, fashioned after the proportions of the human form. Then the resemblance of life extended to the loins, preparatory to that further realization when the bust spread vital beauty and activity throughout every speaking feature or graceful limb, rendering the statue complete. Last of all came the associated group, simultaneous with architectonic perfection, to which it added manifold charms. Then was the memorable era when the images of gods and heroes possessed not less truth and majesty than if the divinities had themselves sat for their pictured or sculptured portraits; and all this resulted because art had become the greatest national activity, and the entire nation was merely a transcendant artist. In a chronological review, the ancient monuments of Asia and Egypt must be considered before those of Greece; but the true history of art, in its continuous development, as in every other civilizing power, began alone with that sagacious people. To the last, the East retained in its sculpture those symbolical images which are utterly destructive of elegance in imitative representations; but the West soon emancipated itself, and came step by step to elicit from marble perfected human features under the attitude and aspect of divinity. Therein is most clearly traced the mysterious symbolism of the inner mind of that people. The reason and imagination of Greece were poured with profusion and power into artistic creations, and the faculties from which these works sprang are in turn most forcibly addressed. Like excites like; and if ancient sculpture shines on, through all time, with inextinguishable beams, it is simply because the original creation transpired under the transmuting and glorifying influence of impassioned thought. Supremacy in art among that people was not an accidental inspiration of a few artists, but the predominant spirit of the age and great heritage of a race. Their language was the first organ of speech thoroughly eliminated, and art, its correlative, was the highest material medium of mind. The mystery of the human form was accurately conceived by the Hellenic genius, and thus the mythological Sphinx, whose motto is Man, which had ever been inaccessible to the race of Shem, was by Japhetic intellect clearly revealed. In her most glorious days, the sumptuous temples of Athens, amid the elaborate graces of their moldings, the living foliage of their capitals, and the multiform friezes whereon Lapithæ and Centaurs exhibited the most impressive action, did yet preserve the same outline of simplicity with which the wooden hut of Pelasgus was marked.

In consequence of the excitement, surprise, joy, and glory of their first conquest over the Persians, the Greeks developed all their energies, and the brief period of their highest excellence terminated soon after the final triumph over that great foe, so inseparable is national enthusiasm from exalted perfection in art. The Parthenon and Propylæa were trophies of Marathon and Salamis, monuments of past success, and pledges of future progress. Then supreme homage was paid to superior talent; and popular admiration, as profound as it was general, gave birth to those masterly productions its paintings deserved. The same combination of boldness and gentleness which constitutes the very essence of classic literature, imparted its peculiar expression to the plastic art of Greece. Both, in their best days, were equally imbued with that lofty impulse which antique traditions excited, and the national genius was most ambitious to perpetuate. The Persians brought marble with them, intending to erect a memorial of the anticipated victory, which their conquerors appropriated, and commissioned Phidias to cut it into a statue of Nemesis. Such was the destiny of all oriental elements, and the use made of them by the valiant genius of occidental republicans. When the first great battle of opinion had been won, and the Persian, like the Mede, was overthrown, a few years of active freedom produced more of civilizing art, than had been generated under the pressure of whole centuries of despotic repose.

The art of the first Pharaohs, as well as that of the last Ptolemies, is brought down to us in well preserved relics, and by means of these, at a single glance, we can survey a boundless historic period, during which, in the first progressive land, civilization had passed from the lowest to the highest point; from the Pelasgi to the Parthenon, from the wooden works of Dædalus to the marble glories of Phidias; from the fabulous Orpheus, and mythological Amphion, to Homer and Sophocles; in a word, from Cecrops to Pericles. But on the Nile, beyond certain ignoble and arbitrary types, sculpture never advanced. Dædalus is reputed to have been the first statuary in Greece, but he was more of a mechanist than sculptor, the architect of labyrinths, carver of wood, and inventor of wings. He was the countryman and cotemporary of Theseus, equal to that hero in the adventures of his life, born of a royal race, admired for his works while living, and honored by the Egyptians with a special chapel after death. About two centuries later, appeared Dipœmus and Scyllis. They were born in Crete, under the Median empire, but worked at Sicyon, and made statues of Apollo, Diana, Minerva, and Hercules. They were the first to use the white marble of Paros, and gave to each divinity a peculiar personal appearance so entirely distinct, as to cause the offensive symbolism of preceding art to be laid aside. The slow progress of sculpture may be further traced, until a single mighty master raised his profession to a height, of which the world had entertained no previous conception. The Greeks could produce beauty without meretricious ornament, delicacy without affectation, strength without coarseness, and the highest degree of action without the slightest disturbance of equilibrium. Proud only of progressive invention, they preserved their first rude monuments side by side with their later masterpieces, and appealed to this aggregate as the true archives of nobility, their highest credentials to glory. The plastic sense, which usually disappears with the infancy of nations, was fostered to the fullness of adult perfection among this people. Whatever of beauty real objects supplied to their hands, the inspiration of fervid genius transfigured into the most beautiful idealized forms. As was said by one of their number, the higher nature of the divinities passed into the arts; and we have reason to believe that sculpture especially, did wear a celestial aspect in its representation of glorified heroes and the highest gods. The law which Plato long after prescribed to artists, seems to have been instinctively observed from the earliest era, "that they should create nothing illiberal or deformed, as well as nothing immoral and loose, but should everywhere strive to attain to the nature of the beautiful and the becoming." Latent worth doubtless lay imprisoned in the uncouth sculpture of the East, but it was only when moved westward, that the fair prisoner was set free; like Aphrodite, born without a pang, in the enfranchisement of the sea, and landed on the blooming shore of Paphos, redolent of spontaneous charms.

Homer, and the other poets, as they were the fountains of all other elements of culture, nourished also the plastic sense in the common mind. From the tragic writers, especially, emanated a world of sculpture, so that nearly all the great spirits generated in the regions of fable, were happily embodied in substantial art. Hipparchus, a few years before the birth of Phidias, formed the first public library at Athens, and placed therein the complete works of Homer, Hesiod, Sappho, Anacreon, and Simonides. The public games were not less favorable in their influence on plastic art. They were great artistic congresses, wherein each department was exhibited for the special benefit of itself, and in regular succession; just like various pieces of music at a modern concert, without discord between them. Not only in the popular poetry, but in the public manners as well, was manifested that refined grace and equanimity between excessive freedom and coarse formality, which was embodied in sculpture as its highest form. The second desire of Simonides, was, that he might possess a handsome figure, and the gymnastic exercises customary in the healthful serenity of his native land, did much to realize the wish. The most eminent men in their youth, sought renown in the development of natural qualities, and thereby laid a substantial basis for the magnificence of acquired accomplishments. Each successful competitor was honored with a statue of the highest order and most perfect resemblance. Hieratic models were utterly discarded, and not only was the real portrait preserved, but also the very attitude in which the victory was gained. Even horses which had borne off prizes, were reproduced by the exactest imitative skill, and all the most natural forms were elevated to that ideal of perfection which constituted the models of excellence, and the best incentive to yet higher improvement of surpassing worth.

We have observed that Hermes were the first sculptured productions of Greece. These most abounded at Athens, where, for a long time, the word Hermoglyph was the only term in use to designate a sculptor of any kind. But soon after the Persians had despoiled that city of her ancient monuments, she acquired immense resources, by which, under the guidance of superlative taste, she soon arose to be the head of the national confederacy, and most splendid abode of art. Architects and sculptors, painters, lapidaries, and workers in precious metals vied with each other in adorning the lettered empress of earth and sea. The monuments of Ictinus, Phidias, Callicrates, and Mnesicles arose, surrounded with kindred glories, thenceforth to become masterpieces for the emulation of mankind. What was especially needed, was something that would mold all surrounding elements of beauty into one perfect and homogeneous whole, like the unity of diversified expressions in the opera, and this was gloriously realized in the perfected temple. Appropriate material was quarried from Paros and Pentelicus, which when wrought into graceful and sublime forms, stood on the terraced height in serene majesty, and glowed through the sparkling atmosphere with enhanced splendor borrowed from harmonized colors and burnished gold. In Greece, history and art from the beginning, were closely allied. The breastplates, helmets, and shields, as well as altars, temples, and tombs, were all made to glorify an honored ancestry, through the blandishments of material art. Homer and Hesiod brightened the dawn of national renown, as they sang the artistic triumphs of Vulcan, embossed on the weapons which Hercules and Achilles bore. The arcades of nature, and the canopied walks which architecture so magnificently provided, were transformed into vast galleries, all aglow with brilliantly harmonized tints; and a wanderer the most remote from the metropolis, still found the annals of his country embodied in marble, and each great personage strongly characterized by the sculptor's chisel. Every subordinate democracy had its Prytancum, Odeon, Pnyx, Gymnasium, and Theatres; and when Athens usurped pre-eminent control, her citizens were proud to erect public monuments worthy of her ambition, and whose dazzling magnificence should reconcile the other states to her supremacy. So greatly was this the passion of the people themselves, that when Pericles proposed to exonerate them from debts incurred by the immense works of his administration, if he might be permitted to inscribe them with his own name, the proposition was rejected at once, and every responsibility was cheerfully accepted as their own.

Phidias was an Athenian, the son of Charmidas, and cousin to the distinguished painter, Panænus, whose associated skill he employed on several of his works. Doubtless this fact should explain much of his grace of outline, and power of relief. He proved himself equally successful in the sublime and minute, by turning from the awful majesty of his marble Jupiter to stamp like perfection on the grasshopper or bee of bronze. This Æschylus of sculpture began with works in ivory, continued to develop his power through statues of metal, and finally attained the highest excellence in colossal marble groups. He was born under the full blaze of Grecian freedom, and carried his profession to the loftiest height of excellence, through a knowledge of all the arts and sciences that could enhance its attraction, or dignify its pursuit. He was not only a painter and poet, but was also familiar with the gorgeous fictions of mythology, and the more sober records of history, the knowledge of optics, and the severest discipline of geometric science. It is probable that Phidias planned all the works about the Parthenon, and that Callicrates and Ictinus executed the architectural portions, while Alcamenes and other pupils wrought nearly to the surface most of the sculptural forms. But as his genius outlined the general plan, so his hand imparted the finishing touch to the varied parts.

The most marked characteristic of the first half of the Periclean age was placid majesty. Jupiter sat in supreme quietude, with thunderbolts resting in his lap; Juno reposed on her own feminine dignity; and Minerva showed supreme power, less through outward impulse than by sovereign self-control, and inward intent. When the highest period of calm beauty was passed, and another cycle drew near, full of force, greater excitement is exhibited in corresponding art, and with increased harmony with the changed spirit it portrayed. Such was Niobe and her children, pursued by Apollo and Diana, Gladiators in mortal struggle, and the passionate group of Laocoon. But at the best period no Greek artist would ever introduce in sculpture grim Pluto and sad Proserpine, or the monster Cerberus. He loved every thing that was beautiful; and, instead of damaging the uniform placidity of his works with such images of terror and aversion, he represented even the Furies as bearing a serene countenance. This calmness is the prevailing charm of Greek art. Its great depth, like that of the sea, remains undisturbed, however much the tempests may rage; and so, in their artistic figures: under every billow of passion reposes a great, self-collected soul. We may often be called to contemplate the struggling of brave heroes, but they are never altogether overcome by their pangs. The strongest emotions do not repel the spectator, but attract him rather; as in the dying Gladiator, or tortured Laocoon. While the misery we contemplate pierces to the very soul, it yet inspires us with a wish that we could endure with a fortitude like that we see. Beauty was latent in Periclean Greeks, like fire in crystal, which, however brilliant when excited, habitually rests in quiet, and robs not its abode of either purity or strength. They were as full of emotion as of heroism, and, as Agamemnon, after the victory, poured tears on the funeral pyre, they were never braver than at the very time they wept. Winkleman suggests, that beauty with the ancients was the balance of expression, and, in this respect, the groups of Niobe and Laocoon are the best examples; the one in the sublime and serious, the other in the learned and ornamental style.