A History of Sculpture

by Ernest Henry Short

In recent years, however, the archæologists have sought to introduce a supplementary method whereby the authorship of well-known sculptures may be verified. The method depends upon the minute examination of pieces of sculpture and the tabulation of their technical peculiarities. The eye or the ear, the nostril or the chin of a statue, and especially of a Greek original, speaks volumes to the scientific critic. Aided by a collection of prints, he arranges sculptures from any of the European collections into classes. The hint of a date enables him provisionally to associate a class with a well-known craftsman, and the identification of the authorship of masterpieces begins.

Criticism of this kind looms largely in the literature of sculpture in these days. Even the amateur who is interested in art rather than archæology must, therefore, have a clear idea of the type of evidence leading to the ascription of well-known sculptures to particular artists. Almost any famous work would serve to illustrate this. Critical struggles, for instance, have waged around the “[Venus of Milo].” Is it a fourth-century work, or can it be roughly dated at 150 b.c.? We have also referred to the critical mystery surrounding the authorship of the “Niobides.”

We, however, choose for the purpose of illustrating our point, two famous works now in the Vatican—“[The Ares Ludovisi]” and the “[Meleager].” Both are generally acknowledged to be copies of fourth-century sculptures of the finest quality. Neither possesses the strongly marked characteristics of the style of Praxiteles; nor do they resemble the “[Apoxyomenus].” Are they then to be ascribed to Scopas? That is the critical problem.

The “[Ares]” depicts the war-god as a youth. This is a fourth-century variation from the robust, bearded, and fully armed type of an earlier period. Ares is pondering fresh feats of arms. Or may be, as the Roman copyist suggests by the introduction of the tiny Eros, he is solving some deep amatory problem set him by Aphrodite. At first sight the “[Ares]” seems to be by a sculptor who has imbibed some of the spirit of both Scopas and Praxiteles. The sentiment strikes us as Praxitelean, the expression rather suggests Scopas. Leubke, noting the length of the limbs, says that the “[Ares Ludovisi]” reminds him of the style of Lysippus. Dr. Waldstein, however, will have none of this. He insists upon the claims of Scopas. To Dr. Waldstein, the overhanging brow which gives the pensive expression to the “[Apoxyomenus]” is the characteristic of Lysippus. Its absence compels him to refer the “[Ares]” to Scopas. It all depends upon a wrinkle. Needless to say, we do not propose to decide where doctors disagree.

But the archæological method can be illustrated even more happily by the critical history of the Vatican “[Meleager].” The stripling stands with his dog, careless of any danger which the future may have in store. The artist would seem to represent a youthful huntsman impatient for his quarry, rather than the trusty hero who sailed with the Argonauts and freed the chace of Calydon from the devastating boar of Artemis. As is the case with most of the well-known Greek sculptures, no signature or inscription connects it with any particular artist. The exceptional evidence present in the case of the “[Hermes]” of Praxiteles is, as we shall see, also absent. The first clue comes from the pages of Pausanias, who names Scopas as the architect of the temple of Athena Alea at Tegea, and speaks of him as the sculptor of the pedimental groups. Pausanias goes on to describe the marbles, and gives a list of the figures in the eastern pediment whereon was figured, as he says, “The hunting of the Calydonian boar.” These facts, together with the emotional character of the “[Meleager],” justified the statue being associated with the sculptor of the Tegean group.

But the evidence did not end here. During recent excavations, two heads, which had evidently fallen from the eastern pediment, were discovered. (“Journal Hellenic Studies,” vol. xv.) They showed the passionate insistence upon vitality, particularly in the intensity of the gaze of the eyes, which we have already noted in the “[Mausoleum Charioteer],” and which certainly characterises the “[Meleager]” at Rome.

Here was fair material for a dogmatic superstructure of really imposing dimensions. The scientific critic had, of course, to seek for further instances of the sharply rounded eyeballs. He had to find other cases in which the intensity of expression was clearly due to the deep setting of the eyes. Upon the results of these researches he could assign a certain number of the sculptures to Scopas, and by a process of exhaustion many another fourth-century work to the numerous sculptors mentioned in Pliny and Pausanias. So far all was plain sailing. The attributions were admittedly risky, but the interest of the results seemed to justify the method.

Unfortunately the matter did not end here. While one party of excavators was working at Tegea, another party was unearthing a disconcerting inscription elsewhere. This suggested that a statue known as the “Agias,” a figure of an athlete found at Delphi, was a marble copy of a work by Lysippus. The discovery necessitated a fresh examination of fourth-century works, and as a result, such an authority as Mr. Percy Gardner now feels compelled to doubt whether the “[Meleager]” can be properly associated with the influence of Scopas any longer. Guided by resemblances to the “Agias,” he suggests that the “[Meleager]” is much more probably after a work by Lysippus.

But again the critical argument takes a fresh lease. For the “Agias” is found to resemble strongly the “Heracles” at Lansdowne House. Moreover, since neither possesses any of the strongly marked characteristics of the “[Apoxyomenus],” doubt is thrown upon the generally accepted attribution of that statue to Lysippus. What is the alternative? Mr. Percy Gardner has a suggestion at once. He turns to his Pliny (“Nat. Hist.” xxxiv. 87). The “‘[Apoxyomenus]’ is not a genuine fourth-century work; it is rather Hellenistic,” says he; “it may well be a copy of the Perixyomenus of Diappus, the son or pupil of Lysippus.”

We do not refer to the battle of the critics over Scopas, Praxiteles, and Lysippus at this length on account of the intrinsic value of the critical spoils. On the contrary, the value of the accumulation of evidence seems to us to be entirely negative. We are far from wishing to depreciate the value of such researches, but candour compels us to remind the amateur that the modern methods of critical research are full of pitfalls. One can scarcely steer too far from the hasty generalisation which can be so readily drawn from the necessarily flimsy evidence upon which the archæologist is compelled to rely.