A History of Sculpture

by Ernest Henry Short

National Museum, Naples

In this plight the sculptor, consciously or unconsciously, sealed an alliance with the worshipper at the shrine of bodily beauty. The results were immediate. After the middle of the sixth century it became customary to erect statues in honour of victors in the national games. They were frequently set up by the victor’s colony or state in the sacred grove of Zeus at Olympia, in honour of their subject’s success. An iconic statue was the peculiar privilege of one who had proved the winner on at least three occasions, but others were erected of a more general character. These portrayed the pick of the youth of the Grecian world in all the varied attitudes of the different sports. No subjects could have offered better opportunities to an artist appealing to a race with the characteristics we have sketched.

Moreover, the circumstances under which his work was given to the world were ideal. Compare the sculpture-rooms at Burlington House with the sacred grove of Zeus at Olympia, compare the average private-view “crowd” with the gathering of Greeks every four years for the Olympian festival, and one can see why men speak of sculpture as “a lost art.”

THE OLYMPIAN GAMES

When the Olympian games started they were confined to the south of Greece, and grew up under the patronage of Sparta. As early as 776 b.c. the meetings determined the chronological system of Greece. A few years later the festival had established itself so firmly in the Hellenic social system that it became the occasion of a national assembly of the Greek-speaking world. At all other times the distinction between Athenian and Spartan, between Argive and Theban, was absolute. During the Olympian games the Greek escaped from the grinding effort to preserve his civic individuality—the price he paid for citizenship in such a state as Athens or Sparta. Under the shadow of Mount Cronus, at the time of the second full moon after Midsummer Day, the competitors and spectators came together from Italy, Sicily, Asia Minor, and the islands of the Ægean. A sacred armistice had been proclaimed by the Olympian heralds in all the states of Greece. The deputies from every part vied with one another in the splendour of their equipment and the value of their offerings to the state of which they were the guests.

Remembering that we are endeavouring to account for the rise of one of the great arts of all time, let us call to mind the scene on the plain between the Alpheus and the Cladeus on one of the five days during which the festival lasted. With one exception—the Priestess of Demeter—there is no woman in the vast assembly. It is the fourth day of the games. The judges can be seen, clad in the purple robes of their office. Near by, in the brilliant sunshine, his naked form standing out in clear outline, is one of the competitors in the Pentathlon. This comprises leaping, running, wrestling, and hurling the spear and discus. All who enter must excel in each. Victory is not certain until three of the five events have been won. The most famous Pentathli are light men—not bulky wrestlers. Of all the competitions, this needs the finest physique and is most calculated to develop that elasticity and harmonious balance which the Greek prizes in his youth. Well might Aristotle call the Pentathli “the most handsome of all athletes.” The youthful figure, on a space raised slightly above the ground, is of pure Hellenic blood. He rests on his right foot, his knee bent and his body leaning forward. In his hand is the stone discus, ten or twelve inches in diameter, which reaches half way up his forearm. In front, in the distance, stands a friend ready to mark the spot where the stone falls. The eyes of Greece are upon the discobolus. His only reward is the right to lay the crown of leaves in the shrine of the god of his native town. Can it be wondered that the artists of Greece were inspired to their grandest achievements by such sights? It would have been strange indeed if their finest works had not included the representations of the winners of the garland of wild olive.

But the truth goes deeper than this. Without such inspirations Greek sculpture would never have risen to the heights it did attain. And without the achievements of the Hellene, can we be sure that Michael Angelo would have ever been more than a struggler? He might have painted the Sistine ceiling, but would he have modelled the [David] or carved the monuments in the Medici Chapel? The festival at Olympia and the gymnasia in every Greek city were surely necessary if the art which depends upon “the passion for naked male beauty” was to come to its own. In no other way could “every limb present”—we are quoting from Schopenhauer—“its plastic significance to criticism and to comparison with the ideal which lay undeveloped” in the imaginations of men. Under circumstances less strenuous the dull anticipation of bodily beauty would never have been raised “to such distinct consciousness that men would have become capable of objectifying it in works of art.”

We have seen that the initiation of the Olympian games was due to Sparta and its Peloponnesian allies. Moreover, the custom of laying aside all clothing for the various sports was first adopted by the Peloponnesians, and only spread slowly through the other Greek city-states. These facts, together with the location of Olympia in the centre of the Peloponnese, suggest why the “Dorian” sculptors devoted particular attention to such subjects as the Olympian festivals offered. In the fifth century Argos was second only to Athens as an artistic centre, and Polyclitus of Argos, who headed “the Dorian School,” was considered the equal of Phidias himself.

The ideal for which Polyclitus worked was the portrayal of the healthy human form in its most complete and harmonious development, and, particularly, the preservation of a due proportion between the various parts of the body. His success may be judged from the fact that his statue, the “[Doryphorus]”—spear-bearer—was adopted by his artistic successors as the standard of perfection of the youthful male figure, and was known as “The Canon.”

The bronze originals of the “[Doryphorus]” and its companion, the “Diadumenus,” which depicts a youth binding the diadem of victory about his brow, have perished. We are therefore compelled to gauge the genius of Polyclitus by the marble copies. There is a famous copy of the “[Doryphorus]” in the National Museum at Naples.